Recently, I saw somewhere on social media, probably Instagram, a little saying about which I could completely relate -- a new term, scanxiety. Scanxiety is the apprehensive uneasiness or nervousness in anticipation of an upcoming scan or test to determine cancer growth or remission. Let me tell you, scanxiety is real. To live in a body that has betrayed me once before, and to learn to trust it again is the only healthy way forward, but in order to do it well, I really put in the work, a big slice of it being telehealth therapy sessions through the Flatwater Foundation. It's been life changing. My therapist and I had been specifically preparing for me seeing the oncologist for my semi annual check-up, and having a mammogram and ultrasound. (I had found a small lump in my armpit.) All of my coping strategies were in place -- prayer, mindfulness, tactile distraction (sticky tape), color awareness, deep breathing -- and still my blood pressure was high (for me) at the appointment. I honestly thought that even with the high-for-me blood pressure that I was doing all right until my oncologist mentioned at the very end of the appointment that she was ordering bloodwork. My therapist and I hadn't prepared for that! I started to freak out (internally) a little bit....ok, a lot, because because because it all reminds me of getting blood work done ad infinitum during chemo, and radiation, and before surgeries, and, it, well, I hadn't considered the possibility of needing to have more bloodwork done. As a good Christian girl, I started audibly calling on the name of Jesus as the phlebotomist started prepping my arm. Also as a good Christian girl, I felt the need to tell the phlebotomist that I was indeed calling on the name of Jesus and not just swearing over and over. She said, "I know."
God bless her.
It just so happens that it was one of the easiest blood draws of all time. (Thank you, Jesus, and thank you, best phlebotomist ever!)
And, then I cried.
Without further ado, it is a great relief to report that for my semi-annual oncology exam, I "passed" the mammogram, the ultrasound, the bloodwork. The lump I felt was a leftover surgical clip. Officially, I can declare there is no evidence of cancer in my body. Amen and amen.
