The night before my MRI was mentally tough. I managed to convince myself that I probably had lung issues that would probably show up on the MRI. I am still awaiting the MRI results and I am not any better.
I don’t understand why it takes so long to hear back about the results from the doctor and/or his team. It’s Tuesday today and MRI day was Friday. Shouldn’t I have heard back by now? I don’t like this feeling of losing control. I can barely sleep three hours straight before waking up in a state of panic.
I’ve always been somewhat of a hypochondriac, for example that a headache lasting 2 days means a brain aneurysm, but now, with this DCIS diagnosis, I am a blithering idiot.
I have a couple of raised spots on my legs and I am now worried about melanoma. So much so that I’ve made an appointment to see a dermatologist this week. It doesn’t matter that I am dark-skinned black person, so my chances of getting skin cancer are low but my proximity to infrared heaters during harsh winters gotten me extremely worried. I can’t even tell my mom about this new worry yet because she’s lost her peace of mind lately, just like I have.
On top of this, the results of the genetic testing I initiated yesterday won’t be ready for a week or two, which means that surgery won’t be performed until they are back. This is because a positive hereditary gene for cancer will help me make a decision on whether I go with the doctor-recommended lumpectomy or a bilateral mastectomy.
Nothing seems to be moving at the pace I want it to. And my mind is telling me all kinds of extreme things. Mainly that I’ll be dead sooner rather than later and that my kids will never forgive me for that.
On some level, I am embarrassed to be having all these thoughts because I am supposed to maintain my faith as a Christian. If I am praying to God to use the doctors to help me beat this health challenge, then why I am accepting of death? The only answer I can come up with is “oh ye of little faith…” I have to up my faith level, plain and simple.