Anxiety

You know how four out of five dentists recommender sugarless gum for their patients that chew gum? I’m the kind of person who would listen to the fifth dentist.

As you know, I was in the hospital overnight for a pleural effusion on Tuesday. I had already bought my plane ticket out of town for Friday. So naturally one of my first questions was whether this would cause a problem.

The first ER doctor was encouraging, saying once the fluid was out I would likely be OK. I asked the technicians who actually did the procedure, and they said there should be no problems. The assistant to the oncologist is been seeing came in and I asked her about it. She said Friday was probably the best time to do it because I’d have the maximum effects from the procedure by then.

All encouraging, right? Except my brain likes to focus on certain words. Like “likely.” “Should.” “Probably.”

I like to hear “will be.” “Guaranteed.” “What are you an idiot? Nothing can go wrong!”

But the overall message was positive, and my anxiety level, while elevated, wasn’t in panic mode yet.

Yet.

I pushed my luck. The attending physician — let’s call him Dr. Downer —  came by in the morning to check on me. I asked about flying.

He just about slammed the lid on my coffin. “I wouldn’t do it. If there’s a problem at 30,000, it’s over.”

Anxiety Level: DEFCON 1.

I was out of the hospital Wednesday night. I rested as much as I could physically on Thursday, but my brain kept on cranking out signals. Probably. Should. 30,000 feet.

I have never been a nervous flier. The first flight, maybe, but after that never.

Now a two hour flight, probably one of the shortest I’ve ever taken, had become Twilight Zone fodder to me. “Look, on the wing! It’s my lungs!”

I had a mini breakdown talking with my brother in law. For the first time since this whole health thing began, I had tears. I told him I was scared to death. I said I knew he had my best interests in mind because a two hour flight was going to be easier on my still-painful leg than a nine-hour drive, but I was terrified that if I got on the plane I could die.

He did his best to reassure me, but I don’t envy his having to suddenly deal with an irrational person who had had two days to work up a full steam of neurosis. His strength is logic, and anxiety takes to logic like fish take to skydiving.

Seeking what i figured to be a voice of reason, someone who would get me off the plane long enough to figure out another way, I texted my friend Donna. She had gone through cancer treatment, and her pieces of wisdom from the experience were reassuring to me.

I spilled out my fears, told her I was deathly afraid, didn’t want to get on the plane. I asked her what she thought.

She told me I needed to get to my family and that I spent too much time inside my own head for my own good. There was more danger driving on I-4 than on the plane.

Boom. If there was such a thing as a gentle mic drop, I had just been served one.

She was right. I haven’t been able to let myself get distracted since this thing began. I let my anxieties have a party and my emotions were suffering from the hangover.

I apologized to my brother in law, though he said it wasn’t necessary. I promised I would try to get on the plane.

Friday, I was boarded onto the flight. I tried to stay distracted with a word game on my phone, but it didn’t always work. We had a good deal of turbulence flying out of Tampa, and it was almost a relief because it took my mind off the fear.

Two hours crawled like two months. Then I heard the landing gear lower.

We had made it. I had made it.

I wish I could tell you I felt elated, that if I was capable of jumping for joy I would’ve gotten a gold medal for gymnastics. But I didn’t. I was too tired emotionally to feel relieved.

But I’m trying to take something away from this: to not let my life be hampered by what-could-bes There’s a lot of those in my future as I face treatment for cancer. If I let myself be guided by the worst  possible outcome, then that’s what I’ll receive.

I put my trust in God, but I didn’t put this part in Him. It’s time I do.