The Pain of Darkness

I've been battling the inner demon of worry for the past month or so. I went to the doctor a couple of months ago for my yearly girlie exam. Even after three kids, this is an uncomfortable experience. You'd think that after having nearly every doctor in my home town and a couple of neighboring cities up my parts that I wouldn't get so shy about it, but I still like to keep my privates... well, private.

Anyway, after a month of waiting, I finally get a call back on the results. Abnormal. This in itself is not a concern. I didn't even begin to worry at this point. There are many reasons for an abnormal result and most of them are nothing to worry about. Still, there is protocol to follow. It means another visit, another more detailed screening with yet another doctor. This time, I got a girl, which somehow makes it easier to endure. She did a screening for the HPV virus which causes cervical cancer among other things. She told me that if this came back negative, no more work would need to be done, but if it was positive, I would need a biopsy.

I waited again for the results. Negative. However, my doctor felt that I still needed to come in for the biopsy. So, here in another week, I have to go in and have part of me that I've carried with me for 27 years cut out of me. I'm not very happy about this. I'm also very worried.

Okay, I admit, I'm a compulsive worrier. I tend to let my imagination blow things out of proportion. So I researched. Bad idea. I actually felt worse after that. None of it sounds good at all. And all of this worry keeps coming back to the fact that the doctor still wants me to do a biopsy with a negative HPV after first telling me that it wouldn't be necessary. The reason the doctor gave for it is because of the particular cells that are abnormal. Why doesn't that sound good?

I haven't told many people. I've been waiting to find out the results before I do that. I have sought reassurance from a select few. My mom for one. I know that even while she tells me it's going to be okay, she's gonna worry it to death with me. It's nice to know that someone else is gonna help me bear my burden. I also told Sexy. I don't know why I told him, exactly. The only reason I can think of is that he shares a certain affection with me for the afflicted part. I figured he'd also be personally upset at the thought of it being even slightly butchered.

I guess his response was not what I was searching for from him. He did the typically thing, telling me not to worry about it just yet. I know he's concerned about my well-being. I know he's not trying to push my feelings to the side like they don't matter. I guess I just don't want to hear that it's okay for the time-being. It's not okay. There's something wrong. Even if the biopsy comes out okay, the doctor feels there is something wrong enough there to warrant a closer, more painful look. I'm not okay with that. I don't want sharp objects in that general area. I don't want to wait yet another month for the results. I don't want people to say the glass is half full. I want the damn glass totally full.

Okay. Time to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Better.

I suppose what it is that I wanted was for Sexy to worry with me too. I realize that he probably is. It's hard to dwell on the fact that a loved one is potentially seriously ill in a way that you can't do anything about. When they have a cold, you can bring them soup. When they have a cut, you can bandage it. But what do you do if it's the big C? I mean, that's what I'm really looking at here. No, it's much easier to push it to the back of the mind until a time when I has to be faced. At least, it is for most people. I just have a hard time pushing things to the back of my mind. I don't start feeling better until I know exactly what it is that I'm dealing with. I'd feel better knowing that I had cancer for sure than not knowing what I had. I suppose that sounds funny, but once you know what you're dealing with, you can start dealing with it. It's the damn waiting and wondering that drives me up the wall.

I guess, in the end, there's nothing to do but wait. I just wish I didn't have to. And I wish, I don't know, that maybe there was some way to make the waiting less painful. I just don't know how to do that. I don't know if having Sexy pulling his hair out with me would make it better. Even if he did, I know that I'd just spend me time telling him that it was okay and that there was nothing to worry about at this point in time. Funny how that works, isn't it?

Well, I do have to say that writing it out does make me feel better. And somehow, knowing that others are reading this and are feeling concern for me helps as well. And maybe, a few of you will keep me in mind when you say your prayers the next time. I would be most appreciative. Maybe it will help make this next week go faster, and then I can get the hardest part of the ordeal over with. After that, I get to find out what's going on and with knowledge comes understanding, and with understanding comes the tools to battle fear.