At times, I don’t recognize myself. Not physically—the face staring back in the mirror is mine—but emotionally. I feel like a bullheaded donkey, pulling back, hooves dug in, refusing to budge. Nothing and no one can make me happy, and I feel pitiful. There’s a heavy swirl of drama all around me, and it feels impossible to escape.
So I do what any good parent does with an overstimulated child: I take myself into time out. Under the covers, with the space heater smoothing out the chill, I disconnect from socializing and spend quiet time alone with my thoughts.
One concern I’ve repeatedly ignored is a sore-ish, possible lump near the lymph node on the right side of my throat. I’ve been very good at dismissing it, but now I’m taking a stand and prioritizing getting it checked. I’m scared they won’t find anything and I’ll have wasted money—or, worse, that it could be something serious.
I’m in the middle of contacting an ENT clinic and figuring out the potential out-of-pocket costs. Even though I’m still in the unknown, feeling out of control and terrified, I’m going to do it. This step is non-negotiable—I want to get myself out of this terrorized purgatory.
Lastly, I loved my evening. Eleven members of my family and myself trekked, like the good northwesterners we are, through the wind and the pouring rain to see the light displays at the Woodland Park Zoo. All I can say is, it was an incredible evening.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 