It's been a week since I picked up the MRI report from the imaging center. The report that had the one ominous line that I could read amid the medical jargon. The one that read: "Suspected superior labral tear." The line that suddenly caused the year ahead of me to fade from what I had planned and prepared into one that looked empty.
The report didn't say for sure that it was definitely a tear. It didn't say how severe the suspected tear appeared to be. It didn't indicate whether a surgery would be in my future in place of the many races I had already registered for. It didn't say anything but one line that my active imagination took to a place where the worst case scenario played out in my mind all hours of the day and night.
No call came from my doctor's office to interpret the results. Not on Tuesday, the day I picked up the report myself from the imaging center. Not on Wednesday when I'd had a full day to go through a range of emotions from sad, to angry, to determined, to sad again to numb. Not on Thursday when I resorted to a pedicure and retail therapy to make me feel better and not on Friday when I finally called my doctor, learned my MRI results had been lost and I took out my frustration on the hills under the two wheels of my bike.
But none of that matters now. In less than 12 hours, I will be face to face with an orthopedic surgeon who will be able to read the report, and the scans I've been carrying around on CD for the last week. He will likely tell me how good or bad the news is and what my treatment and recovery timeline looks like. He will either assure me that I still have hope to achieve the goals I set for myself in the next months or will be the unfortunate soul that has to tell me those dreams will likely be shattered.
So now I am one sleep away from getting this news. And though I spent the last week waiting impatiently for this day to finally get here, now part of me would like a little more time. Now I simultaneously want the time to be here and want to have that week back because I'm not sure I'm ready to know any answers. And while it seems like a dramatic reaction to something that is not life-threatening, not dangerous and not even that big of a deal to so many people, it is a big deal to me right now.
There are things I've been considering doing for several years and finally I felt like I was capable to doing them so I decided to do it. When I say I'm going to do something, you better bet I will....no matter how hard, because I committed to it. But I didn't plan for that option to be taken from me, and no matter if it's out of my control or not, if I don't accomplish those things, a big part of me will feel like a failure. And that's one thing I can't stand.
In the morning, I will hop on my bike for a quick ride and then I will come home, shower and get ready for my appointment. I will have a friend with me both for moral support and to ask the questions I will probably forget to ask. I will try to deal with the results if they are bad and be thankful if they are good.
But no matter what I learn tomorrow, the longest week ever will finally be over.
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