Ring-Ring.

Today I got the call. The call that in one terrible slow motion instant, shifts my world off its axis. As I write, things are now slightly off kilter.
"Munkay #9, this is Dr. Wonderful calling, bla bla bla." Any time a Dr. calls you it is not good. It is not a call he did not want to make, the tone of his voice tells me this. It is a rehearsed one sided conversation, planned to give me minimum details. He redirects the million questions that are forming in my now uncomprehending mind, words that my tounge is unable to form into a sentence, to yet another specialist. In a week I will know what my future holds. Once they test the few cells they have left me unprodded, and squeezed the last drop of blood from this turnip munkay, hopefully my little world will slide back on the level.
Initial shock fades and I realize it's go-time. Should I cry? Fuss and vent? Take up drinking and running with lose men. Nah- not my monkay style. When stressed I spring into motion. When I go into a cooking frenzy, my family delights. I find great comfort in my kitchen. Music blaring I turn out mountains of food. My friends and neibhors will eat like never before. I, on the otherhand ,will forget to eat. Exercise will show this body who is in control. Seven days can be an eternaty. Or a blink. It is all how you spend it.
And today had started out such a good day too.