And the results from the MRI are
OK, three weeks of waiting to see what kind of tumor you might have is never fun. I stress eat just about anything I could find. I was irritable.
I told a coworker who’s husband is dealing with cancer and she gave me a lay blessing on my forehead with the sign of the cross. I went to a healing service at church and had a blessing with oil given by my pastor.
I played with John and even picked out and ordered a new computer while keeping one eye on the calendar. I started my class at Franklin but couldn’t get into it the first week since I didn’t know if I would have to drop it due to the knee.
So when it came time to roll into the Doctor’s office, I almost wanted it to be bad news with the logic that the waiting had put me in that ‘pissed at the world place’ and just needed to have my reason vetted. Plus that hypocondraic in me didn’t want all this to be for nothing.
Twisted isn’t it.
Yet nothing is what it was. I have a cyst. Thanks to the MRI, it showed that there isn’t anything to do aside from a little PT, a bunch of weight loss and some anti-inflammatories from time to time.
The black cloud of doom broke to the sunshine. Jean and I thanked God. Then the crash of three weeks worth of worry came. It left me irritable. My guess it’s due to the sugar withdraw as I go back on my eating plan.
