What Happens When You Tell God Your Plans?

Today was...interesting to say the least. Let's start with the fact I arrived almost 10 minutes earlier than the allotted 30-minute time frame they gave me to be there. I'm not one for being late. CPT is not in the DNA. CPT?! In the black people's community, it is the term we use to refer to those of us who don't ever watch or adhere to a clock. The acronym has a certain meaning but since this is an equal-opportunity blog...I'll keep that to myself. You've probably already heard of it. If you don't know and you want to...guess you'll have to email me.

Anyway...I get to the office to check in and I'm forced to sign a No-Show Policy agreement, which states that if I don't call or "no show" 3 times to let them know I won't be making said appointment they reserve the right to discard me as a patient. Okay. I'll come back to that because I have some choice words about that. So they called me back and I met the medical assistant. Nice lady. Very Pinocchio. What I mean is she's nosey. She was enamored with my jewelry and had to know where I got it from. I told her and I also informed her that I don't like to tell people about where I get my jewelry for the simple fact I don't want to see anyone else with it on. She laughed. I laughed. She thought I was joking. I know that I wasn't but let her believe so. She asked me what I did for a living. I told her I work in the lab over at Uck Muck. Again...she didn't understand. U. C. M. C. The dawning of realization. She laughed again.

She said, "The lab? Oh, I bet you see alot of our stuff from over here."

I replied, "Sure do."

"Which department?"

"I'm a Molecular Microbiologist over at UC."

She looked at me with wide eyes and mouth wide open. I assume it was open because she was wearing a mask. "You said about 9 different words. in that sentence."

Again, laughter from me. "Every time I tell someone what I do, that's the response I get. I didn't say 9 words but there are a lot of syllables."

"Maybe it is how you rattled it off."

"I suppose. I just find it odd. If someone says they're a doctor, 'oh that's cool'. If someone says, 'I'm a lawyer.' That's cool. It's just interesting to me I guess." Really I don't guess. I've found that when people encounter an occupation that isn't part of the normal jobs among the hospital fields, it's different so they act like it's brand new when really it isn't. It doesn't bother me. It's just part of human nature.

So eventually she left to allow the Nurse Practitioner to come in. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Still waiting. I think I sat in that room almost 30 minutes after the said 11 o'clock appointment. Which brings me back to the "No Show" policy. Since I had to sign that damn thing...they need to have one for their ass when they "No Show" for their appointment time. Why do I need to acknowledge I'm gonna be late or not present but I had to wait 30 damn minutes on her ass to come through the door? I almost fell asleep waiting on her ass. I digress.

So she finally comes in and she tells me the next steps. Which explains the type of tumor it is. Why it is called that. Explains the Triple-negative. The best course of action. I'm stage 2b. Mainly because of the tumor size. It hasn't spread beyond the mass so there's comfort in that and the rate of recovery is high. They tell me I'm looking at 4 to 6 months of chemotherapy in which case I will lose my hair. She said that several times. I'm like look lady you obviously don't know me. I will cut this mess off my head in a Nashville hot chicken ass minute. That's no concern of mine. I need to know the other side effects. She then went on to say after those months of treatment that I will undergo surgery which is either a Lumpectomy with radiation treatment afterwards or Mastectomy. I told her the Mastectomy. Take the titty. Don't need it. I'm not using it right now. Also give me a reason to get a new tattoo. She kept trying to tell me that the odds (which I said Never tell me the odds...she didn't get it. SMH) are similar either route. Okay. Take the damn titty. I don't need it. I ain't having no babies. I don't need to breastfeed. Other than some very adult activities, the breast isn't being used. Just remove the sumbitch and keep it moving. Afterwards, I had some genetic testing to see if I had the BRCA-2 gene and another gene predisposition for Colorectal Cancer which my dad died from 5 years ago. Then she sent me for an MRI to make sure the tumor isn't in the lymph nodes. Then I raced to get home to let the dogs out WOOF! WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!!!!

So now that the comic relief has been made let me just tell you, I am scared. I'm not ready for this. I'm trying to be as positive as I can for everyone around me, but I am a nervous wreck. Who is ever ready to take on the gigantic enormity called cancer? I'm not throwing in the towel. I'm just saying how does one prepare for the fight of her life? This is what I am about to do. I am about to fight for my life. I am about take on the biggest giant. This is my Goliath. As I type this all I can hear in my head...

I got a Sling...I got a Stone...I got an army. I got a God greater than all We're a majority. I got a hope I got a call I got someone to be...Devil you lose, I know the truth. Get Behind Me!!!

Those of you who know that...yeah a lot of music runs through my head like that. It's times like this that He will encourage me when I start to feel down. It's frustrating when you want to just wallow in self-pity, but God won't let me. God is like that parent that wakes you up on the weekend when you wanna sleep in. It's annoying but you appreciate it because at least you have someone on your side.

My plan is to fight with God... Hope his plans align with mine.