That's how many tiles are on the ceiling of the ultrasound room.
At least, that's how many I can see from my prone position on the hard table.
When I run out of squares to count, I move to the little holes in the tiles.
I'm sure the tiles only purpose is to give the patient something to do while they wait.
918 holes.
That's all I could manage before the ultrasound technician had me turn my head so he could get a better picture.
It's okay though.
My tears were starting to blur my vision.
48 is the number of images he took of my enlarged thyroid.
Maybe his vision is blurred too.
2.76 centimeters.
The size of one of the nodules.
Nodules apparently sound better than "growths."
Someone in a fancy office must have come up with that.
I'm not impressed.
6 is the number of days I have to wait before hearing any official results.
1 question was all it took to know the news wasn't good.
"Are you by chance having any trouble swallowing?"
A single nod was my only answer because the words were having difficulty making it past the lump in my throat.
It was all that was needed.
792.
The number of hours before a specialist decides the best course of action.
That's 47,520 minutes of waiting.
Just waiting.
And spending those 1,440 minutes each day thinking positive thoughts.
Trying not to let anyone see my cry.
I've been chopping a lot of onions.
Nobody questions an onion.
When my tears are spent, I lie on the couch.
There are no squares or holes to count.
Just minutes...
One tiny mustard seed of faith.
Because of its size, it's easy to misplace.
I lost mine for a while.
Jesus told them, "I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it would move. Nothing would be impossible. ~Matthew 17:20
Move mountain, move.
