Safe and Secure

If you've been reading long, you know that I struggle with worrying. I like to think I've made some progress with that over the years, but maybe not. 

If you are a fellow worrier, you understand that worrying itself can engender more worrying. For example, during both of my pregnancies, I worried more about worrying than about the actual object of my worries. I'd read that the mother's emotional state can affect the temperament of the growing baby, so I tried my very hardest not to worry about anything. But of course that was virtually impossible, so every time I caught myself worrying, I would scold myself and launch into even more worrying about worrying. 

I'm sure I'm not the only one to ever worry about worrying, but I wonder if anyone else has taken worrying to an even higher (lower?) level. Have you ever worried about... not worrying? 

Toward the end of September, I had my annual screening mammogram. Since I have had a few scares with abnormal mammogram findings, I tend to feel at least mildly anxious every time I go for a mammogram. But this time, I felt relaxed and ready to check this overdue item off my list. 

The morning of my mammogram, I marveled as usual at the kindness and efficiency of the mammogram technician. I focused on her wall of crosses as I prepared for the contortions and breath holding that I knew were coming. I was in and out within maybe 40 minutes and then started my workday as usual.

I didn't give the results a second thought until a virtual visit with my family doctor to review my latest lab work. The nurse practitioner told me my thyroid levels are looking good, as is my estrone level, which had previously been sharply elevated. As I smiled over all the good news, she mentioned that they had just received my mammogram results, and I needed to schedule a repeat exam. 

I thanked her and took a deep breath. Within moments, I was drawn into a vivid memory of the last time I'd had an abnormal mammogram, in 2020 just before the pandemic. When I received the phone call, I'd been at my new job only a couple of months, and it felt like the many trials that resulted from my Hashimoto's flare-up were coming to an end. The kind woman from the hospital informed me that I needed to schedule an ultrasound as soon as possible, though it wasn't an emergency. To my chagrin, I burst into tears right in front of my new coworker, Chris. He was very understanding, and the prayer he said over me calmed me. Still, I lived in dread until my appointment. I felt I'd gotten lucky that other time when I'd needed a breast biopsy, and with all of the bad things that had happened to me recently, I doubted I'd get lucky again. 

I'd scheduled the ultrasound for the afternoon before a planned trip with Ethan, Sumer, and Allyson. I was so afraid that I might get results that could ruin my vacation, but it was the opposite. I remember staring at a cross on the wall while a young man ran an ultrasound wand over my breast. "Help me be brave," I prayed silently as a tear trickled into my ear.

"Good news," the man said. "It's just a cyst. It's nothing to worry about." 

I went on vacation with magnified joy and a renewed appreciation for the blessing of time with my children. 

Thinking back on that week or two of agonized worrying, I decided that this time I was not going to waste time and energy on worrying. I picked up the phone right away to schedule the mammogram and get it over with. I learned that I would likely need an ultrasound as well. 

I mentioned the repeat mammogram at the second meeting of my new ladies' small group, but I said I wasn't worried about it since I have dense breast tissue and have frequently been called back after mammograms. "It's probably just calcification," I concluded. 

True to my word, I experienced only a flicker of unease as I returned to the hospital on the morning of November 2. The same kind tech welcomed me, and I gazed at the same wall of crosses, breathing deeply and reading the encouraging inscriptions as I waited for her to return after the radiologist had viewed my new images. 

When the radiologist came through the door right behind her, I knew it wasn't good news. "There's no need to do an ultrasound," he told me. "We wouldn't be able to see what we need to see." He gestured to three tiny dots on the computer screen. "Those spots were not on your mammogram last year," he explained. "There's a very good chance they are just calcification, but we can't tell without doing a biopsy."

He hastened to assure me that 80 percent of these biopsies are benign. "Is it a needle biopsy?" I asked. He nodded. "I've had a needle biopsy before, on the other side." 

"Then you know what to expect," he said.  I nodded, smiling grimly. I knew exactly what to expect, and it was no fun. 

After the radiologist left, the technician showed me the room where I will have the biopsy and explained the procedure. Then, she introduced me to the scheduler, who was equally kind. I was disappointed to learn that I would have to wait nearly a full month for my biopsy.

On the way to the car, tears filled my eyes as I battled worry and something else that I like to think I'm not vulnerable to: superstition. Had I been foolish not to worry about this repeat mammogram? Maybe I'd jinxed myself. "That's ridiculous," I told myself. "It doesn't work that way."

"But what about self-fulfilling prophecies? There really is power in our thoughts. Still, wouldn't worrying about something actually be more likely to have negative effects than failing to worry?" I sat in the car and ruminated about whether there was any reason to worry, whether I was worrying too much, and whether I had been worrying too little. Finally, I dried my eyes, mumbled an apology to God for not trusting Him more, and hurried home to start my workday.

In the weeks since that morning, I've tried not to think about the biopsy at all. Most days, I've succeeded, but on other days I wondered whether I might need surgery and chemotherapy. It's all so exhausting that I even considered asking for a preventive double mastectomy. This admittedly extreme reaction resulted more from the stress and the ridiculous cost of breast biopsies than from concern over cancer.

Although I have asked several friends and family members to pray for me, I've mostly avoided talking about it, especially over the Thanksgiving holiday. After all, the chances are very good that everything will be fine, so there's no reason to give other people a cause for concern.

This morning, three days before the procedure, was the first time I felt truly peaceful when the biopsy came to mind. I was sitting in my favorite chair enjoying some chai tea and my Write the Word scripture journal, struggling to write around a very contented kitty who took up most of the space on my lap. Sweet Riggy, whom I'm fostering for my son and daughter-in-law, was curled up like a cinnamon bun, purring softly with her eyes closed.

In my laborious cursive, I copied, "I have loved you with an everlasting love" Jeremiah 31:3. The word everlasting arrested me. How reassuring that in everything that has ever happened to me, and in everything that ever will happen to me, God has loved me steadfastly. 

I studied Riggy. Clearly, she felt absolutely safe and secure on my lap. Not one worry marred her serenity, not even the fact that she's mostly confined to my room due to a jealous and rather violent cat (CiCi) who thinks she has usurped her rightful place on my bed. In this moment of bliss, all her fears were forgotten.

CiCi Doesn't Look So Mean, Does She?

Just then, I shifted in my seat to reach for my tea, and Riggy opened one eye. I lazily rubbed her ear until she closed her eye again, pulling her paw over it for good measure. I smiled. "You're on to something," I whispered. "You don't need to see anything. You're safe here." 

My smile widened as I pictured myself safe and secure in God's hand, with my hand covering my eyes. I realized then--or remembered--that it's actually God's mercy that prevents me from looking into my future. I don't need to see what's coming as long as I know that He will be with me. I'm not going to worry. And I'm not going to worry about not worrying. It's all good.