Chasing After the Elusive Dr. Plastic

I was awake, but didn't want to get out of bed. I must've stared at the ceiling for a good 15 minutes...cuddled with my dog for another 15, before rolling over to stare at the wall for another 10. The stack of plastic surgeons' business cards greeted me on the nightstand next to my phone...laying to rest any  denial I had left of my new situation and pending mental, physical and emotional breakdown.

February 24, 2010

That morning came quick and early.

I had no sooner booted my snoring husband out of bed, when my swollen eyes were blasted open by my favorite "hard" Rock tunes exploding from the iPod on the nightstand next to my head.

For a brief millisecond, the whole breast cancer thing seemed like a terrible nightmare...
but reality rudely slapped me in the face when my husband timidly crept in to the bedroom...
ears plugged and wincing, making sure that I was getting up.

February 23, 2010

I awoke determined not to spend another agonizing moment filled with worry. (just call me already...call me and tell me the good news so that I can get on with my life) I couldn't take it any more...so I spent the day absorbed in mundane house work. I had immersed my tired mind deep in my chores and got lost inside the Clorox bottle...I let the scrubbing bubbles wash the dark thoughts from my head.

The Next 4 Days...

The biopsy was done on a Thursday, which stretched out the not knowing over a very nerve wracking weekend. Luckily for me, I had the calm, sweet reassurance from my oh-so-caring husband. "Stop worrying, prophet of doom...you said it yourself...you're a hypochondriac. It's nothing. Just like before. You're getting all worked up about nothing."