I was sitting in the waiting room with my Ochsner robe on, flipping through a magazine. It was drafty in there and I was wishing I had worn my wool-lined Uggs and boot socks to combat the chill...at least on the bottom half of my body. The small thought that perhaps I would get bad news quickly flitted through my head then was quickly dismissed. Nothing like that happens to me, I thought to myself. My body and I are too tight...it wouldn't betray me.
The Radiologist squeezed the cold gel on my chest and started the invasion. Right breast was quick and easy. Left breast...he took longer. Much longer. The mood in the room went from light and chatty to unnervingly quiet. He and the nurse fussed over me as they cleaned the gel off and helped me back into my robe. He sat somberly in his chair and began the explanation of his findings. He found a mass. It was concerning. The words biopsy and cancer hung in the air. I stopped breathing at some point and fought back tears. Surely this would not be the moment my life drastically changed. Surely not in this tiny room with these strangers halfway dressed after being groped would the course of my life screech to a halt. Surely...
I begged silently for their words to stop so I could escape to my car and release the sobs I was stifling. The doctor gently shook my hand and left in silence. The nurse told me to take a deep breath and directed me to the changing room. Finally, I found myself in my car and the pending sobs collapsed as threatened.
When I was able to squeak out a "hello," I began calling my family. Their words were expected and comforting:
"We don't know anything yet."
"This is standard procedure."
"It's a very treatable kind of cancer if they caught it early."
And my favorite, by my brother-in-law.... "Don't go to crazy-town, Rebekah."
I am two years past the due date for my mammogram. I hate making time to go to the doctor. I'm super healthy, so it seems like a waste of time...so I thought. But when I had my annual last week, my doctor urged me to go see if there was a spot for a mammogram open that day. Within minutes, I was waiting, topless, to get my breasts squeezed uncomfortably into a machine. I was disgruntled and irritated at the seeming waste of time. Even when I got the call stating there were abnormalities and an ultrasound was needed, I scoffed. We'll see if I actually make this appointment, I thought to myself. There is nothing wrong with me.
For two weeks, my family and close friends held their breath. They called often. They texted more. I walked through the following weeks with an intense amount of anxiety. Food was not appealing. I learned to go to sleep and wake with a huge pressure sitting on my chest. I learned to manage living as a mom and business owner with almost paralyzing stress.
I am thankful the anxiety ended with good news. The lump was benign. Not everyone is this lucky.
I did not escape that experience unscathed. It altered the course of my life. It changed the chemistry in my brain as my body struggled to stay balanced. It changed my relationships...it deepened some and gave me permission to release others. It forced me to be exposed and vulnerable ... to be human.
I said one night to my dear friend during the height of my anxiety that if this experience has done anything for me, it has pushed me to live fearlessly. Well, even more fearlessly. (I'm not exactly the girl that hides from experiences out of fear.)
But what does scare me is continuing to evolve as a woman independent of a man. My fear is that I will scare off any possibility of companionship by being fiercely autonomous. As a result, I have hesitated in my growth. I have tiptoed towards it with caution. I have considered the consequences of my actions through the lens of companionship instead of my own evolution.
Having that word "cancer" uttered by a stranger in relation to my body was enough to release me from this tether. I will no longer pause in my procession towards greatness. Life is too short to be shackled. It's too precious to be stifled. And should I find myself once again in a drafty room with a robe on to cover my nakedness from sterile strangers, I will be able to rest in the knowledge that I lived fearlessly.