A Little Less Mrs. Smith

and there it is

I sit, our conversation almost of student and teacher and we go over things.
“Lie back” So I do, and the paper crinkles beneath me. I feel large and awkward which has been the theme of my life since age 11. Modesty departed me when I gave birth to Pammy. Her hands explore, softly routinely, gentle and firm. My heart is beating nervously. Maybe I imagined it. The search seems endless. Then from across a million miles her voice says “Here it is.” and now it is true. It can’t be taken back, wished away, or pushed to a corner of my mind that it never really existed.

We continue to talk as if what just happened didn’t make my world seemingly go flat.The nurse is calling the hospital making me an appointment for an u/s. I think of the excitement and worry and joy that went into all of the other u/s’s I have had. The little baby swimming inside of me, “Hello there, are you a boy or a girl?” even though in my heart I knew her. The 2nd time, “So you are the little girl that has been making Mommy so sick!” It isn’t until I hear her say “Left Breast, 3 O’clock” that the tears slowly start sneaking out of my eyes.

I wait numbly for my prescription. I pay my co-pay, and don’t start crying openly until I shut the van door behind me. Inside my head I am screaming “ITS NOTHING” and on some level, I know that is true. I know it is. It will be. I feel like at any minute I might just go nuts. I call Ray, I ramble on about the Doctor’s appointment, stretching it out, not wanting to say it out loud. As if mentioning it will give it power. IT IS NOTHING. I hysterically start sobbing to Ray about the scheduled u/s and the blood work (just to be safe) and I hear the shock in his tone. He recovers quickly and says all the right things to make me not go crazy. I love him for a million reasons and the way he makes me feel balanced is just one. I know it will be fine, but I know it kind of scared us both shitless.

I drive home, and blurt out the news to my Mom. “YOU’LL BE FINE. I know it.” I nod and cry a little and then try and push it out of my mind. I go to work. Do I tell anyone? Do I tell no one? Is telling people going to give this tiny pebble power over me? If it is nothing, if it is NOTHING, should I just not say anything? Just sit here and keep saying it is my head until I believe it? Because part of me knows, it really is going to be okay. No matter how this play out from this point on, Ray and I have always been a team and we always be a team, and we will get through it. But when you hear there is a lump, it is scary. It is NOTHING and EVERYTHING in the same breath.

I try it out, telling my Aunt’s, my sister, and my cousin. I feel guilty like I am burdening them with a worry that is unneccessary. Saying it outloud is scary. IT IS NOTHING. But it sits in there just reminding me that it can’t be totally nothing or I would not have an appt. next Thursday.

I am 28, it is going to be a benign cyst, and I am going to feel so relieved that I expended so much energy worrying about NOTHING.