That’s Actually a Good Thing

Fear is a reaction to the unknown.  I’ve heard people argue that we can’t control fear. That it’s just a reaction.  But I’ve also heard people say that we choose whether or not we’re going to be afraid.  That’s it’s a conscious choice.  I’ve heard that fear whispers in the dark.  That it makes us see and hear things differently from how they really exist. And that fear lies.

I had pneumonia a year or so ago.  For two weeks I stayed home and sat at the kitchen table every day working on jigsaw puzzles.  That I never felt bored during those two weeks is pretty telling.  Normally sitting and doing only one thing all day long would be torturous for me.  But during those weeks just getting dressed and slowly making my way downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee wore me out.  I’d sit in a chair for a little while, sipping my coffee and getting my strength back up, before standing again to pick out a puzzle and carry it over to the kitchen table to begin my day’s activity.

After a round of antibiotics and two weeks of “resting” I still wasn’t feeling okay. My primary care provider wanted a chest x-ray.

The x-ray technician explained that they were going to take a look at the pictures before deciding if they needed to take any more.   I said okay, and waited in the x-ray room.  I wasn’t particularly nervous or afraid; mostly I was just tired.   But when I turned around I saw the two technicians pointing at something on my x-rays.   My glance fell to the x-rays, and immediately I could see that something was wrong. One of my lungs was light in the x-ray and appeared normal.  But nearly half of the other lung was opaque.  Whatever was in my lung was consuming a significant part of it.

I turned back around quickly, and my heart started to race.  The technician came back in the room and said they thought they had enough and that I’d be hearing from my medical provider.

Geoff picked me up, and I told him that I had seen the x-rays and they didn’t look good.  I told him that “half of one of my lungs is black” on the x-ray.  And that I was scared.

He tried to reassured me.   But his words didn’t comfort much.  I had seen the x-ray.  He hadn’t.  I knew he’d be worried too if he’d seen it.  I’d never seen anything like that before, and I knew it wasn’t normal.

My appointment with my medical provider wasn’t until 4:00 in the afternoon. And as the day progressed my fears took the shape of “something serious.”  I’d never been a smoker, or a miner.  I’d never particularly been around dangerously contaminated air.  But I had been having some breathing problems the last few years.  I had developed asthma.  And now this pneumonia that wouldn’t seem to clear up.  In my mind, with each progressing hour of the day my fears took on the shape of lung cancer, or lung disease brought on by exposure to something I hadn’t realized I was being exposed to.

By the time I went for my appointment I had already cried to Geoff about how scared I was.  So scared that I was almost physically sick.  I knew it wasn’t good.  I still had kids to raise, certainly I would do my best to fight whatever this was.  But sitting in the waiting room, feeling too exhausted to even walk back to the exam room, I tried to steady myself, tried to get ready for the fight.  Even though the thought of it, the fear of it, was overwhelming to me.

My provider was as calm as always.  She greeted me with a smile and asked how I was feeling.  I gave a non-committal answer, bracing myself for what I knew she had to tell me.

She said, “Well, I think we should try another round of antibiotics.”

Why wasn’t she saying anything about the dark mass filling my lung?

She examined me.  But still didn’t say anything about what was going on with my one lung.

I finally admitted to her that I’d seen the x-rays.  And that I’d actually been kind of scared all day.  I told her that I’d seen the big darkened area on my one lung. And that I knew that it wasn’t normal.

She put the x-ray up on the window asked me to show her what I was referencing.  With a slightly trembling hand I pointed to the darkened area on the x-ray.

“That,” I said, pointing to the part of my lung which was opaque.

She smiled.

“Okay, so that’s your heart,” she said.   “And that’s actually a good thing.”

I was stunned.

No cancer?  No tumors or growths?  No black lung disease?

I suggested that as a counselor maybe I shouldn’t be trying to read x-rays. She laughed.  And I think I could actually hear the air beginning to hiss out of the fear balloon that had been inflating around me all day.

Geoff and I chuckled about it in the car on the way home.  He pointed out that I had revealed to our medical provider what a dork I really am.   I started another round of antibiotics that evening.  And worked on jigsaw puzzles every day for another week.  The pneumonia did clear up.  And it has become just another story that I have told numerous times since,  in treatment groups and in meetings.

It was a day that I chose to drag myself through hell.  Or, that I let myself be dragged through hell.  For no purpose.  Over nothing. I gave in to fear and let it take hold of me and shake me around all day long like a puppy with a chew toy.  The fear took on a life of its own and changed my thoughts and my emotions.  In fact, within just a few hours of having me in its teeth, the fear had me re-writing my whole future.  Not only had I wasted that day.  I had handed over the remainder of my life to fear.  I had completely given up the controls.

I didn’t have cancer.  Or black lung disease.  I didn’t have an unknown mass, or a tumor.  I didn’t have anything more serious than some residual pneumonia which just needed a little more rest, and another round of antibiotics.  I had a heart, for Pete’s sake.  And “that’s actually a good thing.”