The surgeon's office called today; we're on for the lumpectomy on the 24th. I have to be way the heck up in Phoenix at oh-dark-thirty (not really, but close), so I called one of my girlfriends to see if she could drive me up. She said yes, of course, after getting over the initial shock of the news.
Telling people about this is getting harder and harder. I've just had too much stuff happen to me. At a certain point, it approaches embarassing, and I'm just about there.
I've told two of the three teachers that need to know just in case the kids get freaked out a bit, although I'm hopeful that they won't. Horrifically, they are used to Mom going for procedures and stuff, so this shouldn't be a big deal to them. At least I'm trying to keep it low key.
I've found the best way to get the news out -- because there is no good way to say it -- is to answer the usual social-noise "How are you?" with a "Not so good," or maybe just "Eh." That opens the door to the actual news, which is the pending lumpectomy.
And whenever I tell anyone, they are always uniformly sweet and kind and supportive, and that always makes me want to cry.
I wish I could just sleep until it's time to go, and sleep until I'm healed. Then I could wake up feeling terrific and ready to get on with life. But there's no sense in arguing with Reality, so I won't.
(Will the biopsy report come tomorrow? I don't even know if I want to know. It's benign, it's benign, it's benign...please?)