October 20, 2015
The week between the doctor sending me to have it checked and finding out the results was a long one.
I watched my world through misty eyes overwhelmed with thankfulness tainted with regret and a sense of fragility I had not known before.
Walker sat on my mother’s living room floor naively playing with blocks while I quietly told her, “I found a lump.”
With that sentence muttered, I anxiously made my way through the next week while she and my little prayer circle made way to their knees.
I sat in the exam room wearing a hospital gown and clutching my purse. My leg swung nervously.
I spotted them on a corner shelf. Stacks of little pink bags. Very much like the treat bags I’ve sent home with dozens of kids after a birthday party. These were decorated with a ribbon and surely contained helpful information about a diagnosis.
How could I walk into the lobby to my waiting husband with one of those bags?
“Please God, I don’t want a treat bag.”
I had walked in nervously, but stoically. It all just fell apart when the nurse returned a third time for just a different angle. Her kindness could not be matched with my worry as I began to cry.
“Honey, I know it hurts. We’re almost finished.”
"It’s just nerves," I explained. The pain was secondary. It was the “what if’s” that crushed me.
I returned to the lobby, empty handed, to my husband. I’ve never seen such a look of relief on his face. And I was relieved. My mom rejoiced as did others who were waiting for the “all clear” texts we sent.
A collective sigh of relief.
And yet as we all exhaled, I remembered. Those little bags. Many had already been sent home with other nervous hands while others with sweaty palms were still to receive theirs. The fact was not lost on me.
We’ll never be able to figure it out. Why some of us walk back into the lobby ready to rejoice while others receive words that turn their world upside down.
So when I remember my week of waiting and wondering, I remember you. The ones who were handed a bag and along with it, teary days and sleepless nights, questions that go unanswered, and pain of the body and emotions.
I see you, brave one, who fights every day. You are loved. You are not forgotten.
I went through this situation earlier in the year. My desire is to show support for those who have fought and continue to do so.