Laying in the cold dark room, naked from the waist up, my mind is racing.
“I am used to this,” I say silently as I try to talk myself off the ledge.
I have been having ultrasounds, mammograms, MRIs, and biopsies since I was 30 years old.That’s what happens when your mom dies from breast cancer at 51. Doctors don’t mess around.
My doctors have always been very proactive when it comes to my breast health.
Good thing, because I tend to minimize medical issues.
“It will be fine.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It won’t happen to me, I’m healthy.”
But, a string of serious health problems that have befallen my friends lately, has me reconsidering.
And then there’s my mom dying at 51. There’s always that
As I stare up at the ceiling, exposed and cold, with a stranger squirting lube on my breasts and prodding me with a hard, cold ultrasound wand, I try to not let my mind go there.
But it does. It slowly starts to tiptoe into the recesses of the nooks I work so hard to keep it away from.
I try not to let my mind go toward the fear. But, it does.
It goes there when the ultrasound tech lingers with the wand on one area for far too long.
It goes there when she stops, and speaking no words, points to something on the screen.
It goes there when the other technician in the room lets out a faint, “yes.”
It goes there when they take turns, meticulously examining my lymph nodes as they push the wand more forcefully into my armpit.
My face forms a grimace.
I know it’s probably fine. I know they are just doing their job. I am sure it’s nothing. But my mind can’t help but go there.
Because what if it isn’t?
I am confronted right at this very moment, right here in this exact space in time, with the fragility of life.
With the tenderness of living.
Something we all take for granted until we are forced into this moment. Until we have allowed our mind to take us there.
A moment that is fraught with questions, fear, and bargaining.
What if I have cancer?
What will I do?
What about my kids?
If only I can escape this moment with a shiny, clean bill of health, I’ll be a better person. I promise.
I’ll eat better.
I won’t drink so much.
I’ll stop cussing. (Well, I’ll cut down.)
I’ll be nice all the time.
I will forgive more easily.
Laying in the cold dark room exposed, consumed by the physical and spiritual vulnerability of the situation, my mind gets closer.
To the one place I try to never let it go.
The memories surrounding her illness. The diagnosis. The recurrence. The hospital visits. The blood transfusions. The vomiting. The balding head. The frail frame. The hospice nurse with the sweet sympathetic looks. The mortuary. The wooden box. The heartbreak.
But, before my mind can get too deep, it catches itself.
My mind keeps itself from falling into the deep abyss by remembering the smiles. It hovers over the memory of the bright blue eyes that never lost their sparkle; the shared snuggles on the couch; the love. The incredible love.
The ultrasound is over and I am allowed to wipe the slime off my chest and get dressed. I try to dismiss the heavy, awkward silence hanging in the room. I decide to ask flippantly, “So, you didn’t see anything crazy did ya?” Knowing full well the technician can’t give me the answers I need.
“The doctor will read the images and get in touch with you.”
Life is fragile.
Life is delicate.
Much shorter than we ever realize when we’re in the midst of taking exams, looking for work, battling anxiety or depression, doing laundry, fighting with our in-laws, worrying about kids, complaining about the traffic or the weather or not having the right pair of shoes to match the outfit.
I know life can feel really long sometimes.
But, in that moment, that place where fears and questions about mortality live, you come to understand how short your one life truly is.
A blip on the radar really.
I need moments like this. We all do. Moments that violently shake us awake!
Moments to remind us how shitty things can get, real quick.
To point out how fucked up life is when you’re sick. Really sick.
Moments to suggest that we all have a tendency to take our lives for granted.
We need moments like these to remind us what a fucking incredible privilege it is to be alive.
To show us how mind-blowing it is to be grateful.
To emphasize how incredible life can be when we make it so.
When. We. Make. It. So.
[Tweet “It is an incredible privilege to be alive.”]
Have you had moments like these? Moments that brought you to your imaginary knees?
How do we take these moments and make them matter? How do we stop taking life for granted?
We can:
- Choose to do one unfamiliar thing a week.
- Let go of things that don’t matter. All those things that are incredibly unimportant in the scheme of things. Let them go.
- Forgive sooner.
- Be true to who you were designed to be; who you are.
- Wake up everyday and say thank you.
What small changes can you make to give your one precious life the appreciation it deserves?
[Tweet “How do we stop taking life for granted?”]
I’d love to hear about it in the comments!
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Salty Kisses,
Photos: Stockvault
22 responses to “How To Stop Taking Life For Granted”
Wonderful post! It is so true, I have been affect by great loss around me. It is so important to not take life for granted.
It’s so much easier said than done Amanda! Thank you for your comment!
Oh, my…beautifully written. You had me by the “balls”? Doesn’t sound right. But best I can describe. So. What happened? I hope you’re okay. I get that feeling of medical fear. I had to have a bone marrow biopsy in the not so distant past. The doctor pretty much made a diagnosis right then and there, but had to wait two weeks for the tests to come back. Went through a ton of feelings of both elation (the challenge of now really living life before my deadline) and the extreme sadness of eventually leaving people behind. 2 weeks later – all tests: negative. But that’s pretty much the story of my life…i tend to be a medical anomaly. lol btw: now I’m really living life the way I want regardless of sans deadline. 🙂 I’m sure grateful for that experience…
Oh my goodness Karen! Thank you for your comment! And phew! So glad all your tests were negative. I am waiting to hear, I’m sure it’s fine but when you’re in that limbo period, while you’re waiting-it makes you realize all you have to lose! At least it did me. Thank you so much for reading my post, and I love your comment, “had me by the balls”, Just Perfect!
