This is a
true story of a lump and a total lack of faith: an autobiography.
It was about
two months ago...on a Tuesday. I was in
the shower doing my shower-thing...lathering and what-not...when all of the
sudden, there it was. A lump. A pretty obvious one, at that. What?
Where did that come from? Was
that there yesterday? My mind immediately took off in a million directions
as I became the Louis and Clark of lump exploration. Every piece of rational thought exited my
brain at record breaking speeds as I stood paralyzed in a now lukewarm
shower. Wait, what am I supposed to
do?
So, being the
reasonable woman that I am...I opted for the
shut-up-and-pretend-I-didn’t-notice method of emergency management.
But about 45
minutes later...after a rather harried “what the HECK” conversation with God, I
decided pretending wasn’t one of my spiritual gifts. So, on the way to work, I called my doctor
and made an appointment. But the darned
thing was...I couldn’t get an appointment until the following Tuesday. Oh boy.
Do you know how much damage a girl can do with 7 days, WebMD, and an
overactive imagination? And yet...I still kept my mouth shut and didn’t tell a soul what I had found that morning. I know, right? Not my usual method of coping. But for some reason, this particular medical condition felt really personal. Really intimate. Probably because it had to do with my boob. There, I said it. Boob. I feel better.
Several days
passed...days spent mostly on half-hearted and comical attempts to distract
myself. I’m sure I did what any woman
would do under the circumstances...I tried to convince myself that I completely
imagined it. Everybody knows I am pre-disposed to extreme
flights of fancy, right? Just the other day I was convinced that a
binder clip was a huge hairy spider. Yes,
mental instability was a lovely alternative to the big “c” word...and, so... I
decided to ignore it.
I made it to
Friday.
Friday
morning...on the way to work...I decided to call the doctor’s office back and
use all my “wink and twinkle” to con my way into an appointment that day. Apparently, I’m a wink and twinkle ninja...because
an hour later I was sitting in an empty examination room trying to appear calm.
The nurse
came into the room to take my vitals.
She instructed me to strip down and put on an oversized hospital
gown. Does anyone else hate hospital
gowns? I know, right? They rob us of all dignity. And all I can think about is how many other stranger’s
naked butts have touched it. I asked the
nurse if I could keep my pants on. She
laughed like I had told a great joke. Of
course I could keep my pants on...it was a breast examination. I laughed too. Not because I thought it was funny...but
because keeping my pants on felt like a small victory. Wink and twinkle ninja wins again! (See, I told you. Extreme flights of fancy.)
So, there I
sat. In a cold examination room. By myself.
Clutching the front of blue faded hospital gown. Waiting...staring at the door....and waiting.
I think we
can learn a lot about ourselves in those moments. The moments right before we are reminded,
once again, that very little is under our control. I learned a lot about myself in the waiting...and
very little of it was flattering.
Eventually,
that door did open. And in walked a
very, VERY young man wearing a white lab coat.
He was a medical student named Jake...the clean-shaven boy next
door. In a nervous, stammering voice he
asked if I minded if he examined me while I waited for the doctor. It soon became clear that I was Jake’s first
breast exam. Well, “medical” breast
examine at least. I know, right? This is my life. And that’s how I knew I was truly a nervous
wreck. I didn’t even try to crack a
joke. And, man-oh-man, there were so
many possibilities. I never once told
Jake he had to put a ring on it. Opportunity
missed. Instead, we just mutually agreed
to weather the awkwardness through silence.
Eventually my
doctor came in and examined me. Yes, she
confirmed...you have lump. I needed a mammogram. And once again...I found myself in the
waiting.
My
appointment wasn’t until Monday. It was
Friday. I got to experience a whole
weekend of waiting. Which means...of
course...I got to experience a whole weekend of ignoring the big-‘ol-possibly- cancerous-elephant in my left boob.
By this time,
I was smart enough to break my silence and tell a very small group of people about
the lump. And that very small group of
people were smart enough to ask a much larger group of people to pray for
me.
Monday
finally arrived. I had meticulously
prepared by breaking out a brand new razor to shave my armpits...and by wearing
my “nice” bra. I grabbed a granola
bar...swung by and picked up my mom...and then drove across town to be felt up
by more strangers. But the good
news? I totally got to keep my pants on
the whole time.
