Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

It was Fourth of July week, the unofficial mid point of summer, and the time of the year the company I work for chooses to shut down.  It was a double treat for me, however, because I had already put in my week long vacation request for the end of the month.  I usually took the third week of August, but wanted to help with the party we were planning for the last Saturday in July.  Plus, my husband had a big show coming up the week before the party, so it was all hands on deck as we joyfully prepared for the fun times.

I had planned to take care of the medical things during the first part of the week and enjoy the hot summer days by the lake, reveling in some down time, basking in the peace and quiet before the parties began and guests started arriving.  Like most mothers, I was long overdue for the things women do for themselves when they take care of themselves; I had difficulty putting myself first, and it still felt foreign to be scheduling all these appointments in the ‘to do’ section of my day planner.   
I had always planned to do things tomorrow, but tomorrow always got moved.  Perhaps I had hoped it would never come.  
Amongst the entries for bone density tests, blood checks for cholesterol scores, mammograms and dentist was the notation of a plastic surgeon.   I was looking forward to visiting the doctor who would be repairing a torn ear lobe, the result of an injury caused by a 3 year old and long dangly pierced earrings eons earlier.  The ear had finally torn through, sliced clean and neat, not noticeable if bare and unadorned, but unable to sustain the heavy metal backing.  I felt naked and was anxious to get things back to normal.
 
The bone density test came back normal. I was aging, of course, but still calcium strong, intensified by the will to sustain it.  So too, was the cholesterol scores, and I took pride that I had lost some weight, fortified by a carbohydrate-less diet and much more physical activity.  I felt great. 
 
Yoga exercise had become part of my routine at the completion of menopause, and I dashed to my car when finished so as not to be late for an appointment.  My cell phone rang loudly in my purse.     
 
“Your test can back inconclusive”  I heard the young doctor whisper in my ear as I absentmindedly weaved in and out of traffic.  I wasn’t really paying attention because I was always healthy, and never expected the results of any test to be anything but positive.
 
“Inconclusive” I asked non chalant.  “What does that mean, exactly?”
 
“It means that you have to come back.
 
There’s something there and we need to take another look.”
 
Another look.
 
It was then the reality of what she was saying to me began to make sense.
 

My breast.  There was something in my breast they needed to look at.   I had to go back.   I never had to go back before. 

I told no one.   Not my mother, not my children, not my husband.
 
Especially not my husband.
 
My appointment was scheduled as I listened to the traffic speed by, sitting in my car on the side of the road, wondering what to do next.
 
So I prayed.
 

My appointment was scheduled for the first Monday in August, nearly a month away. 

It was going to be a long summer.

I can do everything through him who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13)