I walked in, signed my name and took a seat in the back corner.
I sat there waiting.
Worrying.
Stressing.
My heart pounded against the walls of my chest.
My breaths became shorter which each racing thought.
Beads of sweat started to pool against my clammy palms.
Posters on the wall stared me in the face.
1 in 8 will be diagnosed in their lifetime….
Second leading cause of death…
Each year more then 40,000 will die…
A growing lump lodged in my throat.
I felt the tears welling, threatening to spill over my eyelids.
What if?
What if the results aren’t what I had hoped for?
What if this is it?
What if this is my turn?
Family history flashed through my mind as an image of each diagnosed relative danced before my eyes.
Radiation.
Chemotherapy.
Mastectomy.
The fears grew strong and deep.
The clock ticking away each second on the wall behind me was like a timer counting down to my fate.
My body jumped with each passing tick, terrified of what lay before me.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, fantasizing about running out of that room, unable to face what was heading my way.
I tried to focus on my kids, picturing their smiles and hearing their laughter.
I envisioned my husband, laughing with me, holding my hand, and lifting my worries with the ease of his smile and the gentleness of his embrace.
I couldn’t do it though. My mind kept turning to that dreaded place.
Fear gripped my heart and held on tight. It wrapped its’ threatening fingers around my soul and squeezed with each passing second.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t calm down.
I needed to leave.
I needed to go home. To go back to the safety and security of my family. To go back to the blissful unknowing state.
“Mrs. Muro? The doctor will see you now”…
.
.
Kimberly
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Hi, my name is Kimberly! I am a wife of 1 and mom to 4. I'm a social media addict and book lover. This blog is a raw and honest look at life through my eyes. I capture the moments as I fumble through motherhood, marriage, and my new graphic design career. I am sometimes funny, a bit sarcastic, and always sleep deprived.
Huge hugs! I’ve been there. I actually had to have a lumpectomy when I was 24 and it was terrifying!
Oh, Kim! I hope that all is well and that the doctor gave you nothing but good news. I can only imagine the fear… this is one of the many reasons I hate going to the doctor.
OH hon…I am sending so much love your way xox
Twitter: KirstenPiccini
says:
Please tell me you are ok…PLEASE.
I am sitting here with a big stone in my throat, praying that everything is ok.
SENDING you love and love and love.
xoxo
I hope the results are negative but having such a supportive family is wonderful
Sending love. I hope you got good news. xoxo
Twitter: adayinmollywood
says:
Oh hon, I’m so sorry. I just went through this and was TERRIFIED! I hope you’re okay.
Twitter: corp2domestic
says:
I hope everything is ok! Thinking of you!
Twitter: queenofchaosmom
says:
Ughhh…I hate this for you. The waiting is the worst. Big hugs.
Twitter: skywaitress
says:
I hope everything is okay. Thinking of you.
Oh, Kimberly!! How very scary for you!!!
Praying for a good outcome.
xoxo
Twitter: AlisonSWLee
says:
Oh hon, I can’t even imagine how terrifying this has been for you. Hope all is well. *hugs*
You have me holding my breath and sending prayers.
Twitter: momma23monkeys
says:
I was in your shoes a few short weeks ago and terrifying doesn’t even begin to describe it. Sending you good thoughts.
Twitter: FarewellStrangr
says:
Totally late on this. Is there an update? Thinking of you.
Oh, honey! Waiting rooms suck in every single way. I’m sending good thoughts and hoping for the best. xoxo
Oh I’m sorry! I have cerival cancer at 21 and had to be treated, after that fear of it returning kept me away from the doctor for some years until I realized I needed to take care of myself and know if something was wrong. It’s been 12 years since and I still fear having a papsmear and biopsy.