Living Life Through a Long Wait

Two weeks ago, I had the experience every woman dreads - an abnormal mammogram. For the twenty-two years I practiced psychotherapy, I listened to other people’s problems. Now, I’ve got a beauty of my own. It will take over a month before I find out if I have cancer.

I am in the process of waiting, and I’ve had to learn a lot about it. I hope what I’m finding will help others. I guess when it comes down to the nitty gritty, my caretaking persona just won’t let up.

There have been many times I have not handled this well. That is quite acceptable. Petty things make me mad. Last night, when my husband forgot to turn off the outside light, I railed at him. He forgave me. I forgave myself.

Poignant moments have occurred that stand out in my thoughts. How worried I was when the technician kept repeating x-rays and I feared that my dripping tears would show up on the films. Having taken great pains to position my breast and arms and not wanting me to move, she dried my cheek with her finger. And the anguish on my husband’s face when I couldn’t say his name, but instead motioned for him to come because the doctor wanted to talk to us. We sat silently in the tiny room, not needing to verbally express the onslaught of terrors and hopes that sped through our minds.

I have had so many people I hardly know say, “I’ll pray for you.” I’ve never been a religious person nor am I now. Yet, these words affect me profoundly. And that is because I know they are said with tenderness and collective human vulnerability.

I’ve spent many years researching the various “stages” of crises. This is what I know: there aren’t any universal stages or “normal” patterns of reaction. Our experiences are unique to us.

The stage of denial? No, I never felt that this wasn’t happening. It hit me instantly, and jolted me like an elevator plunge. It still does. The stage of anger? I’ve been there a lot. But I never went through the stage of, “Why me?” At least, not yet.

Every afternoon, I fill the bird bath with fresh water and watch the chickadees splash around. That’s a “present moment” stage. The more of these I can muster, the better off I am. I say to myself, “This day is going to pass one way or another. It’s up to me how I choreograph it.” Does this always work? No. But sometimes it does. That’s the best I can do. And if I can’t always do my best, well that’s ok too.

I’ve also added the “quick fix” stage. Did you know that it’s perfectly all right to watch a video during a beautiful sunny day? Or eat the leftovers you promised yourself you’d freeze? Not all quick fixes are good ideas. Mine are harmless save for the guilt normally associated with them. This is a very good time to scrap the guilt.

I’ve learned another personal truism. I like sympathy. It feels good. I like cards and flowers and phone calls. Someone gave me a plastic lobster that slithers across the linoleum floor when you wind it up. I like presents.

Exercise helps. I force myself to walk. Keeping the house neat helps. When it’s a mess, I tend to get melodramatic and think of the disarray as a metaphor for my self. Writing stories helps.

Every morning I change the little calendar next to my computer. I’ll admit I’m glad to put another day behind me. This is a part I hate. Wishing for time to pass is something I have always shunned. Now I’m different. That’s just the way it is. But God willing, that should pass.

I haven’t seen the hummingbird at my feeder in a couple of weeks, so I haven’t bothered putting out new nectar. Last night at sunset, I saw his beautiful sleek body hover by the empty feeder. He seemed to say, “You know there are other beings in the world besides yourself. And just because I haven’t been around doesn’t automatically mean I’m gone for good. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring.”

This morning I awoke with very sad thoughts. I considered staying in bed and allowing my imagination to plummet to the darkest of places.

Instead, I put out fresh hummingbird nectar.