A big white lie

My mom's a worry wart. She's neurotic and anxious about the health and safety of all her chidren, and their children. That's the reason I wasn't allowed to go iceskating or skiing or do anything even remotely "dangerous" when I was a child. Needless to say, even as an adult, living independently from my parents, I still try to hide my ailments from my mother, desperately disguising any sniffles or coughs or hoarseness in my voice. So, when she asked about some bloodwork I had done at my annual physical, I had to lie and tell her everything was fine. I hate lying but I felt it necessary to lie to her to save my sanity. If she knew that my doctor's office had referred me to a specialist because of some abnormal results in my bloodwork, I would be subjected to the third degree and daily phone calls.

Besides, I don't need to worry about how this news will affect her; I have enough on my mind. I've been researching all the various diseases that may produce the values found in my blood and it's not looking good. I'm not worried; surprisingly, I'm not feeling anything about the matter right now. Don't get me wrong; the issue looms in the back of my mind throughout the day. I have started to think about the prospect of never seeing my daughter's 21st birthday but I feel no emotions about it. I know what the medical literature says about the significance of my blood results but I feel numb about it. I'm not scared. I think I'll put that off until I hear the doctor tell me that I have something that will significantly shorten my life. Like my husband says, "Don't kill yourself with worry because you might be completely healthy." So, for now, I'll pray and keep my faith in God and wait for whatever that specialist will tell me.