It’s that time of year again for me. Testing time. Ye Annual CAT Scanne. Like the Olde Time Ice Cream Shoppe. But with doctors and isotope-laced Crystal Lite instead of ice cream. Um, yeah. See? Testing time makes me crazy.
I know I’m lucky to only do this once a year—many cancer survivors get retested more often (I went from four to two to one a year). But it’s a drag no matter. That feeling of being well and “moving on” is upended as a myth I’ve relied on to feel normal. I start combing over every sniffle, ache, cough, negative thought. I remember that I’ve got this thing, this pet camel, let’s say, to take care of. She needs little food and water most of the time, but is very much not a mirage and I’m always amazed how I can almost forget she exists. So the shock of re-meeting the camel—you again!—makes me a little more edgy, neurotic, and overwhelmed than usual.
I have one survivor friend who basically ropes off the three weeks before her annual scans. She knows she’s going to be a mess, so she gathers support, battens downs the hatches, and is inordinately kind to herself. We could all be so served. To help myself, and you if you happen to be a survivor or love one, I’ve created this list. Mainly for those who have braved cancer, but it might apply to anyone who gets those nerve-wracking words: “We’d like to do some tests.”
Allow Yourself to Feel What You Feel
Well-meaning friends and family will attempt to soothe your pretesting nerves with a chorus of “It’s going to be fine.” Though this is preferable to “Good luck, sucka,” it doesn’t actually address the voices that are terrified, that have, in fact, good reason to be terrified because you’ve had test results before that were not okay. So I say to you: It’s oaky to be scared or angry or indifferent or numb or whatever you might be. Let yourself, without judgment, be exactly where you are. That way you’re not afraid AND in a state of uncomfortable self-denying denial.
Bring a Buddy
After my first unsuspecting round of pre-diagnosis testing, I never went to a test alone. Of course I could and would be fine (yeah, see? I’m tough), but there’s no need. Even if you will be “fine,” that’s not really good enough for this sort of thing. You need to be supported, uplifted, balanced out, assuming your mind is anywhere near as anxiety-prone as mine. Your buddy doesn’t have to do anything but hang out and chat or read magazines in the waiting room with you. But a buffer between you and the misery stew of most waiting rooms will help make this a much smoother experience—and maybe even fun.
Create a Ritual
Whether it’s three weeks before or the day-of, a ritual can help calm the fires and put your experience in a sacred context. You can call on your guides and angels, light a candle, take a scented bath, even pick out a “lucky” outfit. Ritual is a doorway that allows unseen forces to make a regular appearance, to know where to find you in your hours, weeks, days, of need.
