There really is no good way to share scary news, no good way to blunt the edge it all.
I have a mass, well two actually, in my uterus. They are most likely fibroids, benign, annoying and too large to remove the conventional way. "Most likely" scares me. Probably the two scariest words when it comes to tumors. The scariest being only one word and too frightening for me right now.
I am "most likely" fine. "Most likely" I will need a hysterectomy. With the "at best" involving removing a significant part of my anatomy and the "at worst" involving a discussion of survival percentages the real meaning of fear has crept up my spine and settled firmly into the back of my brain.
There are too many qualifying quotations in this post. Bad literary form. Good form be damned, I am not trying to impress you with my fabulous wordsmithing, not this time.
My wonderful husband is beside himself with worry, and strives desperately not to project it. His sleepless nights and sad eyes are a mirror of my own. We know we can't let this drag us down, we know that the odds are in our favour, we know I am "most likely" going to be fine. It is so easy to think that that should be enough, and so hard to make it so.
In early June I will be schedule for a scope and a biopsy. Sooner if I can get a cancellation.
May is going to be about keeping myself together and planning for the worst, because I can do that. I can hope for the best and plan for the worst, it is not just a cheesy proverb for us this month. This month it is the thread tying us to our lives, keeping us from drifting off into a useless world of worry and speculation. I am going to be fine, but if I am not, I refuse to make it harder for myself than it has to be.
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