I’ve put it out of my mind as much as possible for the past two weeks, waiting for my appointment. But this coming Thursday (4-27-17) is the day, and I’m feeling more and more anxiety.
I keep thinking about my whole life. All the things I would re-do if I could. All the things I didn’t get around to. I’ve been thinking about how much I normally focus on the future and what I’m gonna do, what I might do, what I try to do, hoping to get some kind of results that will lead to happiness. What if they tell me the future is gone?
All the tragic scenes I’ve watched in movies. All the times when I was younger and had some sort of health scare…knowing in my heart that it was probably nothing. (It always was.) But now I’m not so young and the odds are not so much on my side. And I’ve been telling them for SIX YEARS I felt something wrong.
I’ll be so angry if now, after letting it grow and spread for six years, they suddenly detect the problem. But what could I have done differently? If you go for mammograms and they tell you they don’t see anything, what else can you do? Demand they slice you open and look harder?
We’ve been trying to find positive evidence to convince ourselves it’s okay. They certainly weren’t in a big hurry to schedule my appointment. And I’ve had blood work done several times in the last few years with nothing unusual showing up. Brad has been doing some reading about mammograms, trying to believe that a bad result could be a million unimportant things. I haven’t. Reading would terrify me.
I wouldn’t have slept for the past two weeks if not for Sominex.
I can’t imagine telling my kids, if the news is bad. They would want to know what it meant–“Are you going to die?” And I couldn’t promise them anything. They would go to pieces. I imagine telling my friends and coworkers and having them ask “What stage?” And if it’s Four, they’d all automatically start thinking of me as dead. They’d jump immediately to imagining a world without me in it.
I’ve always said I didn’t want to die suddenly, in an accident for example. I’d want a chance to get things in order and say goodbye. So that’s one thing.
I don’t look forward to the idea of suffering. There might be surgery or chemo, in addition to the disease itself. But if suffering leads to recovery–okay. What if suffering only leads to death, though? What if there’s really not much hope?
It’s so weird how life goes on regardless. I mean what do you think about all the time, after you find out your future is limited? All the minor concerns…the shoes I might buy, the weight I’d like to lose, the work-at-home job I dream of…I guess I could quit thinking about all that. But what would I think about instead, in my idle moments? This much I know…if we find out terrible devastating news, we’ll still have to have dinner that night. We’ll still have to do laundry and I’ll still have to go to work the next day.
This is going to be a tough week.