The Tumor Waiting Period

Imagine with me for a minute: you have something wrong with you for some time.  There are symptoms that are definite, although they come and go.  You have multiple doctors try and diagnose you, but no one seems to be able to determine your problem.  You're given suggestions of things to try, and you diligently try each and every one of them--including the ones you think are ridiculous.  No one knows what's wrong and yet you still have your problem. 

Your problem is annoying.  You worry it could be something that's causing damage or getting worse.  But you just don't know.  Then, one day, you get the confirmation you're looking for.  YES, there is something going on and no only does someone believe you that something is wrong, you have a real diagnosis.  You have a tumor.   Fixing the problem isn't going to be easy, but it's definitely doable. 

But wait, did you say in our pretend scenario just now that I have a tumor?  I DON'T WANT A TUMOR IN MY BODY!  Let's get it out.  Let's jump in the car, head over to the hospital, do that scrubbing up thing doctor's do and get this blob of, "should not be in my body" stuff out as fast as possible. 

Then you find out that yes, we should probably get that tumor thing out, but we need to think this through, do some research, see what the schedules look like, coordinate with some other folks and, well, it's going to be a while before we can get this whole removal thing done.  

But...but...I have a tumor!  Not to mention, I've got symptoms I'm not thrilled about that bother me every day.   Can't we hurry this thing up?  That's what I'm calling the Tumor Waiting Period.

Scenario over and no, I don't have a tumor.  What I have is a smell in my basement.  We've been trying to diagnose it for months and no matter who we bring in, no one can identify the problem.  Until now.   We think we've identified an infestation of mice (or perhaps small rats) in the wall behind the closet in the basement.  It's up against a poured concrete wall and it's about one the most secure locations in the whole house, that closet being our tornado safety spot. 

So now we wait.  We have to get things scheduled to address it because we're going to have to do some demolition on the dry wall to locate the actual nest.   Then, we're going to have to determine how they got in and make sure they can't make a nest three feet away once we eradicate the current nest.   And while we do that, we don't want to let them into the house, which at this point they haven't gained access to. 

So it's waiting.  And I don't like waiting.  I want the tumor out.

The Big Boy Update:  "This is a rescue shoe."  My son decided his shoe was a rescue shoe in the car on the way to school this morning.  I'm not sure what made that shoe a rescue shoe or why the other shoe wasn't also a rescue shoe, but he was fairly firm about that shoe's purpose.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:   Little climber.  I went to a school event and when I came home my father-in-law told me my daughter climbed on everything.  She was all over the play structure, up the climbing wall and even up the slide (which is tricky).

Fitness Update:  Friday at the gym.   Thigh workout.  Brutal.