I yawned, and stretched, and for some reason I reached over and rubbed my chest, because my fingers are like magnets for any new lump, bump, bumple, pimple, or general ugliness.
But...I felt something...
And IMMEDIATELY lost my appetite.
I'm a smart girl. I made an appointment first thing on Monday. I was super lucky: I saw my doctor that same day. She said it didn't feel like anything 'bad.' But just to be on the safe side I went for an ultrasound on Tuesday.
Nobody was very friendly there, even though they were women. I thought, sheesh--the technician has a pair of boobs, can't she be a little less crusty? She didn't have anything to say, neither good, nor bad. So, I went home.
And then I tried not to panic.
And sometimes I felt like there was NOTHING to worry about.
And sometimes I did not feel that way at all.
The end of the week came, and I decided I felt FINE. I was FINE. I felt happy and healthy and good. It was Friday. The Thanksgiving long weekend was about to begin. Why should I phone for results and potentially RUIN it? If there was a problem, I'd deal with it on TUESDAY, and enjoy a fun-filled, care-free weekend.
But that plan totally backfired by SATURDAY.
The Man wasn't worried, but he did say I should have just called. So, first thing on Tuesday, that is what I did. Damn, I was nervous, but I steeled myself. After all. I am a WOMAN, right? I'm STRONG, right? DEEP BREATH WHILE THEY FIND YOUR REPORT AND....
Oh, sweet relief.