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Saturday, June 26, 2010

The Lump.

On Tuesday I first felt the lump. It was small, about the size of a cherry, and it did not cause me to pause, but, just to think, "um, that's interesting. On Wednesday, the lump had grown some. Again, just an "um." On Thursday, the lump had grown some more. Now, it was beginning to be uncomfortable, and I could tell that there was a lump in my groin, and it began to cause me concern. On Friday, the lump had grown to about the size of a golf ball, and I took a long soak in the tub, hot water, hoping that the size would reduce, that the discomfort would subside. I called Kaiser and made an appointment--took the first spot available, because all of the information on the websites says, "see your doctor." It's not ominous, but, I've read--and heard the tales of "catching it fast," and horror tales of not catching it fast enough--not being diligent enough, and worse. I called Joan. She's had breast cancer--and she knows the fear of "the lump." She was calming and reassuring. If it's bad, it would not grow that fast. It could be a lot of things (the websites offered 38 possibilities.) I will go to the doctor, I will take some tests. I will not freak out. I have been through worse--but, that "worse" was when I was out of it--when I didn't experience the waiting, the fear, the unknown.
It is Saturday, the lump has grown to lemon size--I will soon run out of fruit size analogies, I expect. It is not painful, but, it is uncomfortable. I will not review the WebMD or Men's Health sites, I will go about my day--I will go on our little trip, I will wait....
and, I will be frightened--because faith does not necessarily preclude fear. I have faith that it will "turn out OK," but, I do not expect that the process will be a walk in the park.
The lump continues to grow, and writing about it helps--and I know that no one in my family has read this blog, or will read this blog--so, I will not set off alarms with my mother, who has just experienced the death of her older brother last week.
I do not go through this alone, of that I am certain. My brain hemorrhage forever imprinted on me that I will not experience some of life's worst parts--alone.
So, Lord, I'd rather not have this lump. I would like to be able to take a couple of pills and have it vanish, and call Joan, and Gabe, and Mark...and say, "it was just one of those things that happens to men my age." But, if it isn't, I'll have to adjust to a new way of thinking about the lump.

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