Results

Results are the hardest thing to wait for. At least to me. At least today. While waiting, I tend to conjure up every minute catastrophe that could be happening inside my body at this exact moment. I think about how I will break the news to family and friends. I think about how to deal with time away from work. I think about my new husband. I worry that it’s irreversible. Terminal. Tragic. But here’s the thing – there is no “it”. At least not right now. All there is, currently, is a mystery that’s yet to be solved. A pain with no purpose. A discomfort that’s persistent enough to have “tests run”. Sounds so deadly, “let’s run some tests”. Like it’s a phrase they learn in medical school – say this when you have no idea what to do. There’s no comfort there, no possibility of a nothing. Running tests means (to me) that there’s something wrong, but they won’t name it until the last possible moment. After you’ve updated your will and eaten an entire package of Chips Ahoy! because being overweight doesn’t matter when you only have a week to live. Even when the doctor says it’s probably nothing, I shiver. Even when the technician performing the “tests” says all is well, I shake. I can’t handle the open window of possibility. I love drama too much to assume the best and hope for nothing. Instead I feel sure that the skies have opened and plague and pestilence are sure to end my short days. The hardest part is knowing that the technician could see whatever it is, but would say nothing. I even asked…and she grimly replied, “your doctor will call you with the results”. Well my phone isn’t ringing! And now that I’ve had all this time to dwell on the worst case scenario, the doctor’s actual news will probably be welcome. Even if the “it” becomes a “something”, it will have to be better than what’s currently running through my mind.