Never On a Monday

Saturday morning, out of the blue, I started thinking that I might get cancer again. Actually, I was convinced of it and in no time my thoughts became a runaway train, rocketing down a track that quickly wound from my diagnosis to my sad, eventual death.

Those of you who know me well also know that this is very unlike me. When going through cancer treatment, I never once thought I was going to die. Not even when first diagnosed. I rolled my eyes at anyone who suggested such a thing. But this Saturday? That clock was ticking!

My rational mind tried to get a word in edgewise and point out that perhaps PTSD might be influencing my thoughts. Perhaps I might want to take some anti-anxiety medication. But I ignored rational thought, instead making notes on where I might want to have my ashes scattered and thinking, wow, I better start cleaning house. (Because in my mind, whether you are going on a short vacation or going on the Big One, that's what you do first: clean house.) I better leave instructions. I better do some repairs around the house. And what about all those boxes in the garage? I can't leave Kathy to have to sort through those! Maybe I should just dump them all. What to do, what to do....

Oh no, stress isn't getting to me. I am cool as a cucumber. Yep.

The good thing was that I was out running errands alone, ensuring that the conversation in my head stayed private. Because, honestly, no one needs to hear that kind of stinkin' thinkin', especially not Kathy. By the time I got home, I had a migraine brewing, so I took some medicine and lied down for a while, further keeping me quiet. I'll admit that I pondered my upcoming demise for a little while longer, but then I thankfully fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was dinner time and I felt a little more level-headed, if unsteady on my feet. Kathy and I fixed something to eat and then settled down to watch Lost on DVR. By this time, I was ready to concede there was something going on in my head other than cancer. I mean, really, talk about a drama queen.

I watched TV. I moved around. I adjusted my bra. And as my hand pressed against my right breast… I felt a lump.

Omigod.

Fearing a break with reality, I casually moved over to sit next to Kathy, grabbed her hand, and pressed it to that spot. Maybe she wouldn't feel it? But she looked at me seriously. She felt it, too. Dammit.

Okay, well, I'm sane enough to know that irony does not a diagnosis make. Just because there is a lump does not mean I have cancer again. And it certainly doesn't mean I'm going to die. But it is scary.

As with all three lumps I've found over my lifetime, I discovered this on the weekend when I can't call for an appointment. It seems to be some unspoken rule. And you know what happened when I called at 8 am this morning to leave a message for my surgeon. I found out they are closed for Presidents Day.

So, I'm not sure how long I have to wait to find out what this lump is. It could be cyst. I've never had one, so I wouldn't know. It might go away. I don't honestly want to wait several weeks to see – I want someone to tell me now. But there isn't much to do at the moment.

Tomorrow I will leave a message for my surgeon to see if we can move my March 28th mammogram up and get this checked out. Cross your fingers for me – given how my thinking was going before I even knew I had a lump, it seems best that I be allowed only minimal time to think. Yikes. All positive thoughts are welcome.

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