Oh anxiety, how I hate you so...

I spent last night bitching about Mike and his neurosis, but let’s not think for a moment that I don’t have my fair share as well. Went to the doctor this morning...

When I was 10, I got my first visit from my least favorite aunt. For awhile (how long I honestly don’t remember), it was horrible. Heavy, probably irregular though I never bothered to track and virtually unmanageable. Pretty much every awkward pre-teens worst nightmare, and I was on the outskirts of the popular crowd already. Until today - literally - I’d always assumed it was my fault. I didn’t take enough precautions or whatever. The possibility that my it wasn’t my lack of personal hygiene at the root of the problem never really crossed my mind. I went on the pill briefly in my early teens, but stopped soon thereafter. It wasn’t until I met Mike that I went on it for real and things got so much better. Fast forward 10 years, I’ve been on the pill, no problems from the dreaded aunt. I went off it, got pregnant the first month, got pregnant again 6 months post partum and then decided not to go back on the pill at all. Mike got a vasectomy. A year or so ago, I made an appt to find out what I could do about the unmanageable periods and heavy bleeding. Doc checked me out briefly, recommended an iud and sent me home with instructions to make sure my insurance would cover it. It wasn’t covered. About a month ago, I realized that we have new insurance and it takes me about 5 minutes to find out that they do cover it. So I head back to the doc. We discuss a multitude of options, one of which requires a biopsy from the lining of my uterus and an ultrasound. She tells me to schedule the ultrasound right at the end of my period, which I try to do. Predictably, auntie shows up four days early and last for four days so my appointment is now in the middle of my cycle. Which brings us back to this morning.

Ultrasound tech and I chat a bit while she got the big thing shoved up inside me and is moving it like a freaking joystick. I’m asking questions and she subtly reminds me that questions put her in a bind. She can say that everything is fine, but can’t say if anything is not. She doesn’t like tap dancing. But at the end, she tells me that everything is fine. Load off. Doc comes in. Does some painful shit with tubes shoved through my cervix and into my uterus and the metal spreader thingy holding me open. Then starts talking about “what’s that?” and “hmmm” and then the dreaded “Well, I’m glad we did the biopsy, I’ll talk to you more in my office.” And so begins the waiting. I waited for 20 minutes then missed when the doc was ready for me because I had to go to the bathroom. So I waited for another 20 minutes.

Through this whole process btw, Rachel is with me and being a complete angel. She watched Dora on my iphone the whole time I was in stir ups, didn’t so much as wiggle in her seat. During the wait, she smiled at me, we colored together and sang songs. She has no idea how much she helped me today, but hugging her kept me grounded. I had half a mind to go pull Spencer from school so I could hug him too. They truly are my reason for living.

Finally we go into her office and start talking about birth control, etc. She explains calmly that the biopsy thing could turn out to be something, but all signs point to nothing and it’s just for peace of mind for all of us that she’s glad she did the biopsy. The lining of my uterus is extra thick and there are a couple masses in there that she’s not sure about. But they are most likely polyps or fibroids (both of which I’m assuming are harmless b/c she uses the words casually), since I’m not having any breakthrough bleeding, the biopsy will hopefully confirm that. And the lining is thicker than it should be, but that seems consistent with the problems I’m having as well. So probably nothing, but good to be sure just in case. And we spend more time talking about me starting the pill again. No mention of follow up appts, and a script for a full year’s worth of birth control (which will both thin out the lining and take care of my monthly problems). She tells me casually to call in a week if I haven’t heard from them regarding the results.

So tonight, Rachel was having one of her (admittedly rare) full on meltdowns and the whole time she is crying, I keep getting these mini-gut punch panic attacks. The kind when you heal enough from an emotional trauma to start to breathe again, but then every so often you remember and it sucks the life out of you again - like that but tiny. By the time my mind re-focuses on what the problem is, it’s gone. But it happens over and over and over again. Probably 15-20 times in the 20 minutes she was crying. Each time a little stronger until I feel like I’m going to break down into a full panic attack. I started to dread when their bedtime b/c it will be quiet and lonely here and I’ll have time to think. Finally though, she calms down and so do I. I made sure to spend some quality time snuggling on the couch before bed and I felt a bazillion times better.

Why though???? As I worked through in the first few paragraphs - which was my main reason for doing this tonight, there is not the likelihood of anything being wrong. And if it is, hopefully it’s caught early enough for survival to be a good possibility. Nothing is different today than yesterday, except that now I know that in a week I’ll have a definite yes or no at least to the question of uterine cancer. Which can only be a good thing, either way. If it’s not there, then that’s one more unknown that I don’t have to live with at least for awhile. And if it is there, then knowing is the best possible case scenario, cause then I can fight. Like most things in life, knowing or not knowing doesn’t change the basic facts. If cancer is there, it’s would still be there even if I didn’t have this test. And why did it come only when Rachel was crying? Maybe her sadness - the utter cruelty of me letting Spencer take a bath by himself - just rejuvenated my own? Who knows, but Mike isn’t the only one in the house with issues lol. And I’m already on anti-depressants, I can’t imagine what I’d be like without them. Would I be able to function? Or might I be like Mike, so burdened with constant anxiety that I can barely breathe under the weight of it all.

Now I have to push it all out of my mind till next week, because there is absolutely nothing I can do between now and then but worry. I heard this quote somewhere:

Worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but doesn’t get you anywhere.