Part two. Living with uncertainty while waiting for test results

The bone marrow biopsy did hurt. Badly. Not the everyday kind of hurt, but the kind where the body screams, “You are taking a piece of me, and for that I will vomit on you, now.” For a moment I thought I might actually do just that.

It was awful.

Thank God I had Jörgen’s warm hand in mine. That big, beautiful, warm hand. The hand I have been holding for more than thirty years now. Always steady. Always gentle. Always there.

Support matters in life, in both small and big moments. But it is when life tests us, that we truly feel the difference.

The reactions people have when you say the words cancer diagnosis span a wide range.

I remember so clearly when my mother got cancer, how some friends simply did not reach out. They were scared. What should I say? What can I do? What if I do something wrong?

I don’t know yet if people are afraid to reach out to me. I don’t feel that. But I do notice the worry in some people. Maybe it is worry for me, but often it seems to be worry for themselves.

If you can get it, I can get it.

A worry without a filter. A worry that actually has very little to do with me. It is not mine today.

Then there are the reactions about how bad hospitals are. Complaints that come before anyone even asks about my experience. I let those words pass as well. My experience of the hospitals has been excellent so far. That is the story I stay with.

And then the words: “It’s not fair. Not you.”

I let those words pass too. It is perfectly fair. Getting sick is part of life.

But then there is the hug. The glance. A hand on the back or on the cheek. The quiet message: “I’m thinking of you.” or “I’m here.”

Those are always welcome. Especially when they come without pity.

I don’t need pity. And I don’t need complaints.

When my wonderful team asked what they could do for me, my answer was simple: laughter, joy, jokes. That is what I need. Not to forget. Not to distract. Just to fill life with joy. The joy of being alive.

The words from friends and colleagues who have walked this path before reach me differently. Their words go straight into my heart. They know, without explanation, what this moment is like.

I do not feel lonely in this. I feel supported. By others, and by myself.

I feel supported by the tools I have integrated into my life over the past fifteen years. Meditation. Reiki. Yoga. Yoga philosophy. They serve me well now. Thank God I have them.

Now I am in the waiting.

Waiting for the doctor’s appointment. Waiting for the results of the biopsy and the scans.

Waiting means living in the unknown. And the unknown is exactly where we do not like to be.

Meditation helps me stay steady. The practices I have integrated into my life help me stay grounded. And the people around me support me.

And I know that the closer I get to the doctor’s appointment, the louder the unknown will become inside me.

My mind plays tricks on me. All the time. And it will probably get worse before it gets better.

Until I know whether it is my body, or my mind, that is playing the biggest trick.

So for now, I wait and I live my days anyway.

…

This is the second reflection in a series about receiving a diagnosis and learning to live with the unknown.