Those of your committed readers know I faces intense breast exams in the past few weeks.  By the end of the slew of them I was starting to ponder what such tests could lead to and what that problem would lead to.  All day Friday I awaited the call for my partial biopsy to come back.  It was 2pm and I had no word.  I momentarily slipped and my mind wandered into the abyss of disaster…

They’ll chop my boobs off and I won’t be able to nurse any children.  I am simply doomed to die.  I will have to sickly endure radiation until I die.  I am going to cry at work.  I am going to have to leave work early when they tell me this so I can go home and cry.  I don’t have Josh to go home to and cry with about this.  I don’t have anyone to go home to and cry with.

I called the office and was put through to the voicemail of the Wendy who was apparently responsible for divulging such information.  I got calls from most of my family to comfort me and pray with me.  And I got one evil unknown call from a client, stupid me for thinking it was the doctor. It was  three more dreadful hours later before I got the call.  Everything is fine.