When the phone rings...
...and the waiting game begins again.
Almost three years after the mammogram that changed everything, I had endured my very first post-treatment mammogram and was praying the phone would stay silent.
FRIDAY NOV 14
As the hours passed, my confidence grew. No phone call meant no trouble. Finally, it was time for dinner. The clinics were closed; no more opportunity existed for bad news to be shared.
We made it!
The weekend was lovely, with balmy fall weather, quite unseasonal but entirely welcomed with both arms. Sunday Sabbath was restful, and we chatted about the plans and tasks on our schedules as we prepared for the long drive back to Minnesota later in the week.
MONDAY NOV 17
By mid-morning Monday, I became curious. The radiologist should have read the mammogram by then, so I opened my patient portal to snoop around a bit.
You know curiosity killed the cat, right? I’m not sure where that saying came from, but I hope one day I learn to control my urge to know.
“There is architectural distortion in the right breast at 12 o’clock anterior depth 4 cm from the nipple. An immediate follow-up is recommended.”
The old, familiar gut ache spread as my chest tightened and my head spun.
No. Not again. NO.
Think. Think. THINK.
I googled “architectural distortion”: an abnormality in the tissue that looks like a starburst or a pulling.
“Oh! I know what that is - it’s my scar! It’s impossible that it could be something else. My lumpectomy had clear margins. I endured 21 rounds of radiation. There is NO WAY anything could have survived all that!”
The phone rang. My heart flew backwards nearly three years. No. Not again, Lord.
My understanding of the report was accurate: they had seen something and were following protocol for further investigation. I pressed for more answers: Could they please compare the mammogram to my last MRI? Was it absolutely necessary to schedule more tests without comparing all of the existing data?
I lost that battle, sadly. And even though the radiologist recommended immediate action, the first available appointment was an entire month away.
Welcome to rural healthcare.
My last go-around, I had to wait five days for an ultrasound + biopsy. Were they scheduling a biopsy, just in case? Nope. There would be another wait for that.
Oh, the convenience of living in a huge metro area - and not really realizing how blessed I was the last time I took steps on this path.
The day dragged on, with thoughts and emotions running wild. Tempted to skip my women’s small group that night, I remembered at the last minute that I had invited a new person.
Shoot. Now I couldn’t skip.
And boy did God have plans for me!
When it came time for prayer requests, I slowly raised my hand and shared my news. I was doing ok, I assured them, and suspected that my appointment would be cancelled soon when the dots were all connected. It was just an oversight, I said.
Within seconds, I was surrounded. Someone suggested laying hands on me and praying for healing. I gulped back the torrent of tears as the prayers went up.
“Lord, we pray healing over Ellen, in Jesus’ name.”
”Father, give Ellen joy.”
”We pray for protection, for full healing, for trust, for no cancer.”
The room was filled with the presence of the Holy Spirit, our Comforter, our Helper, the mighty power of God.
When I opened my eyes, I felt lighter, covered, held, deeply loved. How did I deserve the care of these women, young and old, many of whom I had only known for a few months?
TUESDAY NOV 18
My request was granted. Late in the day, I received a message on my patient portal. The radiologist did indeed look at my last MRI and compared it to my mammogram from the past week.
Only, it wasn’t an oversight.
He STILL recommended follow-up.
“So, Father, we are traveling this well-worn road again? Together?” I asked.
I know how to fight.
I know how to find my joy droplets.
I’ve been taught where to find restoration, rootedness, and my foundation.
So I returned to the practices that carried me the first time: truth, worship, community, and noticing the small mercies.
Now, where was that playlist?
AirPods in, volume up, truth searing my heart and mind, I SANG. And SANG. Loudly. Continually. With hands raised, I resisted fear, once again. My God knows, and He is faithful and trustworthy. If this resolves quickly, Amen. If this makes a right turn into a hard time, Amen.
THURSDAY NOV 20
“Logan Health, how can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m trying to make an appointment at the Breast Center, but no one’s answering. Can you help me?”
“Sorry, they don’t have a voicemail back there. You’ll just have to keep trying.”
Seriously?
I needed to schedule a follow-up appointment to discuss the results from my upcoming additional imaging, but no one answered the phone. I had received a text with the number to call, and I repeatedly phoned them all day long.
No answer.
Mental energy was rapidly draining as I worked to stifle the concern that kept poking its head up, threatening to engulf my emotions with worry. Having no ability to cross this task off my to-do list kept it front of mind, something I was trying to avoid.
As we left Great Falls, I watched the bars of cellular coverage drop until the SOS appeared. Now I really couldn’t do anything about the problem. My chest tightened. My gut curdled. It took much effort to slow my breathing and watch the fields pass by as we wound our way through Montana.
FRIDAY NOV 21
As we left our hotel in Billings the next morning, I took advantage of the reliable cell signal and tried again. Each time we passed through a city, I called. The phone rang, and rang, and rang.
Nothing.
It was challenging to set aside the rising anxiety about my flagged mammogram and the extra tests looming on the horizon. But, without the ability to physically walk into the breast center to make an appointment, the frustration threatened to explode.
Arriving at our hotel in Mitchell, I searched online for contact info for the nurse practitioner I was supposed to see and double-checked the phone number.
Yup. I was calling the right number. I shook my head in disbelief, slowly accepting that nothing could be done until we returned to Montana in early December.
I tossed and turned that night, trying to ignore the tension that was growing each day that I was unable to make an appointment. Desperately wanting to cross this off my to-do list, I longed to forget about my need for follow-up so I could shift to enjoying our time back in Minnesota.
