More tests tomorrow for the husband.
There have been whole hours that passed when I didn't think about it, didn't feel the oppressive stress of the unknown weighing me down. Times that went by when I giggled with co-workers about the guy we call Tardy McTardypants (can you guess his work ethic flaw?). When I laughed about the customer who inquired as to a product to help pack her fudge.
And then, the stress overwhlems. I see a customer whose name is the same as my mom and I start sobbing. Co-workers think I'm losing it. Those who sit closest to me know the deal. They are roped into being my friends regardless of how they feel about me simply by a seating chart's design.
I have accepted offers of prayers with grace that I am unaccustomed to. I appreciate the idea, I wish it would work. Make everything better. But the cynical part of my heart believes that if everything is ok then this is just the way the universe is. And if everything is not okay, then this is ALSO the way the universe is, with no malice or mal-intent.
The stress creeps over me, and I start sobbing when we're talking about the little girl who gotten eaten at Gator World a billion years ago. Literally, uncontrollably sobbing. This story had elicited a "oh shit" from me when it happened. But the stress of the world, the sadness of all that is going on, is making me cry.
Possibly because I'm afraid to cry for myself.
So I'm crying about Steve Irwin and little girls getting eaten by alligators, and people with my mom's name.
Or, maybe I'm afraid to cry for him. Because let's face it.
I'm not the one who is sick.