Statistically speaking, I was kind of screwed from the beginning healthwise. I’m almost always in that 1-5% of people who end up nearly dead from medications — with side effects so rare, doctors sometimes don’t even mention them because there’s just no way I’d possibly suffer dire consequences.
That might be kind of an exaggeration, but seriously I’ve had those side effects more times than I can count, so … you know. I’m jaded.
Anyhow, this is where this blog gets real personal (Mom is cringing already, I can just picture it). The other day, I found a lump.
Like, the kind of lump that makes a person with anxiety and OCD start imagining dead-in-a-ditch type scenarios over and over again. And luckily Mom was in town, so I didn’t go completely crazy, although the thought crossed my mind again and again (and again and again because, duh, OCD). When I told Husband, he immediately hopped on the computer, and said to me, “It says here 85% of breast lumps are benign.” He told me over and over how I was fine, how it was nothing, how I didn’t need to worry.
As it turned out (yeah I wasn’t going to leave you hanging for a long, meandering blog post, don’t worry), he was actually right this time around. The stats were on my side: it was nothing (well, unless you consider naturally occurring lumpy breasts at 30 years of age to be something, which … I’m kind of on the fence about).
So, yeah, I still have a medication-controlled seizure disorder and OCD and major depression (that comes in cycles) and TMJ and carpal tunnel and SI joint problems and chronic sciatica BUT I don’t have cancer. And that makes for a pretty good life.