Never Pray for Patience

Last week, you may recall, I had a mole removed. They said they would mail me the pathology report, or call me if there was a concern. Well, this morning they called. Of course I missed the call because I have a billion (four) kids. Later I noticed I had a missed call and a voicemail from a number I did not recognize. The voicemail was from the nurse and I could hear in her message that she was trying desperately to be strong as she delivered terrible news to this young mother of four. With a voice quivering and heavy with grief she said she had my pathology results and would I please give her a call back. The firefighter did not hear the message, but I imagine if he had, he would lie and say she sounded completely normal.

With numb fingers I dialed the number and trembled as I waited for an answer. I told the receptionist I was returning a call to find out the results of a mole I had removed last week and gave her my name. She responded with great knowing and concern, “So, are you a patient here or..?” Eventually she agreed to have the nurse call me back.

So I sat and stared at my phone for about 15 minutes, willing it to ring. It didn’t. But reality rang in all over the place. Two diapers overflowed with poop simultaneously. As I was washing the poop and butt paste (it is the name of the product, I am not being tacky) from my anxiety riddled hands, willing myself to soak up each and every precious, poop filled moment, the water pressure began to dwindle. Then trickle. Then the water turned reddish brown.

What the old testament-type hell was happening?

I shut off the dishwasher and washing machine and called the firefighter and let him know that I still didn’t know how much time I had left and that our once Running Water had become Trickling Mud. He made me stop wallowing in my impending doom and go look in the file cabinet for the homeowner insurance company’s phone number. I called and let them know that everything was falling apart. The woman put a rush on our order and told me someone who specializes in repairing wells should call me within the next couple of days. I thanked her as I wrote out her name and our claim number on my rough draft bucket list. 

Finally I got the call from the derm’s office and the nurse told me that it is Dysplastic Nevus, which is a mole that has abnormal cells. It has the potential to become cancer and it’s presence and my family history mean an increased chance of developing melanoma. I will have surgery again in a couple of weeks to remove a larger area because the margins of abnormal growth in the first extraction were not clear. I will also get a thorough exam and go from there. So, not cancer. Whew!

Next, I went out to the backyard to holler to the kiddos that they better not get too dirty, because it may be a few days before their next bath and I noticed that there was a lot of standing water to wade through before I could get their attention. I checked the outdoor faucets and they were both off.

I called the firefighter again and we decided we must have a broken pipe. He said he would dig up the yard when he gets home and the well people probably won’t be able to help. My mind started wandering as I wondered how long before we would have water again. I imagined all six of us showering in the pivot (1/2 mile long, giant sprinkler, to all you city-folk) in the middle of the night, and buying out all of Costco’s bottled water.

I brought the kiddos in and explained to them The Plan. The Plan was no washing hands or flushing toilets. My little boys eyes danced with glee and they started grinning and wiggling, which caused Amelia to squeal with delight until Eva barfed all over herself and me in an effort to remind all of us of the seriousness of the situation. As I used baby wipes to clean the puke off of us, i taught the kiddos how to use a wipe when they needed to wash their hands and to follow with hand sanitizer. I am a closet doomsday prepper very rational type human, so I have plenty of wipes and hand sanitizer. 

While we ate lunch, I gazed fondly at each of my children. Awed by their beautiful eyes, enamored by each dimple. I listened  to their conversation and lilting laughter and was immediately thankful for the fear and unknowing from the morning, because it gave me the opportunity to recognize that I should daily pause and imprint these silly moments spent with my young children in my mind, etch them in my heart… then the boys casually mentioned that when they went outside they noticed one of the faucets running so they turned it off and ran off to catch lizards.

Wait. Wut?😒

All the facing-my-mortality-affection for them started to drain. 

“Um, darling children of mine, what are you saying? Was the water just dripping or was it pouring?”

“Oh yeah, it was pouring all right. Dumping water everywhere. Did you see how much water was in front of the porch?? I bet it was running all night!”

So, I called the firefighter, again. Then I canceled with the well guy. Called off the insurance company. Put all my hand sanitizer back with the canned goods, propane and heavy artillery in storage.  All the water is running properly once again. I don’t have cancer and I will never pray for patience again.


4 thoughts on “Never Pray for Patience

  1. Omg. Only you can make me laugh over a situation lake that! The closing line- lol. I’m so glad it all turned out all right!!!

  2. Hey lady! You disappeared from FB where I (kindly) stalked you so I had to come check in. You’ve come to mind several times the last few weeks. I hope that all is well and know I miss the laughs you caused!

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