Benign. Negative. I’m not gonna die. Well, I’m not gonna die from cancer on my lady bits.
I called my mom and told her the good news.
Me: I don’t have cancer.
Me: The tests were negative.
Mum: MOMMY DIDN’T KNOW YOU HADDA TEST FO’ CANSAH! OH MY GAH!
I guess my father, in his infinite wisdom, decided to not tell my mom I was going in for a cancer biopsy (she’s really, really bad at handling this kind of news).
Cat’s out of the bag now. I mean, the cat shouldn’t be out of the bag considering it’s all said and done and I still have my skin, but my mother, being the epitome of the typical, spastic woman, went through an entire drama in her head about my dying of cancer. “Why didn’t you tell Mommy about this, Jecca?!” I guess I should cut her some slack. She went through a similar ordeal but tested positive. She was at death’s doorstep and is very fortunate to be among the living.
I feel for my old man… He’s gonna be in SO MUCH SHIT when he gets home from work.
After she was finished freaking out she wanted to talk about cervical cancer and STDs…
You not having sex widda boy so you don’ have to worry abou’ dat… RIGHT, JESHKA?!
I don’t know how to tell her…