Back in May, I was a good girl. I got my annual mammogram. Dang, those things hurt. I figured I would check that off my list and move on with life.
They needed more views and an ultrasound…and there was a lump.
Next came a needle biopsy and another mammogram (those jerks hurt).
And finally a lumpectomy last week. Thankfully the lump was not cancer, but it was high risk so the journey is not quite over. Next month we discuss the risks and consider next steps.
None of this was supposed to happen and I am not handling it well.
I am not afraid of dying from cancer. At all.
I am afraid of the disruption in my life.
I am afraid of not being a good witness for Jesus.
But I was not afraid of the bipolar getting its two cents in.
And yet, here I am.
I came through the surgery last week with flying colors. No pain, light bruising. I expected to rejoin my life no problem–instead I find myself wanting to hide out. I literally wanted to do nothing last week. I just went to my friend’s house and hid.
Saturday I decided it was time to rejoin my life no matter how I felt. And I have.
But oh how I would rather still be on my friend’s couch. Where I feel protected with no expectations.
I’m here, but I am missing from my life.