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Oh hello. I am Christina. I'm 26. My favorite things are: writing love on my arms, watching movies, laughing, baking brownies, mac 'n' cheese, taking road trips, Disney, writing, playing Guitar Hero and DDR, milk and cookies, smiling, Audrey Hepburn movies, singing Beatles songs, cheering for the Dallas Cowboys, playing board and card games, reading books, watching General Hospital, dancing, and, most importantly, spending time with my friends.

Quote of the Moment:
“I love people who make me laugh. I honestly think it's the thing I like most, to laugh. It cures a multitude of ills. It's probably the most important thing in a person.” - Audrey Hepburn

Mood: i'm good.
Music: pretending.




Monday, March 29, 2010
five-letter word.

tumor.

Merriam-Webster's dictionary defines it as: (1) a swollen or distended part. (2) an abnormal benign or malignant new growth of tissue that possesses no physiological function and arises from uncontrolled, usually rapid cellular proliferation.

I define it as this: It means I could lose my mom.

My mom went to the doctor forever ago and was diagnosed as having pneumonia. In examining her for pneumonia, the doctor noticed spots on her lungs.

He said, "Do you smoke?"
She said, "No, I've never smoked."
He said, "You really don't smoke?"
She said, "No."

He couldn't believe she didn't smoke from these spots he'd seen on her lungs. He told her she needed a CAT Scan as soon as the pneumonia cleared up. She had the scan a little more than a week ago. She had the scan on March 19.

She got the results today.

tumor.

The doctors don't know whether it's benign or malignant. She has to have a biopsy to determine that. First, she has to go for a consultation. one day this week. Then, they'll schedule the biopsy. Then they'll determine whether it's benign or malignant. If it's benign they might still remove it. If it's cancer... well, I don't think it will be.

I really, really, really don't think it will be. I think it's just a scar on her tissue from having pneumonia before. or something like that.

I just don't think it's cancer. My mom can't have cancer. My mom was my superhero when I was a kid. My dad wasn't there. My mom did everything. She was the breadwinner, the spider killer, the "there's no monsters under the bed" reassuring voice, the conscience inside my head as a teenager, the best friend, the protector, the everything. My mom can not have cancer.

But there's the smallest of chances that she could. And therefore, there's the smallest of chances that I could lose her.

I never thought I'd hear something like this. Never. I keep thinking, how is this happening? I keep crying even though I believe it'll be ok.

Today I heard the scariest word I've ever heard.

This is real.

Whether I like it or not, it's real. It's happening. Right now. We will get through it, no matter what.