I Shouldn’t Have Told Him
I decided that I shouldn’t keep the fact that I was getting a biopsy on my breast from my husband. He grilled me about my mammogram appointment and I didn’t want to lie, so I down-played my description of the appointment as much as possible and told him that it was just procedure, that the mass was probably nothing. He stared at me blankly for a second. Then he set his jaw and was grimly silent for about 20 minutes (the calm before the storm). It wasn’t long before he started banging away furiously on his computer; this is always a bad sign. Like most neurotic, obsessive-compulsive hypochondriacs, the Internet has become a feeding source for Michael’s never-ending quest for finding doomed information regarding disease. When he finally emerged from the office, he was sufficiently upset.
He made me give a play-by-play of my appointment over and over. If I left something out, he would detect it like an attorney with a lying witness on the stand. He would then ask me to “think about it carefully” and repeat the same question again. Finally, realizing there was nothing he could do at this point, he provided me a list of questions to ask the doctor when I returned for the biopsy. I could almost see him going out of his mind.
Michael was pacing the floor and, literally, tugging at his hair. Meanwhile, at this point, it could be absolutely nothing! What I have to put up with…
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