I am scared.
I’m forty one years old now and yes, I still get scared. Last winter I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis. At the time, it was mostly in my feet and ankles although we later discovered through testing that it was also inflaming my lymph nodes and presenting in my lungs, brain and had affected my eyes to necessitate glasses for the first time in my life.
I saw a doctor who steam rolled me through the hospital getting tests and results for me at top speed. I went on medication to stop the swelling. It seemed that all was well. So well, in fact, that he declared that my diagnosis was most likely acute, and not likely to ever come back.
But he was wrong. I still have it. It’s in my lungs. Enough that I need to see another specialist. A respirologist. And I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of scared. I let it really get into my head today. Something I try to avoid like the plague, getting stuck into negative thoughts, but it happened anyway and turned my day into a bit of a mental black hole.
So I texted my husband the evil words that were swirling in my mind and playing mean tricks of worst case scenarios. I texted him “I’m scared”. And he didn’t tell me not to be. He didn’t come at me with “logic and solutions” or distractions or jokes. He said “I know you are, love. I’m here”. And then he just let me be scared. Albeit, wrapped in a bear hug once we were home, but he just let it be.
I realized that it’s okay for me to be forty one and scared. To go ahead and feel the hard feeling and not try to stuff it down or hide it. To embrace my fear. To own it. And in doing so, a little bit, to conquer it.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ll be feeling nauseous tomorrow sitting in that waiting room, listening for my name. But it’s okay. Because no matter what the outcome, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health I have the best people and the best person in my corner. Standing there, loving me, supporting me and letting me be scared when I need to and cheering me on like mad when I’ brave.