I was shuffled
from room to room that morning...all by very nice, very happy women wearing
colorful scrubs. I learned that if a
girl has to have her boob squeezed by a complete stranger...it actually helps
if the stranger is happy. Nobody wants
to be fondled by someone who’s not enjoying it, right? It also helped to know that at age 36...I
was the youngest woman in the waiting room by at least 20 years. Which means I totally had the perkiest
breasts. That’s probably why those
nurses were so happy.
After my
mammogram, they took me in to get an ultrasound. A very pregnant technician lubed me up and
then started looking for the infamous lump.
She had the monitor turned at an angle...so, I could see the screen. There it was.
I could totally see it. A dark
mass. She spent several minutes taking
pictures at different angles...measuring it.
Typing. Measuring it some
more. I could see it. A mass.
All of the sudden, ignoring it no longer became an option.
Eventually
she happily excused herself...telling me that the Radiologist would take a few
minutes to look at the pictures and then he’d be in to talk to me. I was left alone again. In an oversized hospital gown. Staring at the door...waiting.
Many of you
already know the ending to this story. And
many of you are only reading this story to find out the ending. But, you see...I didn’t write this story to
tell you about the ending. I finally
picked up my “pen” to tell you about the 5 minutes I spent alone in that ultra-sound
room. Left alone with the realization
that I had a mass in my left breast...and I could no longer pretend otherwise.
I said
earlier that we could learn a lot about ourselves in the waiting. What do we do? What do we think? What do we feel? What do we pray? Those moments when something is held in the
balance and we have no control over the outcome...those are very telling
moments.
Those five
minutes told me that I do not trust the God of the Universe to say “yes.” Instead, I almost expect Him to say “no” or “not
yet.” And so my prayers aren’t prayers for
miracles...they’re prayers for survival.
Oh dear. When did that happen? When did I stop praying for a “yes” to the
desires of my heart?
I laid on
that ultrasound table and prayed that God would give me the strength to survive
a battle with cancer. As if cancer was a
foregone conclusion. I could almost
hear the Father say, “Oh, Alissa...ye of little faith.”
I think my
journey of physical suffering has conditioned me to expect more suffering. And even more twisted...I almost prefer
it. You see, when I’m hanging on to my
last shred of sanity...dry heaving over and over again...faith seems easy. It’s all I have left. There’s no possible way to rely on myself
when I have absolutely nothing worth relying on. My body is broken. My mind is numb. And my heart is shattered. But what if...what if I had a “yes” to good
health? What if I had a “yes” to a loving
husband? What if I had a “yes” to a
life of meaning? Would I know what to do
with that?
So, instead
of facing the profound possibility that the God of the Universe would say “yes”
to something that seems so out of my reach...I’ve started carefully crafting my
prayers, so that I won’t be devastated if the answer is “no.”
The result of
this lack of faith...is that I began to live life where “yes” is the more
terrifying answer. Oh dear. When did that happen?
Eventually,
my five minutes of reckoning came to an end...and the radiologist walked
through that infamous door. He quickly
and succinctly explained to me that my mass was most likely benign. And that I have something called
Fibroadenoma. Not uncommon in women my
age...and likely a 99% chance it’s not cancerous. I’ll have to get an ultrasound every 6 months
for a couple of years...but he assured me, I probably had nothing to worry
about.
Well, what do
you know...God said “yes” to good health.
It has taken
me many weeks to realize the length and depth of Abba’s true gift to me. He needed to get my attention...and He used a
lump in my left breast to do it.
Admittedly, sometimes I’m a bit slow to see God’s grace...even when I’m
carrying it around in my bra.
My lump
taught me that in order to experience the crazy, wild, outrageous love of
Abba...I have to trust Him to say “yes” to the crazy, wild, outrageous desires
of my heart.
Brothers and
sisters...if you’re reading this blog, it’s for a reason. He wants to remind us all to pray like crazy
people. Ask Him for things that feel scandalous
and presumptuous. Don’t live a life in
fear of the “yes.” Because if I’ve learned
one thing in this wild, messy life down here...it’s that even when God says “no”
to something I want...He’s ALWAYS saying “yes” to what I need.
Today, I’m going
to pray for a healthy body, a hot husband, and life lived smack dab in the
middle of meaning and abundant joy...a life where wearing pants is optional and
cupcakes grow on trees.
What are you
going to pray for?
