Tomorrow is biopsy day.
It's more than very doubtful that I'll find out any info...but I'm still a nervous wreck. I suffer from anxiety attacks, albeit infrequently now, but medical procedures are practically a guaranteed trigger. I've got my trusty Xanax for the event, but in the meantime I'm on edge.
Which brings me to the strange post title.
See, when DH and I were going thru infertility there were lots of medical tests and procedures on the course of that journey that, if I described them to you, would sound like sadistic torture methods designed by an evil, and misogynistic, enemy dictator.
Perhaps I'm weird, but sometimes when on the verge of tears all it takes is a nice gesture, like a sympathetic look or the squeeze of my hand, and that sends me completely over the edge into uncontrollable crying.
On one of our many long drives to NYC for a torture session, er, I mean fertility doc appt, DH was being very sweet to me, trying to offer comfort and make me feel better. I was on the edge, ready to burst into tears any second, and so I screamed at him, "Stop being so damn nice to me, will ya!" To which, my mild mannered and gentle-hearted husband replied, without missing a single beat,
I turned to look at him, hardly believing my ears, and he was grinning at me with a twinkle in his eye. I burst out laughing. It was just what I needed.
Since then, whenever I've had to face something big and anxiety provoking that joke has become our private way of being supportive, a loving shorthand.
So, my blogger friends, I need all the help I can get now. Call me Bitch for luck, okay?
PS: I may not post again until Friday...but I will certainly post if I find something out before then, rest assured. Allegedly the results will be available by sometime on Monday at the latest.