Waiting and Wondering

I have a favorite mammogram tech. Her name is Sheryl, and she is friendly, wears pigtails, makes jokes, is so respectful, and totally lets me nerd out by showing me the images as she takes them. She checks between each shot to make sure she got what’s needed because some of these calcifications are nestled way back near my chest wall. Add to that my super dense and cyst-filled breast tissue and taking time between images becomes really important. It also reduces the probability the radiologist will send us back for more images at the same visit.Sheryl makes mammograms fun!

I did not have Sheryl on my last visit.

I didn’t even catch the name of my tech on the last visit because she didn’t offer it. She didn’t use my name. There wasn’t that underlying sense of friendliness, of comfort. It felt like all business with minimal compassion.

She wasn’t mean or rude. It simply felt like she was going through the routine. Like I was another file on her list for the day. Who knows what was going on in her own life. Not me. Maybe not even her.

I almost started crying during that mammogram.

I’ve never cried during one before. Or any medical appointment. In fact, I seem to be the rare person who doesn’t really mind them at all.

It felt so impersonal for this deeply personal event. Feeling like a number versus a person. Unseen. Uncared for. No sense of communication or nurturing. All business with no sense of compassion.

She got the images, none of which I saw or was invited to see, and sent me back to the changing room to wait for the radiologist.

I sat alone in the tiny closet. Medical gown loosely tied. Waiting.

A few minutes passed.
A few minutes more.

Finally the radiologist came. He did use my name.

“Well, the calcifications in the upper lateral quadrant look the same. And I see some changes in the ones closer to the chest wall. It could be actual changes, it could be differences in imaging technique. It’s hard to tell with breasts this dense. So… we want to biopsy those.”

Well…

motherfuckerareyoufuckingkid- dingmedoIreallyneedanotherdamn- thingandmoreuncertainty?

You see, this past year has (once again) blown up my life as I know it. My massage practice was shut down as the pandemic started, and it has not felt safe to go back to my small, minimal air exchange office. So I got to pivot my business into more full-time coaching more quickly than I’d intended. After all, I’m a self-employed single parent in a career that literally involves being up close and personal with people for an extended period of time.

Something had to change immediately. I needed income. I have bills to pay, food to buy, and a kid to support.

I was also waiting for information and answers about other work opportunities that were presented to me at the time, but had not been clearly and directly followed up on. Feeling pushed off, ignored, and forgotten. Not belonging. Contradictory messages. A delightful mixture of fear and uncertainty all wrapped into one.

This plot twist came after rebuilding my life just three years ago. During a few months’ time I dealt with my separation and divorce, prepping and selling a house, finding a new home, and supporting my daughter through navigating those huge changes. Then toss in a fire closing my former office building, quickly finding new office space, my mother’s emergency leg amputation, and immediate family discord leading to a disowning.

Hello again, Uncertainty! You really love to bring it, don’t you?

The next available biopsy appointment was about 2.5 weeks out. Another friendly woman helped me get it set up, told me what to expect, and answered all my questions. I have a lot of questions.

I left, got in my car, and lost my shit. Tears welled into my eyes as the possibility of what could be going on settled in. I felt into it for a minute, took a breath, grabbed a tissue, and turned the key.

I “couldn’t” cry for long because I needed to drive home. My daughter was waiting for me. “Things to do” and all that. Plus, tears and driving feel like a recipe for disaster.

Two and a half weeks of total uncertainty before the biopsy. Ugh. What would they find? Was this it? Is this my turn for cancer?

I told my daughter about my appointment when I got home. I could see the concern and questions in her eyes. One of her deepest fears is that something will happen to me. We’ve talked about it a number of times and it feels like a lot of responsibility to carry. It’s also what keeps me going in life when I’m really fed up and “over it” with the world.

Sharing with my daughter was big for me because, like many people, I have this annoying habit of keeping things to myself. I go deep within and deal with all my stuff on my own. Funny thing is I am the first person to remind others “You don’t have to do this alone. Ask for help. Share your thoughts and concerns. Don’t rob others of the choice to make their own decision about helping and supporting you.”

And yet, my first inclination is “I will do this myself because others have their own lives to live and shit to deal with. Nobody should have to deal with mine, too. My stuff isn’t important. And they don’t really even care.” Thanks LoriBrain. Sometimes you’re a real jerk.

Plus, I can’t stand the look of “oh fuck, what do I say” on some people’s faces when I do share unpleasant news. We tend to do a terrible job teaching and inviting empathy and support in our culture and are often so uncomfortable with other people’s discomfort that we thrash around like a fish on the dock gasping for air when faced with it. It can feel exhausting supporting someone who is upset about what I’ve told them instead of actually receiving that support for what I share.

In fact, I generally feel like I AM the support system, not that I have one. I don’t feel like I have a lot of “my people” to reach out to with MY stuff. So, I navigate fear and uncertainty alone. I know I can depend on myself and that if I can trust anyone with my deepest heart, it’s me.

It’s totally hypocritical. I own that.

Waiting for that biopsy appointment was like stewing in the energy of uncertainty with a chaser of fear.

fear and uncertainty are far from the same for me.

