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Scared Shitless

So, I have this tumor.

(How’s that for an opening line to a blog post?)

I have a tumor.

Wow. Well, you know me! I’ve never been one for beating around the bush or sugar-coating stuff… I’m more of a “hold the bullshit” type of gal. (Wink, wink.)

“It is not a tumor!” She says in her best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.

And how badly do I wish it wasn’t right about now? A tumor, a nodule, a lump…whatever you want to call it. How badly do I wish it wasn’t in my stomach? Really. Fucking. Bad. (But it is.)

And how do I know, you ask? Well, the doctor said so! She found it a couple of weeks ago during a routine endoscopy so I’m going to believe her. But boy do I wish she were wrong. But alas, she’s not. She is an incredible physician and not only did she find it but she found it early. So early that it’s most likely nothing. Or if it is “something,” it’s treatable.

It’s small and it’s early…so I’m praying it is absolutely nothing.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared shitless.

I’d be lying if I said my head wasn’t filled with horrible thoughts. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t spend hours on Google researching gastric cancers. And I’d surely be full of total shit if I said I didn’t get a script for Xanax to help me fall asleep at night so I could stop the overwhelming anxiety. I am a mess. I can’t think straight sitting here and wondering why? I mean did I eat something that caused this or drink too much Sweet-n-Low? (Omg. It’s the fucking Sweet-n-Low!) I mean, what the hell causes gastrointestinal submucosal tumors in the stomach lining of seemingly healthy 46-year-old females? Nada. It’s not my fault. It’s not something I ate or didn’t eat. It’s not because I don’t work out or got a tummy tuck either. Ha.

Cancer is just a fucking rotten no good mother-fucker.

And if I have it and it ruins my time with my boys, I will kick its fucking ass. Literally and figuratively. If my biopsy comes back positive and I have cancer, I will LOSE MY SHIT. I will not die at 46 from a tumor in my stomach. Not now. Not when my boys need me and I have so much life left on this planet. I will not let it happen.

I can’t see what I’m typing.

Of course, I’m crying. I’m a crier. But I can’t help it… I am scared shitless. And I’m not writing this for sympathy or numbers or to get attention…so please save it.

I’m writing this for myself like I always have since the very first time I ever pushed “publish” on The Truth Hurvitz way back four years ago. This one is for me because I am angry and scared and upset and this is my place to vent. I have no family here to go to–only a small group of friends to reach out to. Thank goddess I have a supportive ex-husband and one of the most reliable, most loving boyfriends a woman could ever ask for. I am lucky and unlucky, I guess.

Lucky I have Jim, Mark and the boys….unlucky I have this weirdo tumor in my stomach. (I mean, who the hell gets a flippin’ tumor in the lining of their stomach?)

I swear, I can’t make this shit up. I think I’ll rewrite the TV pilot and add this to it. Man, my life is made for the silver screen.

Send some good juju my way, will ya? 😉

Xo j

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