I don’t believe that anyone ever asked me what I would do if I got a bad breast biopsy result. But if they had, I’m pretty sure that feeding a sudden craving for classic rock music would not have been among my answers.

Silly me. I just didn’t know.

Monday was a hard day. My husband and I drove to Dallas and I had a biopsy on my breast. Then, we drove home. For those of you who are wondering, driving 200 miles in a Honda Fit after having had your breast rotter rooted is not a fun time.

The surgeon told me at the get-go that he thought “it” was benign. Then, he turned me over to the radiologist for a little look-see. I went into that encounter hoping that they would be able to determine that everything was good with scans. No such luck. After doing a set of mammograms, with a more hyped-up machine than the one here in OKC, the doc turned serious.

It’s funny, in a non-humorous way, how they keep doing that. They walk in all sunshine and light, then get a good scan and switch to all business. The results came in yesterday, and are a bit too technical for this post. Long story short, I’m still out there, wondering exactly how bad “it” really is; only the questions of it being harmless and of no matter have been settled. It’s not harmless, and it is not of no matter.

Next week I go under the knife. Bizarre as this sounds, I can hardly wait. I want this over with, and I want to know exactly where I stand and what I’m in for.

That’s the background to why I downloaded almost a hundred dollars of classic rock last night and this morning and why I’m grooving to Jethro Tull as I type this. I have always had a smattering of rock on my iPhone. But most of my music is classical, ballads and lots and lots of piano solos. I love me some mood music. Which, I guess, is what the heavy infusion of rock is all about.

I didn’t download many artists other than Americans, not because I used that as a basis for choosing, but because I wanted the driving enthusiasm and optimism of Americans. I think that’s the secret to my rock hunger. Americans have always been powerhouses of enthusiasm and optimism. We are people who don’t back away from challenges. We run right at them.

We are, first and most of all, unafraid.

Real American art is found in the bayous and backyards of real Americans. It’s in our country wailing, and our rhythm and blues. It runs through our rock n roll like it runs through our veins. There’s no better anthem for going into battle than rock and roll.

I downloaded enough rock to see me through. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida may not sound like a marching song to some folks, but it’ll do for me.

I know you’re wondering, so I’ll answer.

Yes, I prayed. But I didn’t fall to my knees in terror and beg for a reprieve. In fact, I haven’t prayed all that much more than I usually do.

I offered this up to Our Mother to use as she sees fit. Then, yesterday, I spent a while sitting with Jesus in the Eucharist. I didn’t spend my time there wringing my hands about this deal, although, if I had felt like it I would have. I just wanted to be with Him, because His Presence fills me with love. 

I’ve walked with Christ for many years, and during that time, He’s seen me through a lot of trials. I don’t need to fall into hysterical prayer, just because I got hit with a dread disease. He’s there, and I know it. And He knows that I know it. I will use my wits to survive this thing. But my life is in His hands. It has been for a long time.

I am His. Whatever happens to me, I know Whom I have believed, and I know that He is able to keep that which I have entrusted to Him against that day. St. Paul wrote that 2,000 years ago. It’s just as true for me today as it was for him back then.

I’ll find out after the surgery exactly what I’m into. I imagine I’ll have hard choices to make. But one thing I’m not worried about is whether or not God is with me. Jesus and my angels are right beside me. That, and a little rock and roll, are all I seem to need right now.