However, I have to say that the week of terror leading up to this repeat testing shook me to my very soul. I was in a state of blind panic, and my vivid imagination had me trying to figure out who would make a good mother figure in my children's lives once I was dead of cancer. seriously. By the time I was getting the testing done, I was physically shaking. It was humbling. I thought I was made of stronger stuff than that. It was a relief to know it was all okay, at least for another year. The better part was telling the friends who were sending me good vibes, and hearing their genuine relief.
On an unrelated yet related note, a 13 year old boy from a nearby suburb died after a soccer game this weekend. He asked to leave the game feeling bad, and collapsed. He was taken to a hospital, transferred to a bigger one, and died of heart failure. My daughter played in this tournament over the weekend. We were there. We didn't know about it or have any indication of this--even at the Sunday game after it happened. I remember seeing the flags at half mast and wondering why.
We all know that we're hanging by a thread. It's up there, over our heads, invisible. I know it's there, but most of the time I forget about it. It just hangs there unseen and forgotten. Over the past two weeks, I have seen that thread. I've held it in my hand. It's red. I hate that.
