Where do I start?

Rarely am I left speechless or with no desire to talk. Yeah, I know it is shocking. But, that is where I am right now. I'm in a fog. I physically feel as if a weight is sitting on my shoulders and I can't shrug it off. I know I should be asking Christ to take the burden from me, but I think my pity party is so fiercely at work, that I've barely been able to do more than ask my friends for prayers on my behalf.

I blogged a last week about the pain in my breast and it hasn't gotten better despite drugs and doctor's visits. I keep having everyone tell me it is just hormones or too much caffeine. I want to scream at every one of them that I don't think so. I've had pain from both of those things and this is different. I don't know what it is, but THAT isn't it. I know my friends are trying to be helpful and reassure me that all is well.

We first discovered a lump in July 2004. After a mammogram, sonogram and biopsy, we determined it was benign. Since then, we check it once or twice a year. Well, with the breast pain, I called my surgeon and was told it was time for my annual mammogram anyway and let's get it set up sooner rather than later. I did it on Monday.

I dreaded it, but was glad to have it done all at the same time. My former cop and soldier husband isn't real good at the touchy-feely supportive stuff, but he does his best to bite his tongue when he wants to tell me to "suck it up and be a man." In turn, I try to put on the brave face for him and the children. No reason for them to know how I'm suffering inside. What can they do?

Off to the "breast imaging" department at the hospital. That name just sounds like boob glamour shots to me, but I digress. After killing numerous trees with assurances of my privacy and my payment, I get the gown that never manages to cover my ample bosom and am told to wait till it is my turn. I never wait long at this hospital. They are really good to get me in and out and treat me with respect. I get in and tell the gal of my pain and we use the little pads that are supposed to make the mammogram more comfortable. Ha. Anytime you take the double Ds and squash them to about an inch tall, I don't think something that resembles a mousepad is going to help much. Couple that with my pain and we had a teary-eyed AoM for a few moments.

After the boobie squishing is done, I'm sent back to my closet, er, changing room where I'm told to keep the gown on while the tech makes sure that the film is good. Seconds seem like an eternity. Minutes drag. Finally she returns. I already know she is going to want to take another film. I felt it. This time, our special of the day - mashed boobs - have no mousepad. She said it made the film "too light." So, we squish the painful breast again sans the mousepad.

Back to the closet to try and read some more of The DaVinci Code. Not even the allure of imaging Tom Hanks as the illustrious Robert Langdon could occupy my mind. It had started. The dizzy feeling in my stomach moving up and encompassing my head. My body on the verge of shaking. The sick feeling that I had pins and needles in my arms and stomach: an anxiety attack. I was starting the shakes. I start to text message my husband to tell him I knew something was wrong. She was taking way too long this time. Then, she returns before I can finish and hit send.

Seems we've found another knot. This one behind my nipple. And, the area of my breast where all the pain is has a "denseness of tissue." The ultrasound techs were slammed, so there wasn't an appointment available for me immediately, but I need to get it done. Doesn't have to be immediately, but soon. She gives me the number of the appointment desk and I call from their receptionist phone. Wednesday at 1 p.m. I think it feels like an eternity. I want to cry, but I can't. My body won't let me.

I go upstairs to my surgeon's office. We had an appointment for Thursday morning to discuss my progress over the past year and talk about the mammogram results. I wanted to make sure they wrote the orders for the ultrasound and that we'd have results by Thursday morning for the appointment. The nurse said the doctor would make sure he has the results for me. I like him and his staff. Good people.

Now, the tears are coming. Must get my control back. I have to call my husband. My mom. My friends who want to know how I'm doing and how the results of the mammogram came out. I tell them. Reassurances, again. I don't want reassurances. I'm smart enough to know that this is probably nothing. I'm also smart enough to know what it could be. Cancer doesn't usually hurt. I know that. I've had cancer before and it didn't hurt them. I also know that when you're eat up with it, you hurt. I also know that I could have an abscess or infection or something simply taken care of. I know all that. I know all that.

I just know that I'm scared and I'm tired of putting on a brave face. This fog is smothering me. My head hurts. You know that hurt from where you have cried all the tears that are there? All that is left is a headache. I don't really want to eat (which is a rarity for my chubby butt). I don't' want to do much of anything right now. I feel defective. I'm scared. I'm anxious. I'm terrified. I don't want my boob whittled on. I don't want to be sick. I don't want to be poked and prodded. I want this to be over and done with. I don't have time for this stuff. I have projects to do, children to run everywhere, things to do and people to see.

*shrug*

Wednesday at 1 p.m. That is my ultrasound. I'm usually pretty nosy, so I imagine I'm going to have some information about what is going on then. I hope. Then, I see the doctor at 10:15 Thursday morning. Till then, I'm walking on eggshells.