Trying Not To Kill Someone

I got the worst news today. Okay, not really the worst. The worst news would be death of someone close to me. I didn't get that. I guess ranking up there in "the worst news" would also be someone close to me having a cancer diagnosis. I didn't get that either.

So really this is the third worst possible news here.

That my husband, of 18 put-me-through-the-wringer-but-I-still-love-him husband, had a doctor's appointment for his foot.

Let's go back a second or two for some history here. When I was pregnant with my very youngest (3 1/2 years ago, btw) we realized we needed more space with the new baby coming and opted to construct a master suite in our 100-year old house's attic. There is plenty of space and he could do it himself. Which he did. Up and down a narrow staircase, over and over to make this wonderful space for me ... for us. But in one of those trips he tore a muscle in the bottom of his foot.

At the arch. He complained a little but just sucked it up and moved on. Once we were all settled upstairs and my youngest was growing up quick, he noticed a bump in that very spot.

He had it checked out. The first guy found nothing and sent him home. People! He did not imagine it and how this first guy missed it makes me angry. (his name was Dr. Hacker. REALLY! That was his name)

So, he didn't pursue it further. Then he got a job pulling cable and he noticed it had become a lump you could see just under the skin.

He had it checked out again by a new doctor. (to do this, he had to go my primary and get a physical, which I had been nagging him to do ... so win win ...) This doctor, took a quick look at it, said it was a cyst and asked if he wanted a cortisone shot right then and there. He asked if it would make it feel better. The doctor said yes.

He tells me it was the worst pain ever. He limped for days afterward.

Third time is a charm right? It's back again, has been for well over a year now. And it is getting bigger. Often my husband comes through the door, filthy after working a long day, limping like he can barely walk.

It's hard to watch.

So ... back to the present. Today was his appointment with yet another doctor. A different doctor but in the same practice as the one he saw before. (the doctors name is Dr. Pidgeon. REALLY! Like the bird.)

And here is the bad news.

He has a tumor on the bottom of his foot. Not an uncommon thing, according to Google and more than likely it is not cancerous. It's heridary. His hands were checked. His options are these. Surgery to remove and a six to eight week recovery period or do nothing, the tumor will continue to grow and in his profession (one where he is on his feet all day long, plus climbing ladders) it will only aggravate it further.

My husband has no short or long term disability. Nor does he work in a job that will pay him a single penny unless he has worked those hours.

I'm sure there are options, or something we could figure out, money we could borrow or beg so there will be six weeks pay for us to draw on as expenses come up but I can't think of a single one right now.

I'm too caught up on the fact that WE ARE FUCKED!