It's funny how no matter how many times you tell yourself not to be worried or scared it doesn't seem to help. You know?
On Friday evening when I spoke with my doctor, I told her what the mammographer told me. That they didn't 'see' anything. It was a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound, and they should have counseled me more than they did, but I guess in some ways it's good that I didn't know what I know now. I was able to at least rest up a little over the weekend and try to fight this junk in my lungs.
I called my doctor's office this morning to find out exactly what the ultrasound and mammogram report said. My doctor's nurse got back with me awhile ago. The words she read off the report were that neither the mammogram nor ultrasound "could rule out a malignant neoplasm."
Malignant is such an ugly word. Isn't it? The very word itself conjures up ugliness.
Shortly before I'd gotten the call from the nurse, the specialist's nurse had called as a result of the referral they'd received from my doctor to set up an appointment. She couldn't get me in until the end of March. Once I heard from my doctor's office, I called back and explained the situation and exactly what the report said. I told her that I know what a difference 6 weeks can make in the life of cancer. My father was diagnosed with lung cancer almost 3 years ago. He was gone 5 weeks and 1 day after the diagnosis. I asked, if there was anyway she could get me in sooner.
She was able to get me in on the 3rd of March. That's much better than the 29th. I thanked her and hung up the phone to call my husband and let him know what was going on. Before I could dial the phone correctly and complete the call (amazing what nervous fingers can dial when you're not looking!), the phone rang again. It was the specialist's office again. They found an appointment for me for Monday morning. Six days sure beats 6 weeks, doesn't it?
I keep telling myself not to worry. Not to panic. Not to be scared. Ask me how that's working for me. LOL
I know that I'll be fine whatever I find out on Monday, (or whenever I find whatever it is I find out), because that's how I operate. The worst part for me is the waiting. Even when my husband was deploying when he was in the Marines, I found that waiting for him to leave was harder than once he was actually gone. It's the unknown that's hard. It's scary. It's the boogey man under the bed.
Once I know what I'm up against I'll be strong enough to fight it.
Right now. I just need to remember to breathe.
To trust that God is in control.
That He knows what's going on with me.
That He loves me.
That He has my back.
Yep. I'm going to be just fine.
Compulsive hoarding is a mental disorder that is just beginning to be understood. As a hoarder, I have acquired things over the years with a specific purpose in mind at the time of the acquisition, used some of those items for their intended purposes, forgotten the goal for different objects, but now that I find that they have outlived their purpose in my life I am struggling to rid myself of those same things.
You can read the start of my journey here.