My first swear word

I held the word in my mouth.
The past few days, drained by a sinus infection and by sinuses that wouldn't drain, I had held several choice words in my mouth.
I've never sworn, you see. When I say that, I mean there are a number of words in English that have never actually crossed my lips. Ever. One time, in sixth grade, I sat with a classmate in my mom's car. "You don't swear, do you Ellen?" she said in a contemptuous way that was synonymous with calling me a goody-goody. Sensing an opportunity to become cooler, I lied "Sure I do," trying to sound worldly and nonchalant.
"Let's hear it."
Oops. I honestly don't remember what word I chose that day. It was either one about a dog or the one I carefully held in my mouth now.
Not a particularly shocking word, I had even sung this word in hymns. It would not merit even a PG-13 rating. But that's not what I'm thinking about. I'm feeling that word on my tongue, measuring it next to my emotions, the situation at hand.
My doctor's office called today to tell me that I tested moderately positive for the antibodies against wheat gluten. The word washes up in my mouth, like acid reflux that turns into vomit. I let my mind wander and wonder if I should spew my word, my first curse word at age 24.
I swallow the word-acid and it burns down my throat as my thoughts bounce.
Bounce #1: "You're just missing some enzyme, some mineral," my mom says. "It could be because you don't eat meat." I consider this, but I am not sure how it is possible after all the research I have done in order to prevent it. She continues, "Your body was used to eating bland food and now you eat so... different and wild. Maybe you need to go back to the bland."
Bounce #2: "If you have the antibody, you might have an increased risk of colon cancer, especially with your family history," my doctor explains. I sit, smiling and nodding as if she is lecturing me on the life cycle of a salmon, or something else that doesn't have the potential to change my life.
Bounce #3: A quote from Ann Voskamp: "Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don't numb themselves to really living... mourning and dancing are but movements in his unfinished symphony of beauty." and "In everything, give thanks"
The ball stops bouncing and simply rolls now. I think, "I wish I didn't know this. Two days ago, I was perfectly happy with my self-diagnoses of a gluten and dairy sensitivity. Now, that's sort of justified, but seems scarier, more looming, more official. And the colon cancer thing? The fact that gluten could perhaps damage my intestines, depending on what the heck "moderately positive" means."
I continue, "This is like opening freaking Pandora's Box!" I realize I am being dramatic, but I am learning to accept my emotions without judgment. So I ride it out. Just as I am hypothesizing what kind of medicines this GI doctor will likely overprescribe me, I remember that I have a choice in the matter.
The realization that I have a choice snaps me out of my melodrama, long enough to realize how semi-ridiculous and yet not so ridiculous my train of thoughts has become.
I step back, survey the landscape. I inhale slowly and let out my first curse word, "Damn."
I say it quietly, although no one is in the house. I am instantly filled with a sense of warmth. It felt good, like putting on sweats and sitting with legs wide after a day of crossing my legs in a pencil skirt.
That feeling passes and the reasons and snapshots that provoked this word come swirling back around. I say the word again, a bit firmer. "Damn."
I contemplate a third time, but it feels unnecessary, like having both a heated mattress pad and a heated blanket.
Unsure of where all of this leads me, I cannot process my emotions. I surf Facebook, numbing out until Caleb arrives for the evening. I tell him about what's happening, but lightheartedly as I have neither the words or the will to dive into it more deeply. He makes me laugh so hard. I feel joy, real joy. After he leaves, I continue distracting myself by eating chocolate sorbet. It feels good, but then it is over and I am left holding the same emotions and pieces of four hours ago. So I brush my teeth, crawl into bed, and write until I understand.