Phobias

I used to have this fear that my heart would give me troubles later in my life. I suppose this could be taken both literally and figuratively. In some ways, I find it a bit of a coincidence that the mass in my chest is near my heart. It always seems that somehow our true fears always rear their ugly heads when we try to run from them.

It’s like Murphy’s Law on crack.

This is not the case each and every time or for each and every person. In fact, before you panic, I would like to mention that in the face of lymphoma, according to my doctor, it is one big game of chance. Since the origins of lymphoma are mostly unknown, it appears that getting it is much like rolling dice. Some people have mutated cells that like to replicate, others do not and will not. However, in my own nuanced and attuned intuition, I feel like I should know better than to avoid my fears.

I recall in the months preceding my cancer diagnosis, I would rub at the area directly above my heart with uncertainty. There was a tenderness that seemed hard to distinguish between a muscle and an organ. Generally, I would commit to the former and ignore the discomfort before I began to forget why I was rubbing my chest in the first place.

I bring this all up because I have a small amount of worry going into the biopsy tomorrow. The feeling of wanting to be in control makes going under anesthesia a scary situation to me. Having done it more than a few times for surgeries and procedures, I’m well aware of that moment when you just slip under, dreamless and unaware of the people and instruments around you.

It’s always a creepy scene to play out in your head beforehand. The anticipation, while dressed in a hospital gown, already feeling vulnerable, and cold (since I have never known a hospital or surgical ward not to feel anything than refrigerator-worthy) is enough to make me uneasy. I struggle with preoccupying my mind with positive thoughts before these things, knowing that there will be a moment when I have to let go and succumb. Before that moment, I remember those I love and know I will see them again when I wake up.

Coming out of anesthesia is always an odd experience. I always recall the sounds first before I strain to open my eyes. Even in that groggy moment, I’m thankful to be aware of my surroundings once more. I feel a relish of joy and now process my thoughts to begin recovery and healing. There is also the feeling of: well, that wasn’t so bad.

I could liken it to riding a rollercoaster that you have never been on. You feel that anticipation as you wait in line, watching others on the ride. You climb aboard the ride and think: ok, I’m on here, no turning back. As you climb the top to go to an eventual drop you now think: why did I decide to go on this ride in the first place? This was a bad idea. Your stomach begins to rise towards your throat as you reach the top of the hill, expecting what is to happen next, but also not knowing exactly what will occur. That sincere moment of uncertainty is turned around the moment you hit the bottom of the hill, because you realize you made it and will continue onward.

The anticipation could easily go hand in hand with pessimistic thoughts that would ultimately lead to panic and fear.

Fear topped off with fear is a sundae I do not want to devour.

Time and time again, I know that I have accepted my circumstances and maintained a strong sense of self. Also, having a conversation with my doctor the other day and the nurses today at the hospital for pre-op tests has made me feel better about the procedure. Therefore, the worry is lessening.

To paraphrase and recontextualize FDR’s well-known inaugural address quote, the only thing for me to fear is fear itself.