Scary

Anyone who doesn't want to read about the workings of my anatomy, skip this one.

The Wednesday before Christmas, as I was in the midst of shopping, packing (for both our trips to VT and MA, and our trip to Anguilla), I came home from the gym and as I was undressing, I noticed that there was what looked like water coming out of my left nipple. Odd. This was always my "leaky" side when I was pregnant and nursing, so it didn't immediately alarm me all that much. I called my Mom and asked if she'd ever had anything like that happen. She said she hadn't, but that she'd certainly heard about it happening.

The next day, it was there again. Naturally, being a hypochondriac, I started to panic at this point. I called my OB-GYN, explained what was going on, and that I was leaving the next day for VT, would then travel to MA, and then to Anguilla, being gone through New Year's. The nurse told me that I probably wouldn't get in for an appointment any sooner than the appointment I had previously scheduled for just after New Year's anyway, so I should just keep an eye out for increased volume, blood, etc. SUPER.

So, over the Christmas holiday and our (otherwise amazing) trip to Anguilla, I was obsessively monitoring my left one for any sign of the clear fluid. I was checking my bras when I took them off, etc. Mostly, I was noticing nothing. But on the few occasions that I noticed evidence of moisture, I would spin off into Panicville again.

At one point during the trip to Anguilla, I was in our bathroom (which was reminiscent of the "His bathroom is bigger than the Blue Banana!" scene in Pretty Woman), and I had a complete meltdown. What happens when a hypochondriac acquires a panic disorder is that her mind is wont to wander down some reeeeeeeally dark paths. I convinced myself that, although I could not actually feel anything out of the ordinary when I did my thrice daily self exams, I MUST be dying of breast cancer. I envisioned my children's lives without their mother. It was grim, y'all. And I'm not proud of it. But it happened.

Once I was able to gather myself to some extent I went outside and talked with my mother and older brother and sister, as well as E. My mother is of the "GET A GRIP, KID!" school, which is precisely what I need to hear. (Also, my neuroses come from her, so we have a sympatico that is helpful.) If there was one silver lining to this whole drama, it's that I felt absolutely present on this amazing trip with my family. I decided that, if this was actually "something," then by God, I was going to make the most of this trip and that time with my monkeys. And I did. It was absolutely amazing. My kids had a BLAST. And so did E and I. In that way, it was probably a good reminder. Since my Dad's death, I had felt a bit adrift, in terms of my usual upbeat (if occasionally neurotic) approach to life. I was having trouble feeling truly in the moment. And this really helped to re-focus me.

We got back from our trip on Sunday, January 5th. Monday, the 6th, I had an appointment with the OB-GYN. Tuesday, I started a new job. Wednesday, I had an appointment with a surgeon. So, that was a totally low stress week. Once the meeting with the surgeon was over, I felt much reassured, since she felt pretty confident that what was going on was just "fibro-cystic change," and that it was nothing alarming. However, to be thorough, she scheduled me for a mammogram and ultra-sound. Both of which I had this morning.

Both came back clear. Relief doesn't really cover what I feel today. Even though the surgeon had felt pretty confident, it's still just a super scary thing, not knowing for sure. And since the wonkiness has continued, at least to some extent...I wasn't able to relax...Although on my way to the appointment this morning, my grandmother sent me a little message (via a song, naturally) that helped a lot. Thanks, Mam!

So, if any of you has seen/talked to me recently and noticed I seemed a bit off, that's what has been up. I'm not entirely sure how articulate this post is, and I realize that in the grand scheme of things, what I've been going through is really a pretty routine part of being a woman in her late thirties, but it's been crazy stressful. I've had to beat back my hypochondria and tendency toward panic. I did a lot of thinking about what would happen if something DID happen to me. And I guess the silver lining there is, my support system is utterly amazing and I know my kids would be all right. And at the end of the day, that's the big thing we want as Moms, right?

But I also came out of this experience with a renewed determination not to be ruled by fear and anxiety. Since the onset of my panic disorder, and particularly since the flare up in 2012, I've felt like I was fighting this uphill battle to keep the axniety at bay. I've made a lot of progress, in that I've been able to move on from some of the "not grounded in reality" anxiety I was experiencing. But when something that is actually real and scary happens, it's a challenge to keep the panic in check. So, I've decided that I want to get to a place where I don't live with that knot in my solar plexus. I'm tired of feeling terrified. Life is scary. That's a fact. But living in a prison of your own fear just makes you MORE miserable. I can make things so much worse in my head than they are in reality, and what would be the point of that? I'm clearly a work in progress, but I feel like this episode was a big lesson. Is that gibberish? I don't know.

If you'll pardon me, I'm now going to enjoy the exquisite bottle of Cab my aunt and uncle gave me for Christmas, which I've been saving for this occasion.