But the profound repercussion of four biopsies was the not knowing: waiting a week for the test results to come back.
During those seven, long days, my imagination led me to dark places. I stared in the mirror, picturing myself without hair. I looked at my bare chest, visualizing it without a breast. Most of all, I embraced my children and wondered what their lives would be like without me there to guide them. I hugged my dad, knowing that if I suffered, he would suffer even more. Waiting left me feeling helpless; I knew my fate no longer was in my control.
Fortunately, all four biopsies were benign. The waiting game, however, resurfaces every year when I get my mammogram. Again, I wait one week from the time of the X-ray until I receive the call from the hospital about the results.
I know I am not a patient person. I also understand that I am a person who likes to take charge of her schedule and life. Waiting, therefore, does not sit well with me. The unknown has too many unwelcome possibilities that haunt my daylight hours and turn my dreams into nightmares.
I would rather deal with the known than be a passive pawn in the waiting game.