anxiety overdrive

So you have the recommended routine test, in the knowledge that this will precede several weeks of worrying about the results, because, as we all know, early detection of something nasty increases the chances of a cure, and you turn up for your test, have it, and leave, telling yourself that at least you have done something and it's better to know now than later on, and anyway, you can postpone worrying about getting the results, because this won't be for several weeks, and for the first day or so, you don't worry, at least not too much, although a niggling voice tells you that surely if the result is bad you'll be contacted earlier rather than later so that a proper diagnosis and treatment can start soon, but on the other hand, perhaps those lucky enough to be found still clear from this condition might hear earlier because their situation is less complicated, but on the whole, those first few days aren't too bad, although of course soon the passing time reaches a week, and you ruminate repeatedly about the different interpretations of the response that the results will be available in two weeks, if this could in fact be after 10 days or perhaps more like 13, or even 15 or 16, and by this time you're starting to dread the post arriving, and perceiving the postman as an enemy, someone with the power to bring you something you don't want to read,  (which is so unfair on him/her because he might equally well be delivering a letter with good news), so each morning is spent waiting for the sound of someone entering the building, for the gentle plop of a letter through the letterbox, constantly checking the clock, wondering if perhaps the postman has been and therefore today there will be no scary envelope to open, and knowing that if there isn't, then there might be one tomorrow, welcoming Sundays when there is no post, and throughout these difficult weeks, you feel as if life should be in limbo, that any planning you make might have to be cancelled if you find that there is a problem with your body, something potentially life threatening, and with a modicum of contempt for your cowardly self, you ask your partner if he'll open the letter when it comes, and being a lovely person, he agrees, and by the stage of day 8 you've taken to lying in bed in the mornings, as if the warmth and softness of the pillows and duvet can protect you, can take you back to your mother's womb (where you were so safe and nourished), waiting, just waiting for the post and presence or absence of the letter, or the absence of post that day and by day 10, while lying in bed, anxiety close to spilling out of control, you hear that noise and get up, thinking, if you can't even summon the courage to open the letter which may contain bad news, if it does indeed bring such bad news, how will you cope in the future with reading or hearing of more results, the good, the bad and the unthinkable, and you go into the hall and your partner appears from the kitchen, telling you that he thinks this is the letter, and asks if he should open it and you take it from him and say you'll open it yourself and sink onto the sofa in the sitting room, ripping open the envelope, and you read that your test showed no signs of cancer, etc. etc. and it takes some time for the news to sink in, the relief to sink in, for the energy to reappear, to realise that you will be able to enjoy your weekend, and can resume planning with more confidence, ready to continue, hopefully improve on, a healthy lifestyle, including dealing with your anxiety....   Until the next time.

 Jane