A Scar to Remind Me…

I diagnosed myself with skin cancer this Christmas.

And no, I do not have any medical training. Impressive, I know. It’s amazing what Google and I can accomplish when we put our heads together.

Ben is not allowing me to google anything health-related ever again, because I totally freaked myself out, begged my doctor to do a biopsy (he didn’t really think there was much to worry about), and of course it ended up being nothing.

But you know those nights when you’re home alone, and you stay up too late, and you read too much stuff on the computer, and all the pictures look exactly like what you have?

Has this ever happened to anyone else? Anyone?

This whole thing started back in November, and I’ve been stressing/trying not to stress about it since then, and it’s what brought on my sudden desire to get control over my thoughts.

I never realized how little control I had over the thoughts that fill my mind. Quite scary, actually.

So for the last month, I’ve been working and working and praying and memorizing scripture and working on it, and it all felt very similar to when you start lifting weights. Oh, those poor, weak, tired muscles. They do not want to co-operate. But after awhile, you can notice a bit of a change. What used to take so much effort starts getting a little bit easier.

My mind is still nowhere near where it needs to be, but we are getting somewhere. Ben actually expressed how impressed he was over how little I mentioned the situation over the last few weeks. My biopsy was done right before Christmas, and I had to get through all of the Christmas festivities while waiting for the results. I knew that I was extremely capable of completely ruining my Christmas by worrying and panicking and imagining worst-case scenarios, if I let myself.

So I got to work.  I did all that I could to stop my mind from going into “forbidden territory”.

And when the doctor gave me the results, and said everything was fine, the first thing that popped into my mind was this:

I am so thankful for all the time I did NOT spend worrying about this.

I wish I had not spent ANY time worrying, but that would be a stretch for a beginner. All in all, I feel kind of proud of myself for the progress I made. We will work hard, and carry on.

The verse I keep hanging onto continues to be,

Do not worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough worries of it’s own.

And I can handle what’s on the plate for today.

In her book, Loving God With All Your Mind, Elizabeth George writes about how that verse gives us God’s boundaries for our thoughts. That is all we are allowed to think about. Very simple, no grey areas with those boundaries. He made us, and so He knows what we can handle.

So although this last month has been a little tough to go through, I am so extremely thankful for it, because it has been extremely eye-opening, and a very effective wake-up call.

Know what my favorite thing is about this little episode, besides the fact that it all turned out fine? I’ve got a lovely scar in a very visible place that will forever remind me of this experience, and my desire to keep my thoughts on today.

My doctor was worried about an unnecessary scar, but I felt like it was completely necessary.

Embrace today, live it fully, and don’t allow your thoughts to wonder to tomorrow. I want to remember that forever. Bring on the scar.

In Her Own Words…

Kaylia had a needle this week, and it was a fairly traumatic experience for her. I had to have a doctor’s appointment down the hall, so Ben took her for her needle.

I could hear her screaming from down the hall, so it was almost like I was actually there – I didn’t miss much. No, that’s not true at all – I missed the best part – being able to cuddle her and calm her down after.

Anyway, I sent Ben in prepared with a soother to calm her after, and she did fairly well, all things considered, but my favorite part about the whole thing was hearing her tell me about it later on, in her own words.

I was playing with her that evening, and touched her arm right where she’d gotten the needle. She looked at me with her big, serious eyes, and said, “Owie.”

I asked, “Did you get an owie needle today?”

She was quiet for a second, and then she said, very seriously, “Owie. Cry….Soo! (Soother) Mommy. Bye-bye.”

Yes, Mommy was bye-bye! Next time I won’t be!