Scanxiety

Yes, “scanxiety” is a thing. And I’m already regretting writing about it because it’s bringing home the fact that in a week and a half I have a mammogram coming up. It’ll be the first one since completely finishing my treatment almost a year ago.

You can google the definition of scanxiety, but any cancer survivor can offer their version. Mine is the unease that increases as I get closer to THE scan, the one that will pronounce me cancer-free for another year. Mercifully, I will have an unusually busy week at work which will keep my mind equally busy, and the rest I will have to power through with mindfulness and focus.

The unsettling thing about this is that for a short while, it’s a Schroedinger’s cat kind of situation. Around scan time, I am simultaneously a cancer patient and a cancer survivor. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. It’s altogether unsatisfying.

This mammogram opens the door to the potential of letting cancer back into my life. And I am so.done.with.it. that having to consider what would happen if I had to go through treatment again evokes feelings of hopelessness and frustration. I don’t want to re-experience the steep let down that came with my initial diagnosis, after trying to reason myself into optimism.

Sometimes I play games with myself. Things like, “If I make it to the intersection before the light turns yellow, I don’t have cancer.” This is ridiculous, of course, but I can guarantee you that if I DON’T make it before the light turns, I’m going to be yelling, “Two out of three!”

Scanxiety differs from most life stressors, like a horrible job situation. I’ve had tough jobs with miserable bosses before. I also had the option of quitting. But I can’t say, “Screw this, I’m going to a different universe with better benefits.” I’m here and stuck living out some potentially nasty stuff, and possibly not making it through. That is simply reality and I have to be comfortable with it.

I struggle with the uncertainty that arrives hand-in-hand with scanxiety. Mindfulness teaches us to release expectations, and that is exactly what I’m trying to do. For me, the next week and a half will be a proving ground for how far I’ve come in my mindfulness practice. Perhaps looking at it as a challenge will put a neutral spin on the process of waiting.

No expectations means no anxiety, no let-downs, no shattered hopes and no “dying a thousand deaths” before I’ve even made it to the radiology department. I am not good at this, but I am light-years ahead of where I was two years ago, and I’m going to have to be content in that for the time being.