Driving on the beltway my brain was writing a post. Selecting choice words and metaphors to tell the story I just knew I was going to be able to write after I left the doctor's office. With great confidence my story went something like this...
Girl takes a test. Doctor calls. Girl retakes test. Doctor calls. Girl's worried. Girl has to have a more invasive test. Doctor tells girl everything looks fine. Doctor and girl smile in relief. Girl gets ice cream to celebrate results.
Unfortunately, I don't get to tell that story. I didn't celebrate with ice cream after yesterday's doctor visit. Instead, I get to wait and worry six more months. For six months I get to stew about the cells in my body, anxious abut what they are doing, wondering if the abnormal cells have been eliminated yet. For six more months I will tell myself the same as the past three, odds are in my favor and everything is going to be just fine. Except it isn't always.
Happy thought, hugs, a tray of brownies and a box of wine! That's what I can do for now, but I wish it were more. As a nurse I can put on my professional voice and let you know that everything will be alright, that you're young, strong and odds are in your favor. When nurses say that, I want to punch them in the nose. So I'll pray and send you happy thoughts and offer to translate any wacky doctor-talk that might be confusing.
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