It was not until recently that I realized how impatient I have become. I'm not alone; as a society, a country, a world, we are all impatient now. When my Mom was still herself, she told me that she didn't really care for the Internet. She thought it was making the world impatient because with the click of a mouse, you could access anything you wanted on the computer.
I think she was right.
I spent two weeks fretting, stewing, and wondering about my test results. The doctor - a lovely young woman to be sure - had promised to call as soon as the results were in, even though she told TW & I she doesn't like to deliver "that kind of news" over the phone.
I told her that I don't like waiting to hear "that kind of news" any longer than necessary. And then I pointed out to her that until you have had to wait for "that kind of news" - good or bad - you don't really understand that particular circle of Hell that you occupy while in limbo. While waiting.
As I said above, my gynecologist is a lovely young woman. She is young enough that I could - had I parented a child directly out of high school - been her mother. I find it a bit disconcerting. It makes me feel a bit like an old codger who croaks out "When I was your age, missy..." No, I haven't said that to her yet, but I did have to explain to her (and her 20-something nurse) about how sanitary napkins used to be very thick, bulky, and leaky and there was no handy-dandy adhesive (safety pins were the rule of the day) and "wings" were but a dream.
She is very nice, and sweet, and her baby is adorable. She is fascinated by the fact that I went through menopause so early - just *months* after having Twinks - and she readily admits that although she had been out of med school for a while, she is still learning about, and from her patients. I like that, because she is honest about what she knows and what she doesn't. She will readily tell you how many of any procedure she has performed, how many babies she has delivered, and where she goes shopping.
Finally, the call. She blurted out "I think it's OK - it looks like we got it all!" and then laughed, and said "I guess I should have said "Hello!" first, hmm?"
I told her that her greeting was fine with me. We talked a bit about further logistics; I still have to get "papped" every six months or so, and I have to go back for a check-up to make sure that the site is healing OK. It is something I will have to watch for the rest of my life, but I don't care.
I wanted to get those bad cells OUT OF ME. I needed to get ahead of this - before it became cancer, because the memories of my Dad's death, even 19 years later, haunt me. I know that cervical cancer is all different from the form of cancer that Daddy had, but word cancer still sends a chill through me that I can't begin to describe.
But for now, the waiting is over. The news is good, for now. And that is what matters, for now.