Shells 3

 “We’re all broken in one way or another, some just hold the pieces together better.” ~ Anonymous

The older I get, the more I’m willing to let my brokenness surface. Today Ernie and I are going to the medical clinic for tests. He is going to the Hematologist for testing of his white blood cell count, which is higher than normal. I am going for a diagnostic mammogram to determine what, exactly, is causing tenderness in my right breast.

On Saturday, we went to a gathering of Ernie’s siblings and spouses. We visited, played games, shared a meal, and looked through old photographs. In general, I had a good time. It was hot outside and I don’t do heat very well. The gathering was outdoors and I don’t do nature too well. It was a tad disorganized and willy-nilly gives me facial tics. We have 22 in our small section of the clan: 10 adults and 12 grandchildren. I anticipate a bit of chaos we our wee group gathers. There were only 21 of us for the gathering: 21 adults, no kids. It shouldn’t have overwhelmed the hosts or the guests, but it did — here and there.

I had a moment. I wanted to take my standard high road. I wanted to do the ol’ “Suck it up, Buttercup!” I wanted to cry. Instead, I became slightly bitchy — with a little “b” — because I did so it private with Ernie. Just a few “get it off my chest” words and back to the gathering. (Teapot steam, short whistle, remove from burner.)

Shell 4This morning I dragged myself out of bed, showered, and went to work. Easy-peasy, right? Work a few hours and then zip over to the medical clinic to meet Ernie and get our tests. Take a book in case I have to stay longer to consult with the Radiologist.

I’ve read that mammograms aren’t as painful if you go sans caffeine beforehand. So I skipped the morning coffee. When I arrived at work, I realized that I forgot my office door keys. Using an alternate route through the building, I entered the office, sat at my desk, and started working. Then it hit me. All of a sudden I felt alone. Very alone. I felt nauseated. I felt tired. I felt like I just wanted to go home. So when my boss arrived, I asked to leave. Once I was in my car, I began crying. I’m scared. Scared for me and scared for my husband. I don’t want either one of us to be ill. We still have so much living to do — for our family, but for ourselves, too.

Being scared doesn’t mean I have no faith in God and His healing power. I do. I’m scared because I’m human. I’m scared because, quite frankly, I have a right to be. A need to be. It’s a quiet “cry in the car home,” or “hold my hand, please” scared. No hysterics. No blubbering in public. And I’m scared because I know that my husband is, too. And we shouldn’t both have to “man up.”

Shells 2“Never be afraid to fall apart because it is an opportunity to rebuild yourself the way you wish you had been all along.” ~ Melchor Lim

Chances are that our tests will show that everything is fine. But chances are just that — chance — not guarantees.

I’m home now and waiting for Ernie to awake. He’ll be surprised to see me, I’m sure. I’m not looking forward to the mammogram, especially since I just had one last October. Even without caffeine they hurt. A lot. I am, however, looking forward to an afternoon cup of coffee.

Thankful, too, that the medical clinic has a coffee bar.

~ Blessings



    • Thank you for your prayers. The doctor did give us a preliminary diagnosis for my husband — Chronic Lymphoid Leukemia. Leukemia (serious), Chronic (you won’t die tomorrow). Me, however, I was told that I would be contacted within 10 days for results. I’d say that, for now, we’re “dealing with it all.” Praying for wisdom on how to go forward.

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