September 12, 2007
So I mentioned in the previous* post that I was waiting for a phone call from the doctor. Even though the doctor had assured me that everything was fine and that the test was purely precautionary I worried. No, worry would be an understatement.
But having a part of your body biopsied is not something taken lightly, especially by people (me) who tend toward being overly dramatic worrywarts.
I prefaced everything by saying, “Well if I’m not dying, then…”
And when my pants were feeling
slightly very tight, I said “Well could be that I haven’t gained weight, but am really carrying around a 10lb tumor….”
And as I ate another huge bag of chips and hummus, “Well, if I am dying I certainly don’t want to spend my last days exercising…”
Just my way of making light of the situation.
Last night I finally got to talk to the doctor. The pathology report (more scary words!) came back completely normal. I don’t think I really even realized how much it had been weighing on my mind until I heard those words. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, not my ass, sadly.
So I can stop planning my funeral. Do you think people would have honored my last request to come to my funeral dressed as 1970’s disco stars?
Now I must start exercising so I can fit back into my winter clothes. Right after I finish eating that gallon of ice cream.
*(I had the typo precious in here, and while I think all my posts are precious, I mean to say previous. So there it is.)
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