Last Friday, in addition to the Yearly Squeeze, I had yet another appointment to have some other tests run. For some pretty scary stuff. Stuff that I’ve been dealing with for nine years, now, but suddenly is interesting enough to examine further because you know what? It could be something really, really bad. Or maybe not. And I’ve been waiting all week for the specialist to call me with the results.
Wouldn’t you know that the unknown call I just let go to voicemail was him, calling me after hours to “talk about my test results.” And now I can’t reach him until Monday, unless a minor miracle occurs and he checks his voicemail over the weekend and hears the panic in my message and returns my call.
I don’t want to be dramatic before I have a reason to be – but my inner voice of doom and gloom predicts that this does not bode well. I’m no stranger to waiting for test results, but this is the first time that I’ve ever gotten a call back from the actual physician and not an assistant. Every one of those times, the call has been to tell me “everything is normal.”
At the very least, I do know that my chances of having a relaxing weekend have kinda been shot down.