Monday, August 13, 2012

Jack Hammer Vibrations

I'm laying face down on the MRI table and feel the technician's hand on my arm as the bed starts to move backwards. Every few seconds she lifts her hand and then places it firmly on my arm again as she guides me into the tunnel. I offer up a silent prayer of thanks for how comforting her touch is. Within seconds the jack hammer like sounds of the MRI machine begin. Within myself I'm vibrating with anger and have been since I woke up this morning.

Feeling just plain pissy with the world, I know the feeling will pass through if I only acknowledge its presence. It's not a permanent feeling, I know, but it sure is a powerful one.

I lay there and try to pray. I watch as my mind wanders, taking a once around the block look at the past two weeks. I take shallow breaths as instructed and focus on my breathing. Every so often they interrupt the jack hammer to let me know how many more minutes until I'm done. Oh, I'm done all right.

Finally they roll me back out again. The technician fastens my medic alert bracelet back on my arm and I make my way past the room full of people clutching my gown in front of me.

I'm still feeling angry as I make my way a few minutes later to the lab to get blood drawn in order to be tested for the breast cancer gene. There is a strong family history of the disease in first degree relatives and I'm ready to know if I'm a carrier. Enough of this shit already. I sit down in the only empty chair in the lab and look up at the number on the wall. 18. I look at the number in my hand. 43. I know I don't have the patience to wait so I give my number to a young mom carrying in a baby and leave. Tomorrow is another day. I'm not totally comfortable with my anger because I feel like I am leaving angry energy in my wake much like the after effects of passing someone wearing strong perfume.

I get home from the hospital to find a voice message from my doctor on my phone. I feel fed up to here with doctors. I listen as she asks how my weekend was, how am I doing. I hear a wistful hope in her voice and I bristle. I cannot bring myself to be okay so that she feels better. She talks about the next steps and how the higher ups are dealing with the confusion surrounding my misdiagnosis. She refers to my appointment tomorrow with the surgeon that hopefully will bring some closure.

I know my doctor doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of my anger so I decide not to return her phone call. Restraint of tongue and pain pen flashes through my mind and I hang up the phone after her message is finished.

I know part of my anger is rooted in fear. The MRI which is supposed to confirm there is no cancer could very well find it somewhere else. I'm jumping ahead of today into tomorrow's unknown territory and it feels like reining in a galloping horse to let today's troubles be enough in themselves.

Some food. Some sleep. Some company. Hours later the anger dissipates. Jack hammers quiet both inside and out. Relief.


7 comments:

Mary Christine said...

I will hold you very close in my prayers.

annie said...

Hope, my prayers are with you as you walk through this unsettling journey.

Patty said...

I don't know what to say, but here is hug. {{{{{Hope}}}}}

Black Pete said...

{0}

owen swain said...

"I cannot bring myself to be okay so that she feels better. " makes perfect sense and sounds perfectly reasonable.

Jim said...

Hope, in John's Gospel Jesus says that those who worship God must do so "in spirit and in truth". From "Honk your horn if..." to the frank utterance of your anger as sit is at the moment, I find you a breath of fresh air, a diamond in the rough, a sister in Christ. The way is not always easy, but He does prove Himself with us, often when we least expect it....

tina hunt said...

You are so much braver than I could ever imagine being.