No news is good news. That’s what I heard them say to my forever mom yesterday when we stopped at my doggie doctor’s office. The wait was over to have a second test done to confirm (or deny) whether I was sick. Yet that’s when the real waiting game began.
It was 11:03 a.m. when we left the Family Pet Clinic. I know because I saw mom note the time. Before we left, they told her we would have an answer in 24 to 36 hours if the news wasn’t good. I thought for sure when they said that it would be the longest 24 to 36 hours of my life. In reality, I think it was at least in the higher ranks for my dear forever mom, who did nothing but worry the entire time.
Not only that, but she disregarded what the ladies told her about no news. As soon as the clock struck 11:03 a.m. this morning, you’d better believe she called the office to find out if there was any news. And there was.
I am not sick. Everything is fine. Yes, I have a slightly elevated white blood cell count (whatever that is), but I’m going to be okay. Now don’t we all feel a bit silly for worrying so much?
It reminds me a bit of something I heard my mom’s dear friend Mel say about a completely unrelated topic yesterday afternoon. She quoted the words of New Zealand athlete Glenn Turner, who once suggested that “worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but gets you nowhere.”
So maybe mom and I and whoever else she worried with her concern (as I’ve found it to be contagious) didn’t get anywhere the last few days. But that’s okay.
Because this afternoon as the warmth of the sun bore down on me in my favorite spot in Carter’s room as I watched mom and Carter rock quietly, I let it in. All of it. The warmth. The love. The life of it all. I can’t help but feel a bit like I’ve gotten yet another lease on life, and it’s not one I intend to waste one ounce of worry over.