Here’s the funny thing about life: It can knock you down and lift you up in a heartbeat.  This week, I had a little situation with an MRI.  I had to go have a breast MRI on both breasts and I was a little freaked out.  My mom died of breast cancer at the age of 44.  She was only eight years older than I am now. That’s eight years, two years younger than my son’s age, three years older than my daughter’s age.  Eight short years.  You can imagine how freaked out I was when my doctor saw a little something on a mammogram and follow-up ultrasound that he wanted to get a closer look at, thus the MRI.  The contrast from the MRI sent me into a panic attack in the middle of the exam on Monday.  I had to go back in on Thursday (yesterday) to retake the test.  With Valium.  Now, I’m not the kind of person who takes drugs.  I’ve never been high.  I’m the person who has all of those side-effects that are always listed on the warning labels of prescription drugs.

So, I worked myself up into a panic over the Valium, that the contrast would stop my heart, that I’d freak out again on the exam table.  Turns out, Valium is awesome shit.  I didn’t care about a damn thing about 15 minutes after popping that pill.  Now, this is not to say that I’m advocating being a pill-popper, but that stuff was good.  It made me relax enough that I didn’t freak out during the MRI.  I did great, in fact!  After the test, which took all of 30 minutes, Joel took me to get some breakfast and then I almost fell asleep on the drive home.  He walked me into the house where I was in bed shortly and snoring off the effects of the valium and all of the stress.

My results came back today that everything is benign.  I don’t have to tell you that this was great news.  I was uplifted again.  All of our prayers have been answered.  After the call from the office, I texted my sister (of course!) and a friend of mine that just finished up her breast cancer treatments.  I posted on Facebook about my results because a lot of my friends were praying for me.  And…I neglected to call my husband.

The man who has stood beside me through all of the crazy crying jags, the manic feelings over the possible breast cancer diagnosis, the testing, the panic attacks, and the man who has prayed for me-yes, I didn’t call him.  I guess I thought he knew.  I thought he was there when I got the call this morning, but now that I think about it, he was on his way out the door to work when I answered the phone.  Ugh!  He had to read about it on Facebook.  Can you imagine?  So, here I am feeling so light and happy that I am cancer-free, when my husband calls and asks, “Did you forget to call someone?”

And, down I went.  I just feel so badly that I didn’t call him.  He should’ve been the first person I called.  What was I thinking?  Where was my head?  Worst wife ever, over here.  I just feel awful.  He says not to worry about it, that I’ll find some way to make it up to him (wink wink).  He wasn’t too upset that I neglected to call him.  He was more relieved that everything was good.

He’s my rock.  He’s an amazing man whom I was smart enough to marry.  I couldn’t have gotten through the last week without him.  So, Baby, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you, but I promise to make it up to you!  I love you more than I can ever say.

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