Anticipation

By
Mindy
Published: March 16, 2010Posted in: Family Life, General/MiscellaneousComments: 22Tags: , , , ,

I realized something about myself recently.  I have always considered myself an optimist with a twinge of realism shoved in here and there.  I am definitely the type of person who likes to see the good in the world, in people and in the hand I’ve been dealt.  Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I go to bat for the underdog and work hard at reinstating peace where there is conflict.   It is because of this undying quest to “find the happy” I’ve been very surprised at myself as of late.

Last week, I experienced something that shook me up a bit.  I found something a little fishy in my left lady lump (that’s breast for those of you who don’t speak “Fergalicious”) and brought it up at my annual exam.  My gyno wasn’t overly excited about it so decided to send me for a mammogram and ultrasound.  Hey, better safe than sorry as far as I’m concerned.  Poke me, prod me and hook me up with whatever tests might be necessary.  I’m all for being informed.

I am thirty-three years old and actually had my first mammogram at the age of thirty due to a *slight* family history with breast cancer.  I’m also well-endowed in that  particular area (in the interest of full disclosure, I’m also well-endowed in all kinds of other areas…but I’m working on that) so I thought it might be important to have a baseline test just to be safe. 

While not the most comfortable situation I’ve ever been placed in I really didn’t think the mammogram was that bad.  After hearing numerous horror stories I was pretty sure someone was going to hook my nipples up to clamps and hang me up by them.  Thankfully, it was slightly easier than that. 

This time around was no exception.  Despite one hitch in the process (entirely my fault given my tendency to channel Soupy Sales when I’m nervous and yuk it up with the mammographer) wherein she erroneously pressed the wrong button managing to flatten my already freakishly flat boob even more, everything went well.

Once my mammogram was analyzed by the on-staff radiologist, I was referred to another room for an ultrasound.  I couldn’t help but notice that the ultrasound tech began the test in an area that was nowhere near the original point of concern.  She mentioned that there was a “different area the radiologist would like some clarification on” and she would be spending a little bit of time there.

Wow.

I wasn’t really prepared for that.  Thoughts immediately began assaulting my mind and I struggled to lay there calmly and collectively.  I began my comedy schtick, eager to break the growing tension in the dark little room, but the tech was obviously trying to concentrate on her work (or, perhaps I’m not quite as witty as I thought but I prefer to think it was her work ethic) and didn’t succumb to my humor. 

Which made it all worse.

Once the ultrasound was performed she told me to sit tight while she ran the pictures to the radiologist.  “I’ll be right back and let you know what the next step is,” she said, as she exited.

Hmm.  Anticipation is a tricky little emotion and most assuredly a chameleon of sorts.  It comes in all different shapes, sizes and scenarios.  There’s the stomach-fluttering form that shows up the morning of a much-needed vacation.  There’s the heart-thumping form that presents itself the first time your child rides a bike.  There’s the stomach-dropping form that shows up when you sense someone you love is about to suffer some disappointment.  And then there’s the mind-numbing form that shows up when you realize that the safe little world you were living in has the potential to be utterly rocked. 

It was this form of anticipation, as I sat in that little room, that made me realize I am much more susceptible to pessimism than I previously had thought.  Rather than resting on my faith that everything would work itself out, I ran straight to, “What if?”  I had practically already diagnosed myself when the ultrasound tech came back in to inform me that the “area of concern” was actually some dense tissue that looked a little different than its surroundings.  She advised me to come back in for a six-month follow up to confirm that everything was just fine and it’s definitely not something “to lose sleep over.”

I mulled over that statement the entire drive home and determined, she was absolutely right.  Admittedly, although I would have much rather been handed a clean bill of health, I will purpose to reinstate my optimistic self and believe that everything will be just as it should be. 

Anticipation can be both the most exhilarating feeling and the most dreadful feeling depending on the situation at hand.   It’s how you choose to deal with the anticipation that ultimately defines you.  I choose to stay positive and continue to laugh.

Happy Tuesday,

Mindy

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