I’ve said this a thousand times in a thousand situations where the possibility existed that something was wrong. Sometimes I actually meant it. But I’m done with those words now. I never liked them to begin with and tonight I put them to rest – because they’ve been said to me.
Several weeks ago Benjamin and I were playing on the bed and he tackled me with a very pointy 17 month old elbow on the outside portion of my left breast. Hard. Like, tears in my eyes hard. As I went to rub the pain I found something – something that had never been there before and wasn’t supposed to be there now.
Huh. Well, I’m sure it’s nothing.
Two weeks later I went for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound and a surgical consult. No one could tell me it was definitely nothing, but everyone’s pretty confident it really isn’t something. But in any case, I get to see surgeons and have a biopsy and get barraged with more I’m Sure It’s Nothings.
And tomorrow is the day.
And it isn’t the question of “what the hell is it” that unnerves me any longer, because I do believe it’s Nothing. It’s the thought of anesthesia and all that surgery involves. I’ll talk a big game and take all kinds of risks in business, but this ain’t business and I’ve got absolutely no game here.
But, there is no other option – so tomorrow I arrive at a day surgery center for some super fantastic drugs and a few stitches and the hope that we all just move the hell on from here.
And tonight I’ll explain simply what I’m going to do to The Swimmy and she will worry and cry because while she knows good things happen in hospitals, she also knows they can’t fix everything.
So you guys hang tight while I go take care of Nothing. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ll have Something to talk about on the flip side.