Doctors do not have good poker faces…neither due ultrasound techs. At our Greet & Eat we had a panel on women’s health. It went longer than scheduled, because it needed to. It was clear that those in attendance not only needed this information, but also wanted to hear more about it. I credit our awesome speakers for this. Julienne and Laura put a face on the issue, and terms such as breast cancer, tumor, and heart issues now had a face attached to them. When I returned from Austin, I felt a bit like the opening of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. That is, I felt both energized and yet tired. However, I blamed the 19 hour drive on most of that. With the health panel still fresh on my mind, I made some appointments to have someone see about all of those pesky things that had been bothering me. So in addition to two other appointments, I also my mammogram, physical, and pap smear coming up. I scheduled them to fall in the same month my vehicle inspection is due. That way, I remember which month each of them is due. I was at one appointment when I got the call that changed the entire month of August. There is something on your mammogram. At the follow up mammogram and ultrasound, I knew something was amiss when the techs and nurses went silent. It wasn’t just their silence; it was also their lack of a poker face. When the tech came back in toting the doctor, I knew for sure. I needed a biopsy. The trouble was, I couldn’t get one. Every day I called waiting to see if there had been a cancellation, and each one of those days was hellacious. I filled them by “getting my affairs in order” and crying about not the possibility of dying, but the thought about losing my hair. I had worked so long to grow my dreadlocs. As bad as I felt…as uncertain…as scared…as angry…I told only Jeanie and that was only because I knew she’d stab me if she found out I’d hidden it from her. A machete to the face wouldn’t have helped the situation. I spent the time trying not to lose my sh*t and trying to wear my own poker face because I didn’t want people to look at me different…I couldn’t survive choruses of “it will be okay” because what if it wasn’t. I didn’t feel okay, especially not when my PCP called and told me that my CBC was elevated and that I’d need to come back. Today, I got the call I both waited and dreaded. I’d never wanted a call so bad, never wanted life so bad, never wanted a HEA so bad. IT IS BENIGN. I felt like celebrating but since I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in two weeks, I simply went to sleep and woke up remembering what it was to have a good night’s sleep. Well, a good afternoon’s sleep. It was a good thing I slept b/c I got a good round of cussings out. “You should have told us.” The truth was that I just couldn’t. It was a truth I didn’t want to tell myself. I didn’t want people to treat me different. But it’s benign. So I’m going back to bed and later this week, I’ll deal with all that ish that I put on the back burner. Why? Because after this, I can no longer put myself on the back burner. Plus, my locs are looking fierce.
Posted on: Fri, 15 Aug 2014 01:33:28 +0000
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