Welcome To The Jungle--We've Got Fun & Games

Dear Blog-Reading Community & The Inside of Molly’s Head,

Don’t Freak Out.

Dear Suspicious Lump Under My Right Shoulder Blade,

Don’t be an asshole.

Be a mutated muscle, embarrassing adult acne, a rogue tooth stem cell that formed in the wrong place in utero; even be a benign cyst that I have to go through biopsy limbo to confirm. Just don’t be an asshole.

Today, I go to the doctor. I am grateful and lucky to have the community who shows up for me, available at 6:30am-text notice. One of them is coming with me to the doctor visit--though I didn’t ask, I just "wanted to inform someone who isn't my mom and wouldn't freak out," she offered. I wanted to ask, but asking for help... especially help to attend to an amorphous, "Am I just paranoid?" symptom...

Yesterday at work, I spoke with someone who also has intimate experience with things like this. She said, it’s not paranoid. It’s not hypochondriac. We have reasons, and good ones. She said she gets alarmed too. And so, what do we do? We get things checked out.

I was trying to play it cool. Sure, I’ve just been really tired; it’s normal, you’ve seen my lists of activities. It’s nuhhh-thing. And MAYBE IT IS. But you know how I tongue the other side of "maybe."

So, I went to get labs drawn yesterday afternoon. My blood is all normal. Leukemia Negative.

But, this lump. I noticed a few days ago.

Is this too much information? Is this too soon to tell you anything? Is this just me mental-masturbating onto the page to diffuse some of my worry by spewing it onto you?

Maybe.

The same friend who will accompany me today once said, “Don’t Worry Twice.” It’s the best advice I’ve ever been given, and a thousand miles toward following it.

But, I remember it. I try to do that.

I’m as worried as the situation warrants. Which is, hmm, this is suspicious. I am not a doctor, I should get this checked out. The end. It’s why I got my blood tested finally; and glad that I did. It’s why I’ll see a doctor today, who may really seriously in fact tell me, this is just a really bad zit under your skin, Moll. Use some ProActive and get on with your life.

The thought that occurred to me this morning, waking up and deciding to get this zit-in-sheep's-clothing checked out, was “Rule 62.” Don’t Take Yourself So Damned Seriously.

A thousand thoughts go through one’s head when….

No.

One thought went through my head when, yesterday morning, I wrote my blog to you, got ready for work, and broke down crying in my closet. I’m so tired of being brave.

The thought that follows that is: I won’t go through this again.

The thought that follows that is: Of course I will.

Because tired of it or not, bone-weary or not, to gain a year of hell, perhaps five years of health, perhaps one perhaps twenty, I would do it.

I hate that I would. I hate that I love this all so much. I hate that I have such a burning, singeing ambition to do more. I hate that I want to have my own life story to hand to someone to type. To have someone record and note my life, my legacy, my experience of living a full and long life.

I hate that I love myself and most especially you and all of this so damned fucking much, that I would do whatever it took to stay.

And then, of course, I don’t take myself so damned seriously, I eat my daily eggs, and I don’t worry twice.

Dear Blog-Reading Community & The Inside of Molly’s Head,

Don’t freak out. 

Reach out. Follow up. And get back to the business of being awesome. No.Matter.What.

P.S. It is a nice change from the 25 y.o.- should I/shouldn't I argument. So there's that. #SilverLining