Here I sit… accomplishing nothing at all.
I generally consider worry to be a useless state, a waste of energy and imagination. I’ve had enough to worry about in my life (though by no means as much as some), and I’ve learned that freaking out over what might happen makes absolutely no difference in the outcome.
If you can do something about it, stop worrying and do it.
If you can’t do anything about it, worrying is only making it worse.
…or so the theory goes.
About a month ago, I went to a doctor who specializes in… okay, you know what? Just avert your eyes if you think girl stuff is icky. Walk away. I’m not going to get graphic, but I’m also not going to act like I’m ashamed of having lady bits.
I like my lady bits. This is not really about them.
I went to see an OB/GYN about some issues I was having, and we discussed treatment options. We decided on an outpatient surgical procedure that would allow my condition to be treated without long-term drug use, because I’m sensitive to medications. If it has side-effects, I’ll probably get them.
Before I left, he had to do a test. Take a sample. A biopsy, but not a scary “we think you have cancer, let’s check” biopsy, just a test to make sure everything is okay. He said to remind him the day of the surgery to check on the test results, because I wouldn’t hear any more about them otherwise. I got into the least-dignified position imaginable in front of a complete stranger, he made me cry*, it was all good.
A week and a half later, my family doctor’s office called. “She wants to see you for an appointment. I’m going to book you in for Tuesday.”
That didn’t work out (my husband has to be off work to be home with the kids when I do the 45 minute drive to the doctor), and today was the soonest I could get in.
I told myself not to worry, because that’s useless, and I figured out reasons I shouldn’t worry. She probably just wants to see me about the test results because…
Hmm, I don’t know. She doesn’t book appointments when PAP test results come back negative (though I take some comfort in the fact that THAT was all normal last time).
But she probably just wants to talk about the treatment I decided on, right? And the fact that it was okay to add 2 weeks to the appointment wait time means it’s not an emergency.
I’ve hardly thought about it since I booked the appointment. Still, I HATE this. I hate not knowing. I’m distracted, I should be working right now, but I just keep looking at the damned clock.
I understand why doctors can’t give test results over the phone, even when everything is fine, but there has to be a better way to do things than “she wants to see you, imma book you in like, right nao, mmmkay? Kewl?”**
My fault for having to wait, I know.
So anyway, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m not worried.
I just want to get this over with.
UPDATE: I tried to beta read to distract myself, since I might as well use this time for something productive. Kobo died, can’t find the charge cord. Not amused.
FURTHER UPDATE: The Chief Risk Officer and Executive Director of China Gungfua Bank in Hong Kong wants to present me as owner of $49.5 million dollars US. Now it’s the BEST DAY EVAR!
*For the record, not everyone finds getting their innards scraped as painful as I did, and if your doctor says the words “endometrial biopsy,” you should not freak out… Unless you’re a man. Then you can smile, nod, and back right out of that quack’s office, ’cause you don’t have a uterus. Unless you do, in which case, good for you! (PS: I am not a medical professional, never listen to me. Ever.)
**Also for the record, this is not how my doctor’s receptionist talks. I have nothing but respect for that poor, overworked woman.