It's relatively easy to get a mammogram--especially if you have a family history of breast cancer and you are over 40. It's definitely not painless, but it's a short-lived discomfort (if you don't mind strange women doing things to your breasts that shouldn't be done to anyone but a masochist).
However, it's not easy to get the call (and it's always a neutral call--no details) asking you to come in for a follow up.
Despite the paperwork about percentage of false positives (and where did I put that??), it's more natural to panic about a positive positive.
And a hot shower didn't calm me down.
I'm trying not to be cynical, but why couldn't they tell me I had to come in right now because the radiologist has to be present and s/he is here. Instead, I have a week to worry about it.
There will be no sleep for me tonight--unless I somehow manage to forget The Call by bedtime.
Breathe, just breathe.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Underacheiver
I am an underachieving mother. I know this about me and the more I hear about other mothers, the more I know it's true.
First of all, I only have one child. When friends of mine have 2 or 3 or MORE, I know I'm an underachiever (or is that underproducer? Either way...).
When I listen to the elaborate parties some mothers throw for their children: tea parties, scavenger hunts, art, etc.--or all of the above (one friend is throwing a dance party/tie-dye/scavenger hunt for her 8 yr old)--I know I'm not even in the running.
For my daughter's sixth birthday, I said, "Play outside, the sun is shining," and went inside before the other moms had even left. Ooops!
I went back outside, watched the moms leave, then I went inside. Screaming, chasing, running--it was all good--and unplanned by me.
Goodie bags? The bane of my existence--getting them or giving them. Junk and more junk. My daughter was determined to give out goodie bags. We bought plain white lunch bags, which she decorated. Then, she gave each child a different colored sharpie and a bag full of smarties. Everyone got a balloon. Yay. But still...
I thought when I was pregnant I would create a quilt for my child so that s/he would have it forever. I never even bought a sewing machine.
When it came time to choose a preschool, I chose the one that we could walk to. Does it produce Harvard grads? I don't know and I don't care. Can kids read when they graduate? Again, I don't know and I don't care--it's preschool! Do the kids sit quietly in rows and practice their letters? I hope not!
Was she happy there? Yes. That makes me happy. I know I chose the right place.
I would love to be crafty--the best I can do is put holes in an old sock and call it a doll's dress.
My daughter has taken gymnastics for a year and still can't do a cartwheel. It's okay, she's having fun.
She was done with ice skating lessons after one session.
I'm not a pushy mom, but I know I'm the lap she wants to be in when she feels bad and I'm the one to read stories at night. That's what I need to be.
Is she the fastest, smartest, anything-est girl in the neighborhood? Maybe the happiest and that's what matters.
First of all, I only have one child. When friends of mine have 2 or 3 or MORE, I know I'm an underachiever (or is that underproducer? Either way...).
When I listen to the elaborate parties some mothers throw for their children: tea parties, scavenger hunts, art, etc.--or all of the above (one friend is throwing a dance party/tie-dye/scavenger hunt for her 8 yr old)--I know I'm not even in the running.
For my daughter's sixth birthday, I said, "Play outside, the sun is shining," and went inside before the other moms had even left. Ooops!
I went back outside, watched the moms leave, then I went inside. Screaming, chasing, running--it was all good--and unplanned by me.
Goodie bags? The bane of my existence--getting them or giving them. Junk and more junk. My daughter was determined to give out goodie bags. We bought plain white lunch bags, which she decorated. Then, she gave each child a different colored sharpie and a bag full of smarties. Everyone got a balloon. Yay. But still...
I thought when I was pregnant I would create a quilt for my child so that s/he would have it forever. I never even bought a sewing machine.
When it came time to choose a preschool, I chose the one that we could walk to. Does it produce Harvard grads? I don't know and I don't care. Can kids read when they graduate? Again, I don't know and I don't care--it's preschool! Do the kids sit quietly in rows and practice their letters? I hope not!
Was she happy there? Yes. That makes me happy. I know I chose the right place.
I would love to be crafty--the best I can do is put holes in an old sock and call it a doll's dress.
My daughter has taken gymnastics for a year and still can't do a cartwheel. It's okay, she's having fun.
She was done with ice skating lessons after one session.
I'm not a pushy mom, but I know I'm the lap she wants to be in when she feels bad and I'm the one to read stories at night. That's what I need to be.
Is she the fastest, smartest, anything-est girl in the neighborhood? Maybe the happiest and that's what matters.
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