Weight of the Wait
I got good news from my doctor last week. My tumors are stable. Amen. They didn’t shrink, which sucks, but I wasn’t exactly expecting them to either. So it wasn’t spectacular news, it wasn’t horrible news. It was good news.
So why later that night, laying in my bed at Miracle House, did I bust out crying, sobbing like a baby. Yes, I was watching the cheesy movie I Am Sam where hottie Sean Penn plays a developmentally disabled Starbucks worker. And, I’m sure I had a tinge of PMS too. But it was a lot more than that. It was the weight of the wait flooding out of me.
I’ve come up with some pretty great ways to tame my worry while waiting for check ups. But regardless of how adept I’ve become at distraction, curbing anxiety, and processing reality, there will always be a nugget of tightly wound fear that I store away in some inaccessible reach of my heart while I count down the days on my calendar. It doesn’t matter if the news from my doc is simply fantastic – waiting wears me down.
The night after an appointment I feel run over by a Mac truck. It is such a contrast to the world around me. Family and friends might feel the relief that my wait is over; they have news, be it great, just okay, or even bad. But for me, this afterwords time is when my real sadness crawls out of the fox hole and I have one of those good sulky cries that sometimes doesn’t even make a sound.
How do you respond to going to the doctor? What happens to you after the wait is over? When your news is good, are you able to start the celebration right away or do you have some lag time? This post was written with Abby in mind, whose been waiting the hard wait for her doctor’s appointment today. Thinking of you my dear!