“This is the doctor’s
office. Your mammogram came back abnormal. We need you to schedule two more
tests, a spot compression and an ultrasound.”
With these words I add
to my growing layers of stress. My worrisome molar with a possible new crown
now fades to insignificant. Like most women, getting any kind of call for
further tests means anxiety driven days and sleepless nights. I’ve done this
drill on several occasions. Right before David and I got married, I had a pap
smear come back with a “code” that required a second test. Everything turned
out normal, but I had a tense couple of weeks while I waited to reschedule an
appointment and get the results. I had a mammogram come back years ago with a
“thickening” in one area that needed another look, so I’ve actually experienced
this particular call back before. Still . . .
When I contacted the
place where I go for my mammograms, the office had already scheduled an
appointment for me on the fifteenth of this month. The kind receptionist said,
“Of course, we can fit you in earlier if you’d like. That’s no problem at all.”
Clutching the calendar
in my hand, I realized that Mom has an appointment with her nephrologist on the
fifteenth, I have the first phase of my root canal on the fifth, so the next
date open is next Tuesday. I must make it five days in worrisome limbo just to
get the tests done.
The optimist in me cocks
her head and states plainly, “Everything’s fine” because I’ve done this before.
She begins the litany that it’s another thickening, just something different
that needs to be checked more closely. Right now, her voice rings loudly and
true since it’s only been minutes since that phone call.
By this afternoon, doubt
will nibble at my optimism. She’ll start slowly and imperceptibly to where I
won’t notice the little nips she’ll take from my confidence. By nightfall,
she’ll gobble up my hope and leave me restless and fearful. Doubt gathers
strength in darkness. When the house falls into the silence of slumber, she’ll
begin to whisper, “Maybe there’s something really
wrong.”
I will talk and write my
way through this stress. I will process everything I think and feel with words.
I’ll clutch my journal to my side like a life saver. Whenever I need to
reassure myself, I’ll jot down words my optimist says. I’ll reread her
reassurances as I cope with these next few days. I’ll write my blog, too,
because sharing this means I’m not alone. I’ll talk to David, to Paul, to my
mother (probably over and over again). I’ll call my sister as she’s gone
through biopsies on two occasions with benign results.
Within all of these
words, I’ll find a way of focusing on hope and discouraging dread. I’ll say,
“Stay in today” and not project into all of the unknown “what ifs” that doubt
whispers into my ear.
Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
