I should say, in case anyone's worried, that we're fine and safe- our home is about 25 miles outside of Boston, way outside (we pray) the danger zone, or at the very least way outside the 'lockdown' zone. We are near an airport where helicopters appear to be stopping in to refuel, and that's an eery sound.
We were in Maine the day of the bombings at the Marathon, and we never had even considered going in to watch it- we used to go cheer for the runners years ago, when we were young, but nowhere near the city. So we were never in danger on that day- but when we heard the news I started checking on people in Boston and who might've gone in and watching Facebook to be sure people I know were okay. It's been a weird experience to be so close to real stuff, and the social media-ness of it all has been fascinating to me.
But also this week, I found out that I don't have breast cancer- a mammogram had found calcifications, the "troublesome" kind, and so I had to go back. I know I've written here about my unease at being in suspense and so you'll understand that I was a bit of a mess for 5 days while I waited for Aleve to wear off before the biopsy (which was stereotactic, you can google image that if you can stand some anatomically correct illustrations. It's an unsettling, uncomfortable, and downright weird experience) and then 4 days to wait for the results. Turns out I'm downright cranky and nasty while under serious stress. Maybe I'm the last to know that characteristic of myself. Also, I eat a lot under pressure.
So, it's been a weird week, a roller coaster of emotions, and on it goes as we're glued to the tv waiting for something to happen with this white-hat-guy. Weird.