BeeMusing

I’m Scared

“We removed three polyps – one big one and two little ones. “ He stood at the foot of the stretcher with his hands on his khaki-covered hips looking somehow older than he should have. His hair was dark; his lightly tanned skin, smooth and unwrinkled. His oxford blue shirt was as unwrinkled as his face and the creases in his pants were sharp. His eyes, partially hidden by trendy dark-rimmed glasses, held no sparkle and, had his voice had any tone at all, it would have been one of arrogance. He explained that the polyps looked okay, but that, of course, we’d have to wait on the biopsy results to be sure. If there had been something bad, he was sure that the removal of the meanest looking polyp would have gotten it. “You’ll need to be scoped again in a year,” he explained and he turned to leave. “You’ll hear from me when we get the results.”

He would have been gone if I hadn’t stopped him to ask what I could do to keep the polyps from coming back. I’d be willing to bet that he thought I didn’t see his shoulders slump with irritation as he turned back to answer my question. And answer he did. He gave the Universal Physician Response, the Med School 101 answer to all patient questions, whether it’s about treatment for ingrown toenails or how to keep hair from growing out of the bottom of your feet. “Lose weight, exercise and eat lots of fruits and vegetables.” And then he really was gone.

Feelings of every color created a vibrant collage on the canvas of my psyche. I felt dislike for the wooden-faced doctor. I felt gratitude for the kind, proficient nurses who had cared for me. I felt giddy and fuzzy thanks to the lovely medication that had been shot into my IV prior to the procedure. I felt warm, gooey love for my sweet daughter who had waited with me, talking grown-up talk and telling me about the plans for her life. I felt hungry and thirsty and ready to go home. But I didn’t feel fear or worry.

After Dr. McNotdreamyatall finished his totally-without-feeling lecture talk, I was free to go. I made the bumpy wheelchair ride (I really could have walked!) down to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Anna put the car in gear and we left the hospital. Mr. Fear and his friend, Ms. Worry, were nowhere to be seen.

Nor did they show up for lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant. We ate quesadillas and talked and giggled and enjoyed being together. When we finished, we stopped into the grocery store next door for the always needed just a few things and then headed home. I took a long, delicious nap undisturbed the troublesome pair and woke up feeling refreshed.

Later, JD3 came home from work and I told him all about my day. Fear and Worry didn’t try to interrupt or give their account of the happenings. I don’t know where they were, but they weren’t hanging around when we decided that we needed Japanese food for supper. They didn’t ride to the restaurant with us (yes, we ate out twice in one day!) they didn’t join us at our table and they didn’t ride back home with us.

But they were there in all of their hateful glory, Fear and Worry, waiting for me when I walked in the back door. They had sneaked in through a tiny crack in my faith. Each picked a shoulder to sit on and there they’ve been ever since. Sometimes, they’re very quiet and I’m just vaguely aware of their presence. Sometimes, when I’m minding my own business and just doing the things I do, I can feel them breathing down my neck. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just being silly and that they were never there at all. That’s when they dig their claws into my shoulders and whisper nasty, mean things in my ears; “What if…” and “It could be…” And once again, I’m scared.