I hate the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I was a naughty kid, I dreaded my dad uttering those terrible words “Just wait until your mother gets home.” Waiting is the worst, especially when you know that what is waiting for you is BAD.
I am currently in a nasty waiting game. My heart has been all jumpy, and stoppy, and generally not good. My little ticker is doing some sort of rhumba that makes me sweat profusely at the drop of a hat, makes my left arm simultaneously achy and prickly with pins and needles, and causes me to be tired almost all of the time. Not to mention the whole inconvenience of constantly dropping stuff because I lose feeling in my left hand.
As much as I don’t like it As much as it scares me, I made the dreaded call to my cardiologist. I hate the fact that I’m 32 and have had a cardiologist for many years now. I hate that when I called, the receptionist knew exactly who I am. I hate that I had to tell my principal about what’s going on because I don’t like being weak. I hate that when I fill out my emergency card every year, I practically write a book under “in case of emergency”. But most of all I hate waiting.
My appointment is Wednesday afternoon. Questions swim in my head. What’s wrong this time? How many EKG’s will I have to do? Will I have to wear a monitor to school? Will I have to carry one in my purse? What does this mean for bike riding? And the worst one yet: Will I need surgery again?
I know the Bible tells me to be anxious for nothing. And I’m trying. I really am. But if I’m being straight with God and myself, I’m anxious. If I strip it bare, I’m afraid. Really afraid. I’m waiting for Wednesday and right now Wednesday feels very far away.