Maybe not so brave

I thought that having Monster in my life had made me brave. And in many little ways, it has.

But then I get this mole,

and I am falling apart.

I need to have it surgically removed. It's huge. I tried to ignore it for 6 months, hoping it would simply disappear.

But then the other day I caught a glimpse of it (it's at the top on the back of my thigh) and thought, wow, I really think that maybe this is something that needs checking.



I hate going to the doctor. Doctors have been mean to me in the past and they scare me. And this has NOT changed since Monster entered my life. Sure, I can talk to any doctor about my son, request anything, no matter how rude or bitchy or stupid the doctor thinks I am.

But for myself? Not at all.

So driving home from the doctor's office I start thinking, I can't die. And of course if I had been a truly devoted mother it would have been because I need to keep helping Monster, need to keep fighting for him.

But the truth of it is, I am scared of dying because I want more time with my son. I want to hug him more and hold him more and let him fall asleep next to me and I want to look up from whatever I am doing and be awestruck by the beauty of this child who came out of me and I want to hear the sweet chirrup of his voice and I want to laugh at his incredible sense of humor.

I don't want to leave yet. For all the most selfish reasons.

Of course, I'm worrying before I even know anything. But that is nothing new.