SATURDAY NOV 22
We arrived at the farm to warm hugs, mild temps, and the comfort that always comes from being in a place I have known all of my life. As I ranted to my mother about the inept rural healthcare we now faced, she asked a simple question:
“What is the name of the person you need to see?”
I told her, wondering why she needed such specific info. She pulled out her phone and got to work.
“What’s the phone number you have been calling?”
At this point, annoyance was rising. Having already verified the number, I opened my text message and read the number to her.
ONE DIGIT WAS WRONG.
I couldn’t believe it. There sat my mother, pleased as punch, grinning from ear to ear. Once again, her tenacity and medical prowess led her to push past what was visible on the surface and dig deeper.
She uncovered the problem and found a resolution that had eluded me.
MONDAY NOV 24
Eager to make the call and put this behind me so I could enjoy our trip, I dialed the RIGHT number and successfully set up a time to see the NP. Good. Now, I could push aside the worry and the trepidation and soak up time with my parents, family, and friends.
The nagging little voice at the back of my head never actually quieted, and anyone who has walked this road knows that scanxiety is a real issue. Before we began our trip, I had coordinated a small gathering of Firefly Sisterhood mentees and friends who are breast cancer survivors, and we met for lunch while I was in Minneapolis.
This was exactly the balm my rattled emotions needed.
My shoulders relaxed, my heart slowed, and my face was filled with the biggest smile I could manage. These were my people! Such lovely women who welcomed each other, even though they were strangers. A safe space was opened up for each woman to share their unique story as we listened and leaned in and nodded along.
I had been bolstered, encouraged, hugged, and loved. With a full heart from seeing most of my family as well as many friends, we headed for home the next day, where the countdown would begin.
FRIDAY DEC 5
The long drive took most of my remaining capacity, and unloading, unpacking, and reacclimating left me depleted. Even if I had wanted to succumb to apprehension, I couldn’t. I was just too tired.
At last, it was time.
Today was the day for follow-up imaging. To endure the pain lingering post-treatment, I once again took pain pills and needed Jim’s assistance with transportation. So far, so good. The anxiousness had been manageable, and soon I would have answers.
Finally.
As the mammographer prepared the machine and I undressed, she captured missing information about my journey so far. Noting that I still had significant pain in my chest, she was extremely gracious and compassionate as we moved through the necessary images.
“Okay, I need to check with the radiologist to see if we need anything else. I’ll be back.”
I popped in an earbud and returned to my new, exciting audiobook. About five minutes later, the tech returned.
“He wants some additional imaging.”
I stepped up to the machine once again, enduring the lifting, squeezing, compressing, and awkward arm, face, and body contortions needed to capture the data the radiologist was looking for.
“Alright. I will be back in a bit after talking to the radiologist.”
This time, my mind drifted from my book, and fear came knocking.
“Something must be wrong, or you would have been done by now.”
”They only need more imaging when there’s a problem.”
She returned.
“I’m so sorry, but we have to do some magnified imaging of a few spots.”
For the third time, I flipped the cape over my right shoulder, took a deep breath as the machine whirred, letting it out when the plate slid away, and the pain subsided.
“Do you know if I need an ultrasound?” I questioned.”
”I’m not sure, but I will find out. I will be back.”
What do we do when fear starts screaming?
WE SING.
I love to press “shuffle” on my breast cancer playlist, reveling in the song that randomly starts playing, attributing the selection to God, who knows just which song I need.
First, it was “Surrounded (Fight My Battles)” by Michael W. Smith. And then, “Behold Him” by Paul Baloche. Finally, “Broken Hallelujah” by The Afters.
And then I knew.
The fear disappeared. In an instant. Just as I sang,
Here’s my broken hallelujah
With nothing left to hold onto
I raise these empty hands to You
Here’s my broken
Here’s my broken
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
I did, indeed, need an ultrasound. Completed by yet another kind, friendly woman.
WHO GAVE ME A WARM BLANKET.
Later in the day, I checked my patient portal. The report said:
ASSESSMENT:
BIRADS 2--BENIGN. There is no imaging evidence of malignancy. Post-surgical scar in the right breast without discrete evidence of recurrent disease.
Joy Droplets still fall, and noticing them kept me present and held. This practice didn’t prevent the fear from showing up - that is an expectation I no longer believe is achievable. Once in the breast cancer club, the risk is simply higher. Fear is a fact of my new normal.
As I texted my family and friends with the good news, I was so grateful for community. My husband and I celebrated by getting our flu shots, a way of caring for our health and future selves. Having Jim by my side through all we’ve endured is a grace I have never deserved, grace I never take for granted.
We all have seasons of waiting. Here’s what I’ve learned:
Notice. My body gives clues to how I’m feeling. Tightness, irritation, fatigue, or nervousness tell me to pay attention.
Name. Identifying the emotions allows me to challenge fear and lies with truth and hope.
Respond. It takes energy to practice the mental discipline to delay worrying. Sometimes I need to rest; sometimes I need to move.
Worship. Refocusing on God’s strength, provision and faithfulness through worship anchors me in a solid foundation.
Community. Relying on others to help me isn’t a weakness; it’s a superpower that connects us.
Waiting may not get easier, but I will keep practicing what carried me the first time: truth, worship, noticing, and community. The same God who held and blessed me then is still present in my waiting today, too.
If you’re in a waiting season, what helps keep you calm and grounded?
Do you have a regular practice of noticing and recording what you are grateful for?
Where do you find your strongest community support?
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