Last week was a wake up call to my whining. In rehab they have this saying; "Get off the pity pot."
So, sans tooth; I will fill you in.
Every highlighted name is someone in my circle. My circle consists of 4 great friends and my family.
Yolanda (my sis in law) has to go back for a second mammography.
Barbara (aka Babs) has to have her breasts "needled" (I do not know the correct term for this procedure.) If liquid comes out of the lumps, that's good (a cyst). No liquid = biopsy.
Carol's (pic. of her and me in April archives) Mom has discovered spots on both lungs.
Donna (my truest love; mother of three with a dickhead husband whom she kicked out; friends 25 years) has been having these brain spasms and she had to wear a cap with electrodes for a full day after an unsuccessful EKG. No tentative diagnosis was determined. Script given for iron supplements and spasms continue.
I could put a colon and right hand parenthesis and make a sad face after each of these statements but that would belittle the situation. And here I am bitching and moaning about losing a tooth for a week. I absolutely love these women. They all are my age, and reality is kicking in.
I honestly do not fear death. The only thing I fear about it is not having enough coverage for my funeral and sticking the bill on someone.
That said. I fear for everyone else's health. I'm selfish that way.
I pray for these peoples positive outcomes and I get distracted too easily. I need the monastic environs of my rehab upstate. I pray on the train and get distracted. I pray in my bed (when I wake intermittently at 3 and 4 am) and get distracted from the white noise of the running t.v. in the background.
I just hope that God knows, these persons' outcomes are a gigantic heaviness on my heart.