Uncertainty feels sticky and annoying.

Irksome. Messy.

Uncertainty is full of questions with no idea about the actual answers. It’s like someone has left all the doors of the cabinets open and then just walked away.

No closure.

Simply standing there exposed.

Uncertainty embodies the energy of “I don’t know” and I’m someone who really likes answers and closure. It loves to taunt me and remind me that my “knowing” shows up on its terms and not on demand. It’s sneaky that way.

Fear is committed. It takes its job really fucking seriously.

Fear brings a heightened awareness that comes with the need to protect self.

It’s always feeling “on” and alert to everything around me at all times. Ears perked. Eyes taking in every detail and remembering them “in case” I need them later. Nose on high alert. Every inch of my skin aware of the smallest touch or movement.

Reflexes primed to react at the tiniest thing. It’s a complete sensory overdrive.

Fear knocks my logical brain into high gear figuring out how to make things work. How to solve the problem. What I can do. What is possible.

Fear is all business and “How can I survive?”

… .. … ..

I had the biopsy, and it was about as pleasant an experience as it could be. My tech was lovely and we talked about coaching — something she’s considered doing herself for many years. The biopsy table was in no way comfortable and we talked about how it was likely not designed by someone who might use it.

Lying face down, my breast was hanging through the hole in the middle of the table, my legs hanging off the end, and my head turned to one side in a most unnatural position. “Find a position you can hold because you won’t be able to move for about 20 minutes.” Nothing comfortable or comforting about that.

It’s an odd feeling to feel slight tugging and pressure when you know the action is much more vigorous. I was squeezed into a mammogram machine to help them find the spot and then guide the needle in. There was a hydraulic “clunk” as the samples were taken and sucked out. This part didn’t bring up feelings of fear or uncertainty. It raised curiosity about the procedure and how anyone might think this table is in any way comfortable. My guess? The table is built for the convenience of the doctor. Potential patient fear and uncertainty takes a backseat to getting things done efficiently. Our medical system at work.

The procedure was done and they were kind, helpful, and again willing to answer all my questions. My tech was happy to let me take photos of the sample and of my images on the screen. I told her I’d send her the info about BodyMind coaching. The doctor told me I should have the results in two to five days and “longer doesn’t mean anything bad.” That was a simple yet powerful piece of info to have.

With the shift from waiting for the procedure to waiting for the results, I had a fascinating awareness show up. Spending the past few weeks living in that enhanced energy of fear and uncertainty began to nourish my old friend, self-doubt. Little stories began parading through my brain saying things like, “You’re not really worth anything” and “What do you bring to the table?” The energy needed to navigate fear and uncertainty was acting as fertilizer for these ingrained patterns I work so hard to change. They can be so loud and so stubborn.

Maybe they come to visit so quickly and easily because there was so much uncertainty and fear in so many parts of my life growing up.

Both fear and uncertainty can serve as warning to danger, and unfortunately, constantly marinating in their energy actually dulls the messages to “fight, flight, or fawn” when they are critical. It feels like old hat — “What? This again? No problem. We spend all our time here, so you’ll be fine.”

Sometimes I wonder what it might feel like to live outside this state of hyper awareness and questioning. To live in a state of certainty and boldness. With a sense of calm and balance.

How will it feel when I open myself to living in action with myself vs. in reaction to the world around me?

… .. … ..

It took a whole fucking week for the biopsy results to come back. That was a long week.

Waiting like that really sucks.

I got the results in the morning. The phone rang during an already emotional time with my daughter — her grieving the end of the school year. The end of middle school. The activities 8th graders usually get to do at year end that she did not get to do because of the pandemic.

A field trip to NYC for multiple Broadway shows. A trip to indoor skydiving to celebrate the completion of her STEAM certificate — a three year endeavor. A cruise on the Potomac for her entire class to celebrate their promotion to high school. All these things were being “taken away” from her.

The day was not unwinding as she expected or wanted and all her grief was bubbling up.

Add to that her concern that her mom might have cancer. She’d asked about results multiple times during the past week: “Have you heard anything?” “Did the doctor call?” “It’s been awhile, is that bad??”

Tears and emotions were flowing from her like a flash flood sweeping over the banks.

The phone rang. It was the radiologist.

He sounded chipper. Is that good?

The biopsy came back and the results were benign.

He read me the report which, as he described it, was full of a bunch of big words that didn’t include things like carcinogenic, cancerous, and some other things. I understood the general message and look forward to seeing it and processing what all those words actually said. I told him thank you and hung up.

My daughter stopped, looked right into my eyes, and asked, “Do you have cancer?” Almost no adult I know will easily say that word, and she just blurted that out.

She burst into smiling tears when I told her the result was benign. (I’ll never say “I don’t have cancer” because the body is vast and tricky, and who the hell knows what’s going on in other places.) She gave me a big hug. Her entire body let go of some of her own fear and uncertainty of the past few weeks. Clearly this uncertainty… this fear… was weighing on her as well.

I’m back on the 6-month plan to check the same area. And then, perhaps, I can go back on the yearly plan. Time will tell because, of course, there’s no way to be certain.

fear and uncertainty are far from the same thing for me.