One of the downsides of turning forty for a woman is the yearly mammogram. I had my baseline at thirty-five and was told I didn’t have to start yearly ones until age forty. So, here I go for the yearly “press” which begins this year. Also, because I have moles like a leopard has spots I go in for a mole check this week too. Yee haw…
At forty you start to get a little nervous about “cancer screenings”. Screening…sounds like a jolly trip to the local cinema to watch a new release. Oh…don’t I wish!
Just last year a schoomate of mine died of breast cancer.
Just last week I learned a friend of mine has a stage IV glioblastoma of the brain.
It’s all too surreal to me, but it also makes me realize that it could happen to me…and maybe it will. Just three years ago I heard the word “precancerous” describing a mole on my right arm that was removed. When you hear the word “cancer” in any form describing something on/in your body your stress level goes to a ten…even if it contains the prefix of “pre.”
When I was little and I thought of death I thought that I would never die, I thought I was special and if I got sick I would just will myself not to die. Oh, to be a child again and believe yourself to be immortal. I mean, I know where I’m going when I die it’s the getting that that scares me.
Everything will probably be fine, but cancer screenings get you to thinking…