Tuesday, July 6, 2010

::we should get our own waiting room::

I went in this morning for blood work.  It was a ho-hum appointment, for the most part.  The lab tech gave me the list of tests they were running, and it sounded about as vague and code-like as anything I've ever heard.  And then she said oh, yeah, and the CA5T122SGASAG, that one can take several days to come back, you know?  Umm....yeah. Sure.  I love it when medical professionals treat me like a colleague.  :-P
(Okay, so I made up that string of numbers and letters but it was something like that!)

What I find really hard about having all these appointments so close together is that each time I am inevitably seated in a waiting room with a plethora of the types of women I try to avoid.  You know, pregnant ones.   It's like a pregnant woman watering hole.  And of course, if you're pregnant--especially in the later months--you have to come in for a lot of check-ups, so I totally get the reason for the room full of preggos, but I am not exaggerating when I say that except for me and two elderly ladies, every other woman in that waiting room was pregnant.  Visibly pregnant.  There were at least a dozen.  Infertiles should get their own waiting room, don't you think?  ;-)

When I was settling up with one of the receptionists (who had stepped out to figure out how much I owed them for the blood-letting today), I could hear another woman in the cubicle next to me as she gave her information.  That receptionist's voice carried (which is, I'm sure, a HIPPA violation) and I heard her: Okay, you're a new OB patient.  Where do you plan to deliver?  This hospital?  Okay, great.  Now, do you have a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting?  No, well wait a sec and I'll just grab you a copy....
I could hear the mother-to-be's excited replies.  I looked down at the cotton ball taped to the inside of my arm to see the proof that they are trying to rule out cancer, and felt depressed.   I swallowed the huge lump in my throat, blinked away the burning sensation in my eyes, and sat up straighter.  I will not cry.  I will not cry.  I will not cry. 

Later, as I sipped a Venti Caramel Macchiato (because, nothing says comfort like an enormous cup of coffee mixed with sugar!) and drove around running some errands, the feeling of despair ebbed.  I did what my pastor-husband often encourages our church family to do:  I preached the Gospel to myself.  Because, all joking aside, nothing comforts us like the Truth.  If the tests come back and I have cancer, or the tests come back and show that my ovary needs to come out thus permanently robbing me of what little fertility I have left, the Truth is that I am free.  I have been redeemed by Jesus Christ, bought with a price, rescued from my sin and my former master, the evil one.  God blessed me a million times over when He adopted me as His daughter.  With that knowledge, I feel that I can face this unknown path and walk steadily.  I do not walk it alone. 

I am still praying for complete healing and also pregnancy, so I covet your prayers for those things.  I want to get a call from the doctor's office saying that my blood tests showed there was nothing wrong with me and that when they repeat the ultrasound, they find no tumor.  That perhaps, they would find life instead.  And until I hear something different, that is how I am praying.  If the outcome is different, then I know the Lord will give me grace enough for that. 

It will be a week or so before I know any of the results from my tests.  The next step will be determined by those results.
Thank you for your prayers.

-glenna-

3 comments:

erin said...

Sending hugs your way. I am praying.

andreajennine said...

Oh, I remember those waiting room feelings. Thanks for setting an example of preaching the gospel to yourself.

sarah said...

i truly love william's suggestion to 'preach the gospel' to yourself. i think i will start trying that when i feel overwhelmed by satan's lies and the realities around me.

i am praying daily for you, glenna. and believing for your healing.