Biopsy Anxiety

The biopsy is today. My anxiety has been hitting pre-dawn. I’ve learned to breathe through it, just focusing on my breath, inhaling, deep breaths, shallow breaths. Mostly, I’m amazed, I fall back to sleep.

Two weeks ago, I hadn’t expected this anxiety. Then I stopped joking about my two new specialists, my urologist and my neurologist. I got past my neurology scare, made it through two PET scans, came out clean, exhaled, and slept well one night. Then I began worrying about the biopsy. My elevated PSA level had taken me to the urologist. The MRI, he ordered, was inconclusive. So now the biopsy. This should answer the cancer question conclusively.

What’s the worry? My urologist assured me it’s a ten-minute procedure, ambulatory surgery, I’ll be in and out. Of course, I’m worried about the procedure. Why shouldn’t I be? Angioplasties were supposed to be in-and-out experiences too. Complications during my first angioplasty resulted in two more surgeries. I lost a winter and most of a Spring. Okay, I’m worried. I’m entitled. But the second angioplasty went the way it was supposed to, and my previous surgeries for a collapsed disc and a clogged carotid artery had gone well. Keep breathing, Ken.

But we have so much planned for this Spring. What’s the worst thing that could happen? We’d have to postpone our trip to Portugal? I’d have to get my steps in a hospital hallway, pushing the rack with my IV’s?

What else is worrying you, Ken? There’s a two-week wait for our follow-up with the urologist and the results of the biopsy. Two weeks of not knowing. I can breathe through that. What’s the big worry?  I don’t feel like I’m dying. I’m getting my steps in. I’m taking my meds. I’ve gotten used to my hearing aids. I’ve only just gotten reading glasses. Dee’s dad lived a long time with prostate cancer. And I will die eventually. The odds are overwhelming that someday I will sit in a doctor’s office – I imagine he’ll be a sweet guy – and he’ll tell me the bad news.

Am I worried about the treatment? I don’t know much about cancer treatment, although I’ve heard horror stories of chemo and radiation. They weren’t my parents’ stories. Dad was gone fast, heart failure. Mom lingered with dementia, but it wasn’t cancer. So, what if I lose my hair. I’ve got lots of dharma brothers and sisters with shaved heads.

Maybe I’m afraid of the pain. Or maybe I’m just not ready to give up this phase of my life, to transition from healthy retirement to unhealthy retirement. I don’t want to put our travel plans on hold. I’m enjoying teaching. A new project with the Zen Peacemakers appears to be just over the horizon. I’m enjoying writing. Will Unhealthy Ken have the energy for all of this?  Is that the biopsy anxiety?