the phone call

Do you experience anxiety?  I do.  Not about everything, but certainly concerning matters of health.  Recently I was advised to have a blood test.  The GP explained that a high level of the chemical being tested for would indicate a potentially large scale problem, at the same time explaining that he'd be "absolutely amazed" if the blood test indicated such a problem.  Only 0.1% of the population undergoing such a test would receive a bad result.  I had my blood taken yesterday and was told to expect the results back after a week.

Imagine, then, my reaction when today I realised I'd missed a call on my mobile phone from the surgery.  On returning the call,  I was told that my GP was in the middle of a consultation and would contact me later.  I reckoned he could be phoning me for two reasons: as the result was back a day after the blood test, the news was bad and further medical intervention desirable asap.  Or, knowing me to be a cancerphobe, giving a new intensity to the characteristic anxious, he wanted to reassure me asap.

I rushed home from my place of writing, and whipped myself into a frenzy of anxiety which bore little relation to reality, especially as the doctor had within the last ten minutes spoken to my partner who'd answered the phone, telling him that there was nothing to worry about - about as much as a doctor can tell a non-patient without breaching patient confidentiality.  When I first heard that, I thought: what relief, there's nothing to worry about.  The anxiety didn't pall.  I then imagined different  meanings for: there's nothing to worry about.  

It could mean:  there's nothing to worry about at the moment but we'd like to repeat the blood test in a month

It could mean:  your blood levels are slightly high but we're not too concerned, so there's nothing to worry about just now.

And so my thinking continued.  And still the phone didn't ring.

What if the GP ran out of time after his afternoon surgery finished?  What if he simply forgot to phone? I would then have another sixteen hours or so until I could speak to him again.

I sat at the kitchen table, sipping water, trying to slow down my heart beat.  I imagined the phone ringing and me dropping the glass.  I grabbed a dishtowel and started to dry the dishes my partner had just washed, knowing that if the phone went, I'd probably smash whatever I was holding.












The phone went, I grabbed the piece of paper and pen, ready to record his words.  I apologised for being uncontactable on my mobile phone, hoping (subconsciously) that such patter might result in a good blood test result (and I believed I thought logically).  We joked for perhaps ten seconds, then he launched in: your blood test is normal, it's ten and anything below 25 is normal, so this is very reassuring, as good as it gets.

After gabbling something about probably having lost 1000 cals from an hour's anxiety, I told him I might allow myself a drink this evening to decompress.  He agreed this would be a good idea.

I hung up, leapt into my partner's arms and squealed for joy and relief.   I did this three times, rendering him barely able to stand.





We then went over the road to our favourite café, Nom de Plume, and celebrated with wine and cake.

A doctor once told me that I worry so much about developing cancer, I might as well be living with the condition.  In a way she was right.  Anxiety is a debilitating condition.


Anyway, having received reassurance -  for now (nothing is ever certain) - I can return to my normal state of mild anxiety.

Jane