Waiting on the Scan, Watering the Lawn

It’s been a bit since I’ve written, but in my defense, I’ve been trapped in the weirdest suspense thriller of my life. My scan came and went, but my doctor decided to take off on some international vacation, probably sipping umbrella drinks somewhere, which means I don’t get results until this coming Monday.

So yes, someone has seen my scan. Someone knows what’s going on inside me. But that someone is definitely not me. It’s a weird and borderline maddening feeling, like the medical version of waiting to see if you got picked for dodgeball, except the stakes are way higher and no one’s throwing red rubber balls at my face. Yet.

In the meantime, I’ve been keeping my head down and staying busy so I don’t spiral into imagining my doctor on a beach showing my scan to strangers like it’s some sort of medical Rorschach test. I’ve been working part-time with a landscaping company, which means I’m outside with the sun, trees, and plants instead of curled up inside stress-Googling “average survival rates” and “what does mild necrosis mean.”

It’s been surprisingly peaceful. I’m learning which chemicals to avoid, which ones are non-negotiable, and how to keep a lawn looking so nice it makes the HOA newsletter. I’ve also learned how to care for trees with scars — which, let’s face it, is a little too poetic to ignore.

So that’s why I haven’t been writing. I’ve been busy learning how to keep nature alive while I’m waiting to find out how well I’ve been keeping myself alive. Honestly? Not a bad trade for a few days of sanity.