Bobbing Like A Fishing Lure

It's been a strange week.

Let me start this off by saying that from now on I'll be dropping the "Big Daddy" moniker and just going with "Trip".  That's his name, my husband.  Well, actually, it's still a nick name, but it's one he came by honestly.   And since this is going to be mostly about him, and since I'm tired and in an odd mood today, we'll just throw it out there.  

So Trip has a cyst. On his neck.  A BIG cyst that appeared overnight-ish a few weeks ago.

A large, unexplained growth on the neck is never a good thing, right?

Turns out it's a thyroglossal duct cyst.  That's not important to you.  What might be important to you (okay, it's important to me, so pretend to be interested!) is that he'll be having surgery next Tuesday to have it removed.

The surgery is called "The Sistrunk Procedure" and involves the removal of several bits and bobs from his neck, including part of the hyoid bone.  (I'd link it, but I'm lazy. Wikipedia any of the above and you'll find out more than you ever wanted to know, I assure you. I'm still scarred from the pictures.)

There's a very small chance that all of this is somehow related to cancer.  But since I have firmly, repeatedly reminded him that I have forbidden him to ever get cancer (It's in the marriage contract. Read the fine print.) well, then it's obviously not cancer.

I decided to name the cyst.   I call it "Cedric", which somehow that makes it seem less threatening. 

A few days after Cedric is removed, we'll get the lab results.  These will, obviously, confirm that Cedric is a benign, if incredibly rude and uninvited, visitor to my husband's body.  

I've been bobbing up and down this week.  One minute I'm above water, rushing around to collect the laundry and run a load of dishes and attempt to locate the vacuum cleaner.  The next moment I am sitting on the couch, staring at the family photo hanging on the wall and thinking about the worst that could happen.

I'm sure it's normal to worry in this situation, but I can't decide if trying NOT to worry is just making it worse.  Instead of a nice, even level of anxiety... I'm bouncing up and down like those little red and white bobbers at the end of a fishing line.

I'm not sure I want to know what it is that's biting on the hook.