About two weeks ago, I got a call back from the ob/gyn nurse telling me that I need to come in for more tests after a pap. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here, but at the more in-depth exam, spots were found, biopsies were taken, and I got really scared.
I'm still waiting on results, and the odds are really good that it is completely treatable. It may even just be a "let's keep an eye on it" kind of thing. But it is really, really scary. I have been completely consumed by the fear and the not knowing, and I wasn't ready to write about it here. It was too much. It also took me awhile to tell the major players in my life, and I didn't want someone in my family to find out by reading the blog. But now I can write, which I'm really happy about.
I think everyday of this little picture I cut out of a magazine once that had the Five Remembrances from Buddhism. (I just googled it and found the very image. I'm so lucky! Here it is. Thanks, Thich Nhat Hanh and plumvillage.com.)
I carried that little piece of paper around with me for years, pinning it on various refrigerators and office bulletin boards, but it's taken this experience to really get it.
I had a moment alone in my morning practice (which is really, really not a big deal. I sit for like 2 minutes and write a little. On a good day.) Anyway, I had this moment when I realized that I would die, and I felt totally supported, totally calm, totally without fear. Wow. I have, a few times while feeling young and healthy, tried to visualize my death as suggested by the Remembrances. The experience was frightening and dark and lonely, and I haven't ever been able to stay with it for more than a second. For the first time, I had a moment with death and with God that wasn't at all scary. It was like, "yeah, this is what happens. It's going to be okay."
I'm a little worried that this sounds morbid, but it's not. I'm not at all saying that I'm going to die from this, or that it's going to happen soon. That's very, very unlikely. Really.
Don't worry, the holy, peaceful feeling didn't stick. It never does. I became neurotic again. But something big has shifted. I'm going to die; you are going to die. Your mom and your children and your siblings and your best friend are all going to die. So there's nothing left but this one instant right now. This time with this person, this flower, this night sky, this scent of cut grass. This is all we've got. And it's really, really amazing. I swear, the Bay has never been more beautiful, my friends more sweet (even the ones who don't know yet), passers-by more fascinating, flowers more colorful, sun shinier, etc., etc., than it has been the last couple of weeks. As my mom, who is a survivor of both breast cancer and a brain aneurysm said this morning, "you get the moment."
Maybe that little slip of paper has been preparing me for this, whatever this is. Definitely, I had moments in the beginning when I just kept saying to myself, "I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this." Whatever this is, which is totally unknown, and what I'm realizing with this stuff is that knowing more doesn't make me any more sure. Every time there is new information, there are more questions. There is no certainty, and even though I really want those results, I know that it won't necessarily set my mind at ease, even if the news is "good." There may just be more questions. And it doesn't change the central fact that life is impermanent. We just don't ever know.
Here are some other, more mundane lessons I'm learning that I need to share with fellow health slackers:
1. Quit smoking. (Okay, I already did that, but if the news is bad, it's certain that my 15 years smoking were not helping the situation any.)
2. Get your paps as recommended by your doctor. Don't blow it off.
3. Keep your health insurance, even if you're healthy, broke and self-employed. Don't worry. I kept mine. I won't have to sell the farm.
Ok, that's it. I'm back to the blog, so you'll be getting updates.
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