And though my heart is torn

It seems as though we were in a similar situation not four years ago.

I remember very distinctly the day my dad told me my mom was Hep. C-positive, either from a bad blood tranfusion when she had my brother, or from accidentally sticking herself with an infected needle at work.
It was four-something in the afternoon, which I probably only remember because I was watching Grounded for Life on TV. When I was little, I always thought that nothing bad could happen while you were watching TV, which is why I always watched it during thunderstorms.
I think I've watched less TV since then.

There is always this certain feeling I get when (only when) someone gives me bad news. Kind of a heart-sinking, lump-in-your-throat, this-isn't-the-kind-of-thing-that-happens-to-me sort of thing. You know that one? Yeah.

Anyway, I also remember very distinctly the day her doctor called and said she was no longer Hep. C-positive.
Yeah, for serious.
She had gone to have tests to determine what geno type of Hep. C that she had (1, the most common type, or 2 or 3, the super rare, Mercedes of Hepatitis types.) If you know anything about Hepatitis, you know that it is not the kind of disease you just beat. Your body doesn't just fight it off. It's like HIV - you can take medicine to keep it under control, but it's still going to win in the end.
So I think you can understand our amazement upon finding out that my mother's body had fought it off.
A one-in-a-million chance that just so happened to be us.

I think this is why the possibility of her having breast cancer leaves me so hopeless. In my mind, we have used up our one miracle.
We would not be one of those families like Mary Beth's, with unwavering faith.
She has already said that if it is cancer, she won't do anything about it.
And my first thought was, "Your mother wouldn't have done that to you."

I am scared. I could bust open a thesaurus and give you a hundred different synonyms for the way I am feeling right now.
She goes back for an ultrasound today. If there is a doctor there to read the pictures, we will know today if it is nothing.
If there is not a doctor there, we'll have to wait.
If they call her back for a biopsy, it is something.

She refuses to pray about this. She refuses to open her Bible because she doesn't want God to think that she only comes to Him in times of trouble.
And I can't make her do those things, but I will do them for her.

I will praise You in this storm.