In less than twenty hours I will be finished with my dermatology appointment. You know, the appointment that says, “You will be fine!” or “You need surgery” or “I’ll just burn, freeze, pluck or whatever it off your face.”
The worst thing so far has been the waiting more than two weeks since going to my general practitioner to seeing a dermatologist. I get nervous about every single smudge on my face. “This is new!” I think. “Wait – this feels different. Oh, this is scaly like that website said about…”
And then there are the opinions: it’s no big deal at all, to ‘it isn’t even a malignancy, it’s just skin damage’ to “It is a good thing you came in,” from my doctor when I said, “I was convinced you would tell me I was being foolish for coming in, that this was nothing, really.” My Mother, Grandmother and sister have all had repeated basal cell carcinoma and they acted like I maybe might possibly have the flu and there is nothing to worry about at all, foolish, crybaby Julie. They didn’t say the crybaby Julie part, I just felt those words shaking their index fingers at me.
In less than twenty four hours I will know how long it will take until I move along to stage three of what is it that is wrong with the skin on my face, what shall we do about it.
It will feel good not to just stew about it.
I can’t do anything, make any choices, know what is going on – or at least surmise with one more professional – for another forty two hours.
No one talks about this stage of waiting.
I am talking so people who are a bit of worriers will feel better. No, you are not overdoing it, you are not hyper-emotional and you are not in any way reflecting poorly upon your family members who think this is no big deal.
To those beloveds who feel compelled to poo poo this entire situation, please don't give advice. Just agree to be compassionate rather than make the person - in this case, me - feel even more anxiety because I have yet another thing I am not doing right. It is a fairly irrational time for me.
It is something you and I will get through. No matter what happens.
For today, I am going to continue to write and create art and try to keep myself in some semblance of calm. I feel the blood and courage of the little engine that could when she said “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”
You can, too.
Let’s do this.
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Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield.
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