I can't explain it, I feel more at peace today because I know I'll have an answer soon either way. I'm keeping my fingers crossed it's a cyst. Completely honest here, I wish most profusely I never felt the need to poke and prod at my underarms and my breasts at least once a week in the shower, but if it does turn out to be something I need to be concerned about, at least I'll know I found it as early as I could.
I think it feels smaller this morning, but what do I know? Maybe I should have Scott go on Lump Patrol every morning. I don't think he'd mind.
Funny now, a part of me feels like I overreacted a bit, but hindsight is always 20/20, right? It doesn't help last year at this time we were dealing with my mother in law's battle with breast cancer and her future mascectomy and chemotherapy.
Breast cancer for me has always been a crazy scary entity. It's been the boogeyman in my closet since I learned my father's mother died of it at such a young age. My grandmother, my namesake, left behind four children, her youngest at the time the same age as Ash, her eldest, my father, about to be married a month later at twenty one. The ghosts of lost parents and grandparents were part of who I was from the moment I was able comprehend. My children still have all four of their grandparents and two of their great grandparents. They've never known the inside of a funeral home or a graveside ceremony, unlike me, who lost my paternal grandfather at age seven.
I still remember what a disconcerting experience it was to see my grandparents grave, with my name on one half of the stone.
(You know, I can't believe my parents never thought how morbid that was. It is, right? I'm not alone here on this one?)
Having this shadow hanging over my head was never something I dwelled on, but it was always there, in the background, ready to push to the forefront of my mind whenever I was feeling vulnerable.
So when I felt the lump the other day, it wasn't so much the shock of finding it, because I've always expected to find a lump someday, but the shock of finding it NOW.
When I was a girl, knowing my grandmother died at 44 wasn't the looming arch of ripped drapery it is now. When you're 12, 44 seems positively ancient. 44 is a mystical number that as a child you can not possibly wrap your mind around. How can you imagine yourself at 44 when you can not even imagine what you'll be doing at 25?
But I'm 33 and suddenly, 44 is right around the corner. I can moan about the loss of my childhood, but time flies, right? There isn't anything we can do to slow it down. But if I do have a cyst and not breast cancer, at least maybe I received a wake up call to appreciate what I have TODAY and not worry so much anymore about where I'll be at 44 or 84. I'll give extra hugs and kisses and I'll not be so quick to say no when little arms are reaching to be picked up.
I think I'll be okay no matter what the results say.