Of Boobs, Boys, and Life in General

I had an appointment yesterday with the boob-o-matic machine (follow up mammogram/sonogram). Everything is "stable," but I knew all along that nothing was wrong. The "mass" that was biopsied has been there since my 20s, and I had forgotten all about it. Also, it's nowhere near the milk ducts, which is typically where breast cancer begins. As you all probably know, I was more afraid of the procedure itself than the results.

I learned something interesting, though. The doctor that performed the biopsy inserted a "marker" where the sample was taken, so when they do x-rays, they can see exactly where the procedure was performed. It looks like a little tiny breast cancer ribbon! I feel like I've been microchipped; if I ever get lost, they can at least take me to the nearest boob doctor. Or Big Brother Boob is watching. Or something.

While I was waiting in the lobby for my films, I was reading the brief bio which hung beneath the portrait of Susan Cheek Needler, the woman for whom the breast cancer center is named. She died 10 years ago at age 52. It made me think that, had the cosmic coin toss come up "tails," I would be fighting cancer right now, rather than doing preventive maintenance. I could be going there for treatments instead of follow up "well care," calculating my life expectancy and wondering if I would see my 50th birthday. I still might not have the 40-50 years ahead of me that I think I do. I guess that's my long version of "life's too short."

While it wasn't the life-changing revelation that it might have been, it was still a good reality check. I've wasted too much time already on people and things that aren't worth it. I've given away too much rent-free space in my brain to things I can't change, and not enough to changing the things I can (oh, gawd, you know what THAT sounds like). I have, in fact, put just about everything on hold during the last two years while I've been searching for Mister Right. I wasn't looking for a "savior," I just had my priorities mixed up.

When I invented my little self-improvement project a week ago, I was on the right track. Since then, I've been drifting back into that powerless, hoping-he'll-change-his-mind, hoping-he'll-call waiting game, a sort of mental prison that's been keeping me from making any real progress. I've been reading all the right books, analyzing the situation ad nauseum, what he did wrong, what I did wrong, what was wrong in general. What I could do to try and get another chance at this. I had actively been scheming to try and contact J. in a month or so, after we'd both had a chance to cool off. I finally realized what a futile waste of my time and energy that would be.

So last night, I wrote a semi-sappy goodbye letter to J., and sent it (I was going to use a "message in a bottle" metaphor here, but thought it was too cheesy). I asked him to reply, if only to let me know he's read it. I've heard nothing. He may have me filtered out of his mailbox and may never even get it. But it was the only thing I could do to give myself a feeling of having some control over this situation. I had to let it go. I think I have, in the practical sense of literally moving on. Emotionally, I'm not so sure. All I can do is try, and trust that time will take care of this hurt, too.