Love
is the one delusion man refuses to deny, death is the one truth man refuses to accept –
Arab proverb
There’s
nothing quite like a cancer scare to remind you of your mortality, to put you
back in your place, to highlight your fragility and smallness, to emphasize
what you’ve been denying to yourself; that death can strike at any moment
regardless of age, physical health and well being. Cancer likes to laugh at your
naive wishful thinking when you convince yourself that cancer is something that
only happens to other people.
I
went for my cervical screening every three years since I turned twenty five, turning
thirty four in October 2014 I was due but kept putting it off for months, sheer
laziness and tired old excuses: “there’s never enough time”, but something
inside me nagged, so I went and got it over with, I hated it, feeling so
exposed and invaded like that, the mere thought made my whole being shrink and
shudder, but my mind told me that it had to be done. The nurse told me what I
already know “if you don’t hear anything within two weeks you’re fine, if we do
find anything we’ll contact you”. Two weeks later, there it was, the envelope
shoved recklessly through the letterbox as if it was nothing, as if
it was just another commercial letter from a utility company or state agent
full of false and misleading promises. I held it up in my hands, deceivingly
light, deceivingly white and innocent, marked private, confidential and
containing important information by the NHS. My heart sunk, my mind
panic-stricken and hysterical managed in a fraction of a second to produce the
most dramatic ending of my life, how I will be extremely sick and bed-ridden
from now on, how I will lose all my hair and die, how my daughter who has no
one else but me will have no one. My heart tried to calm me down, wait, it
whispered, we haven’t read what the letter says yet, don’t panic yet, not yet.
There were so many ‘not yets’ whirling in my mind, I haven’t seen her all
grownup yet, I haven’t seen her graduate yet, I haven’t been there for her
through her dramatic teen years yet, her college graduation, her driving
license, her wedding, her first baby… and me.. I didn’t travel to all the
countries I always planned to see yet, I haven’t read all the books I want to
read yet.. there were so many not yets!
I
tore the envelop and read, my hands shaking, they found some abnormal cells,
but this doesn’t mean I have cancer, it only means they need to do more
advanced tests to see whether there was potential that such abnormal cells can
be cancerous, the letter said “try not to worry” and provided me with a date
for further tests at the hospital two weeks from this day. Two weeks! For two
week I will live in this fear, in this turmoil, not knowing, imagining the worst,
and waiting, just waiting… my mind wallowed in its pathetic self-pity and victim-hood “I’m going to die, I have no one to talk to, to run to, no one to comfort me and stand by me, I’m no one’s priority… and my child, my child will be lost without
me” it cried and wailed day and night. My heart was strong, it kept repeating
“not yet, it’s not time to panic yet, not yet..
it might not be cancer, and if it was, they’ve detected it early that’s a
good thing, most cases detected early have very high success rates… it’s not
time to panic yet, not yet”. The day came, I drove myself to the hospital
alone, my child at school clueless. I wait, I get called in, the doctor is a
man! “this is going to be awful, I thought”, I am so stiff and terrified while
he examines me, he tells me to try to relax, the two nurses try to help me
relax but it’s no use, it’s painful and awkward and everything is spinning, the
room, my had, my heart is thumping with pain and compassion for me, I think of
my daughter, my life, my divorce, my depression, my horrible unloving parents,
my loneliness expands, it inflates into an ugly violent ogre and swallows me whole.
After the doctor took some cells, I am told that I can dress and have a seat in
the waiting room while the tests are run, my legs are shaking, my whole body is
cold, stiff, the pain between my legs. I sit silently in the waiting room, head down, I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, the lump in my throat, I feel
exposed and invaded, I want to cry but I try to push it back, “at least they
will tell me now, at least I won’t have to wait for the results” was my only
solace to myself, my mind kept on showing me more gruesome, terrifying pictures
of how I will die, my heart kept repeating its mantra “not yet, not yet, not yet”.
I was called by the doctor again, I went in, my legs painful and tired, he asks me to sit
down “you’re fine, there’s nothing to worry about, the cells are not cancerous,
I will send my report to your GP, you don’t need to do anything, but please keep going
for your screening every three years”, I nod, exhale in relief, my tears
welling up again, I thank the doctor with so much appreciation and gratitude.
He asks me if my husband or partner is here to drive me home as he can see that
I am a bit shaky, I sigh and tell him that I’m fine and leave. I drive to
Jori’s school it’s already time to pick her up, my heart beating “not yet, not
yet, not yet”
