Can we talk about cancer scares? Holy shitballs, folks. I had one this week. Not because any doctor or ultrasound tech said the dreaded word to me, but because there was a mass in my body that looked odd and I needed to see a specialist. And when I returned the phone call confirming the specialist appointment I heard the clinic's name included the word 'oncology'. If you were one of the lucky few at Clarity Coffee on Tuesday, that's why I was on the phone in a sudden, sharp downward spiral. I had just been handed a big ole question mark and I don't handle big ole question marks well -- at least not ones that look like tumors.
This bright morning I am so damn grateful for the compassionate doctors I encountered this week. I am so damn grateful for the collection of friends I let in on my panic, friends who gave me their prayers and good thoughts and interpretive dances (I totally let them have all the options because not everyone does religion but everyone can send good energy). One of my dearest, KC, drove me to the appointment, held my hand as I gritted through the pain of having this thing plucked from my body and blinked in wonder with me as we realized life was most likely going to be okay -- as much as life can be, that is. Life's famous for being weird.
The lesson, I suppose, is to surround yourself with support when you're terrified. Attend medical check ups with voracious regularity. Eat more colors and do more yoga (I'll join you). Or whatever activity that gets you into your physical being instead of that overactive mind. Move your big, beautiful body in the direction of the full life that awaits you. The dread and deep regret I felt about all the unlived pieces of my own life on Monday night is my own fuel for more personal change.
And if I can help you with your own wake up call, I'm happy to.