Lump

 As the philosopher once said, "C is for cookie."

That's good enough for me. 

Way back in April, I went to the dentist for my semi-annual cleaning and inspection, and while she was poking about in that dark place called my mouth, she stopped. "Have you noticed this lump on your tongue before?" 

I hadn't. So she offered me a mirror to look on with her, followed up by more questions.

"Have you bitten or burned your tongue recently?"

Not that I could recall. Sometimes things just happen in my mouth. I don't keep track of them like I probably should. 

"I'm going to give you a referral to an oral surgeon to have this checked out."

Thus began an odyssey that took me to my doctor, then to an Ears, Nose and Throat surgeon. But first I had to arrange for all of these appointments. And I had to lollygag around because I really didn't want to go to he doctor to get horrible news. You know, the C word that isn't cookie. 

So I spent the next couple months arranging these appointments with destiny, always with a quiet but persistent black thought in the back of my mind that things might not turn out so well. This of course was contrary to most of my recent experience at the doctor's office. The Baker's Cyst on the back of my knee: Oh, it will get bigger and smaller, but it's nothing to worry about. The quarter-sized hernia just below my rib cage: Just pop it back in, you'll be fine. The sprained knee I got from bowling: Just stay off it for a week or two. No surgery. No tumors. No invasive procedures. All just a part of making it around the sun sixty-some times. 

So when I finally got out of the chair where the ENT doc plucked out a chunk of the lump on my tongue, I was assured that it was probably nothing. But I would have to wait for the tests to be sure. 

And so I waited. With that black thought still in my head, conjuring up visions of a life without a tongue. Something that might bring relief for those around me, but I have become very used to having that muscle and the thought of living without it gave me pause. So did the idea of living without living. 

So I waited. 

Then the news fell into my inbox. Benign. Non-threatening lump for which there is no prescribed treatment except to live with it.

I can live with that. 

Have a cookie.