Hell in the Hallway

I’ve heard it said that when God closes one door, He always opens another; but it’s hell in the hallway.

I’m in a hallway. A waiting room between finding something inside my body that does not belong, and finding answers. My doctor’s are working on a referral, the referral is working on insurance approval, and I am stuck waiting.

I don’t wait well.

I worry.

I google.

That makes me worry more.

Obsessive/compulsive types who are prone to worry — aka, people like me — should not be allowed to Google. Seriously. There are nasty things on google. Things that talk about survival rates, and stages, and symptoms and …

Oh how I hate the hallway.

This was Jeff’s first Easter without his Mom — he misses her and I worry that I ruined Easter for everyone by going to the hospital.

He had no one to call. And I worry about him.

I’ve decided it’s just a fibroid. A very big fibroid. And I’ve decided that since my white blood count was good, I must be right. Still. I have something that does not belong and I want it to go away.

So, since I have this thing growing inside of me, I decided to name it.

That only seems right. I named it Fred.

Jeff doesn’t like the name Fred and suggested we name it Georgetta.

Should I be worried about that? Laughter.

I told him I was thinking about making a sock puppet named Georgetta.

He didn’t laugh.

Now it’s HIS turn to worry about my coping skills.

I’m coping just fine. I just like it when he raises his right eyebrow up really high and rubs his beard.

THAT is funny!

I hate the hallway.

What do you guys do in the hallway? How do you keep from worrying when you can’t control the situation?