the wait

I'm intrigued by how people wile away their time when they're anxious...forced to wait for news and unable to speed that process along.

Some people pace. Some can't focus. Some externalize their anxiety onto people around them. Some work in their gardens. Other people clean out their closets. Some just drink.

Me? I bury myself in minutiae. Not big effort chores like closet cleaning–that would be way too productive. No, I clean my jewelry and other micro-tasks that employ toothpicks as tools. I organize bits of things. Then, I archive my email inbox. I paint my toenails.

Over the past month or so, we've been in the déjà vu land of waiting for medical test results. Barbara's first mammogram since surgery was not clear sailing. They saw two small masses on her right breast (Lefty is, to our great relief, still cancer-free) that they were almost sure were nothing but fibroids but an ultrasound was recommended which results led to two needle biopsies last Friday. Still they remained almost sure it wasn't cancer.

Eight months after a partial mastectomy, the space between almost and absolutely is cavernous. The word biopsy weighs a ton.

I waited to write until we knew and now we know, she is fine. Both growths are benign. The relief is almost hard to grasp. The first time on the cancer flywheel you're terrified because you don't know how scary it will be. The second time you're terrified because you do.

But she's fine. Wonderful. Whole. Life feels lighter and hopeful once again.

In the meantime, my watch is sparkling clean and damn near 2700 emails were deleted or archived. My toenails, however, look like they were painted by an angry four year-old. I'll have to channel that anxiety into another activity next time.

P.S. Thanks to my dear friends who remind me that they are also waiting. Waiting for me to sit my ass down and write an entry or two. Peter, it was so good to hear from you.