It's My Uterus and I'll Cry If I Want To

I finish the day in a bit of a fog. Abnormal cells. Is that code for Cancer? If I have Cancer someone is going to have to say that word. And not whisper it like they did in St. Elmo's Fire. I am reminded of my mother's hysterectomy because of "pre-cancer." Pre-cancer. What a crock. All that is is cancer that has not spread. That doesn't mean you don't have Cancer! It just sounds like you don't! No one forfeits at uterus for something minor!

On my way home I go to call Scott and realize that my colleague has left me a message checking in on my health and sanity. Both of which are in a little trouble evidently. I call her back. She commutes with another colleague that I absolutely adore. I catch them both up on the outcome of my conversation with Robin. They are both equally troubled and encourage me to take matters into my own hands.

I talk to Scott about it briefly as I cross the bridge. But just hearing his voice makes me want to cry. And if I cry I won't have to worry about Cancer because I will drive off the bridge to my certain death. One more way to skin that cat.

I call Charlotte and boo hoo a bit before collecting her advice.

At no time am I even remotely compelled to call my mother. Not for a moment.

But those I do tell agree that:

Dr. Madre's medical mission is not my problem and not reason enough to wait to hear about my choices.

While I appreciate Dr. Madre's devotion and concern, I am sure there is another doctor competent to read my chart and test results and explain my choices.

I need to know more now, because I am really no good at all at waiting around.

If someone has Cancer, I need to hear the words "We found Cancer." and nothing less definitive than that.

I try to sleep that night, my worst fears potentially coming to life. I do not have the luxury of worrying only about me. I have children. And need to stay alive so they aren't stuck being raised by their lunatic father.

At 6 am I get out of bed, make coffee and dial Robin's number by heart.

"Robin, it's Liza, Dr. Madre's patient. Before you call me back, I'd like to ask you a favor. If Dr. Madre has not left the country, I'd like to speak with him directly about his findings and my options before he leaves. If he has left, I'd like to speak to whatever doctor is following Dr. Madre's cases while he is away and begin my treatment immediately. If something is wrong, I want to begin treatment at once, not when Dr. Madre's medical mission has concluded. I don't think that is unreasonable. I hope you agree."

I hang up, sip my coffee and cry. Just a little.