On Always Being Right
The First Visit.
It wasn’t until I was scheduling my follow-up appointment that someone finally said, “I’m sorry you’re here.” The previous 4 or 5 healthcare professionals had worked so hard at welcoming me that it was as if they were glad I had to be here, at this clinic where every patient has cancer.
I knew the facts, knew that as cancer goes I really was one of their patients to be cheerful about. Caught early. Generally healthy. Good options for treatment. Excellent prognosis. My head knew all those things they saw in my chart that were making their demeanors so positive. But my heart couldn’t join in. My heart was stuck in that moment where the surgeon confirmed what I’d suspected since January. Cancer.
The cancer wasn’t in the lump I’d felt in my abdomen, the massive cyst the surgeon had removed from my ovary. But that lump was the domino that sent everything else crashing toward the word my sister couldn’t even bring herself to say the day we got the phone call.
I hadn’t wanted to be right about this one. But I was.
The dominos have continued to crash. And the things I didn’t want to be right about but dared to speak about kept coming true. The health share won’t cover it. The best course of treatment means infertility. Anxiety’s voice gets louder every time she’s right.
The Second Surgery
This week I signed a release with a title the nurse apologized for. “Acknowledgment of Sterilization.” I guess you wouldn’t want someone to have a hysterectomy and not realize the ramifications of it. But signing a paper essentially stating that I was willingly giving up my ability to bear children was not a moment I was prepared for. (How many of these moments are we actually prepared for?)
It’s a topic for another time, the complicated thoughts and feelings about femininity when a major female organ is removed. For now, I’ll just say that it would be best for me to leave the Christian dating Facebook groups I’m in where every man lists as a deal-breaker women who can’t or won’t bear them children. I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a man who believed that any way, but it still feels weighty to choose for myself and any potential future partner that we will not have biological children.
I’ve spent a lot of my life being good at being right. (Enneagram 5 hoarder of information with a side of strong intuition here.) But this year, I’ve been right about too many things I don’t want to be right about.
But here’s what I do want to be right about: The people who are with me on this journey. I have little ones who remind me how brave I am. I have friends who will come spend the day on my couch to just cry and laugh. I have family flying halfway across the country multiple times so they can bring me fresh water and remind me to take my meds. I have a church family praying with tear-filled eyes and hope-filled hearts. I have a work family taking on extra tasks so our community is cared for well. I have so many loved ones checking in that I can’t always remember to respond to all their care.
I have a great God whose compassion says with the scheduler, “I’m sorry you’re here,” and whose encouragement says with my foster daughters, “You’re being so brave.”
I’m fighting hard to hear these voices louder than I hear my anxiety. I’m fighting hard believing my testimony is right: “I am held.”