A letter to the lung mass, on the night before its removal

Dear Lung Mass,

It’s late on the night before my surgery to eject you from my chest cavity. I have no idea why you decided to settle inside of me. And, while I’m really not a fan of your work, I want to thank you for a few things. Thank you for opting to lodge yourself onto my right lung rather than my left. They say that removal closer to the heart can be rather complicated. Thank you for opting to form yourself into a symmetrical ping pong ball and not screwing with my blood count so that we could all have confidence that you are benign. I hope also to thank you for actually being benign tomorrow. Well, if you are, I’m doing that now … in advance … and promise to do so on this date for the remainder of my life.

Oddly enough … if possible … you’ve brought my family closer together these last few weeks. Until recently, my husband and I (both stubborn, type-A pains in the ass) had a tendency to squabble over far too many petty little things. It’s exhausting … and it’s terrible for my kids. And, honestly, since you’ve arrived, that squabbling has nearly vanished. Please help us to remember that the important things in life are never things like what mirror to hang in the remodeled bathroom.

You’ve also brought me closer to my kids, my babies as I still call them when they’re not close enough to hear me. They are the two most incredible human beings I have ever met. And they have demonstrated to me these last few weeks that, despite their young ages, they are impressively responsible and sensitive human beings. I’m going to take some credit for that and, if I have to, share it with their dad and the rest of our two amazing families. With everything going on, I’ve seen and communicated with my parents, my brother, my husband’s family and even my extended family much more so than usual lately. It’s something I’ve always taken for granted and really shouldn’t. I love you guys.

You’ve also connected, reconnected and introduced me to some of the finest people I know, the people I call my friends. Everyone from my best friends from grade school, high school, college, former jobs, my children’s school and, well, the blogosphere (as we nerds call it) has been amazing. I had no idea how incredibly supportive the world could be. I am going into that surgery tomorrow feeling ten feet off the ground. Thank you to each and every one of you for everything you have said and done for me and I know will continue saying and doing both tomorrow and in the days to come. I will never forget this feeling. It’s literally like being carried. And no Xanax or anything like that could ever duplicate it.

Now before I forget, I do have some beefs with you, too. I am very pissed off that you have upset my kids. They both went to bed nervous tonight about my surgery tomorrow. And they’ve been on and off nervous and literally losing sleep the last two weeks. I will never forgive you for that. You have my husband and parents running around like crazy trying to help me get every task I deem important, no matter how ridiculous, done before tomorrow. You put off my whole ODNT project. You changed my Thanksgiving plans. And you have me missing things like my son’s basketball games, my daughter’s choir concert and the musical that is coming to town for which we already bought tickets. And you’re going to have me fairly useless for the next month or so. That might just drive me insane. For all these reasons, please forgive me if I say I will not miss you.

So, when you see that scalpel coming at you tomorrow, I would sincerely appreciate it if you would release your grip on my lung or chest wall or whatever you’re connected to and just make it an easy exit. Everyone tells me that my doctor is the best so you might want to start packing your bags tonight. I need to go do the same.

Sincerely,

Michele (aka ODNT)

On the suggestion of an old friend tonight, my husband has agreed to update the blog tomorrow throughout the day to let everyone know about my progress. He’s a funny little man so I’m sure you’ll enjoy his commentary.

Good night, all. I want to send you all the same good vibes you’ve been sending me. So, I’m signing off … only temporarily … with one of my favorite songs. I think it’s a good sentiment for tonight.

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5 responses to “A letter to the lung mass, on the night before its removal

  1. By the time you read this, you’ll be on your way to recovery, and this will be an amusing memory.
    Can’t wait until you’re back!

  2. You are going to do great. Good luck and I’m thinking about you – and also @letmestart, who is having a procedure done today too, though way more minor than yours. Hugs from cold, wintery Boston!

  3. Jesus Honey- this made me tear up a little bit! I hope all is well now- reminds me of when my Husband had a gut wrenching diagnosis a few years ago and we too stopped our bickering, for a little while anyway. Cheers to your recovery and to Bag Balm ;o)

  4. Happy anniversary Michele! I cried (again) before I even reread this. Glad you ejected that little bastard! Much love.

  5. Happy Aniversary.

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