First of all, I’m praying the result was clear on your ultrasound! I do need these moments to remind me how precious life is. I race along taking things for granted until a wake up call slaps me upside my head. And then I forget again, until the next bucket of cold water splashes me awake.
Yes Jennifer, why do we always forget again? That’s what I keep trying to understand. We get one slap in the face to wake us up, and then gradually, we go back to sleep! I am sure my results will come back negative, it’s just hard to be in the “waiting to hear” mode, makes me appreciate all I stand to lose. Thank you for reading and for the well wishes! Cheers!
Yes. Yes. Yes. You have taken me there, and I have been on that table too many times, too. I have been taken to the edge and dared to look over. It scares me and makes me appreciate all I have around me. Thank you for the reminder. Life is indeed too short, we need a kick in the ass from time to time to remind us not to get caught up in the ridiculousness of it it all. I really hope your test came back normal.
Thank you Monica-I am sure it will be fine. It’s just hard being in the limbo mode of “waiting to hear”; although that is what made me appreciate all I stand to lose. Yes-we need to “not get caught up in the ridiculousness of it all”-great quote. Because, there is just so much ridiculousness!! Thanks for stopping by! xx
Hi Karen..my dear friend from high school. You are a beautiful writer. .and I read your writings all the time! I truly wish I could have a piece of the way you look at life. I’m sure you know I have Multiple sclerosis and life is not the way I thought it would be. I can’t seem to bust out of thoughts of unfairness I feel. I know that sounds very selfish and I should be thankful that I am alive. .I have so much to be thankful for. At the same time, I am very thankful for the support and love from my husband and my kids, and all of my family. I look around and see everyone going on with their lives and I feel overwhelming stuck in this life of pain. Reading your last post makes me feel so much worry for you and I wanted you to know that I am praying for you and always send you love. This brought me back to the day I was diagnosed. I was alone at the doctors office and I felt beat up on the drive home where I had to tell my family that I am sick with out a cure in sight. Worst day of my life. .not the diagnosis but telling my boys that I am sick. That was 11 years ago. .yes, I am thankful to be alive but I am so far from living. Mahalo for listening. .love to you and your family.
My sweet friend! I think about you so much! And I wonder, how people who live with chronic pain get out of bed every day! It is easy for me when i have occasional scares, but would I have the strength to deal with suffering every single day and still keep a positive outlook? I don’t know. Thank you so much for reading my posts and for your heartfelt comment! That is my favorite thing about this blog, we all have a chance to connect and be real . . . just cut through the bullshit! Thank you also for your well wishes! I am sure it will all turn out fine, it’s just the waiting that makes me appreciate all I have to lose. I’m sending love to you my girl and hoping you are able to find small ways to bring joy to your life. I am here!!! xoxoxoxo
I hope the test was negative. I agree with everything you said. Been dealing with some issues related to my heart because of family history. I’m with you all the way. Life is precious, take care, Beth
Thank you Beth! I am sure it will be fine. The waiting is the hardest part, but really showed me all I stand to lose! Good luck with your issues as well-and let’s live each day to the fullest! xo
You are a beautiful writer Karen. I am so happy to be part of this group. I am praying that you have a clear report, and I know you will. With that said, I just got the letter in the mail this week from my Dr. saying Congratulations, you have a clear mammogram. we will see you next year. But I have waited nervously for this letter. This is only the second monogram since my lumpectomy……..but it is CLEAR. Nothing was found. I agree, the waiting is the worst. Why is it always 2 weeks? But here I am. My second clean mammogram. Now that’s my Christmas present. I will be praying it’s your’s as well. xo Suzanne
That is such a relief Suzanne! Yes-the waiting totally SUCKS! I just received a message last night online that mine was clear as well! Yay! Safe for another year! That is the best present of all! xoxo
You’re brave to go through this. I know women who haven’t had mammograms/ultrasounds in years because of fear. Some it didn’t matter. A few it did. I hope everything worked out okay. But you said it right. The only good thing that comes from these moments is a deeper appreciation for our beautiful life. Lovely post. Thanks for the reminder.
Thank you for visiting Laurie and for your sweet words! It all turned out okay-hopefully I will not fall back into the trap of taking life for granted! Too bad it takes things like this to remind me!
Powerful stuff here, Karen. I’m going to go hug my mum.
Thank you Peter! That is so sweet! I appreciate you taking time to read it! And yes-hugging your mum is a great idea! 🙂
Wow, what a great one to finish the year with. Life is very fragile and short. Unfortunately we seem to remember that only when we come up to those reality checks that remind us of this. I couldn’t stop reading this. Loved it. and Thank you for the reminder.
Thank you for the sweet words Nicole! Yes-I am always baffled how I slip back into taking life for granted, and then Wham! something will snap me right back into appreciation! Wish I was a faster learner and didn’t need the reality checks! Thanks for reading! 🙂
My Dear Salty Friend, I hope your tests come back fabulous and I am swimming through the MURK of the loss of my son last month. Life is short and love the people you want to. xoxoxox Thelma Thomas
Thank you Thelma. It was all fine. I think sometimes it’s good for me to get shaken up like that – a reality check that thankfully was fine in the end. Sending virtual hugs as you grieve the loss of you son. I hope you have a strong support network to help you through xoxo