Fearing Fear Itself

Everyone is disappointed about something in their life, I don't care who you are. I like to believe that even the rich snobs that I went to college with have a disappointment or two. I have the general ones. I wish I were a famous writer by now, and I am sad that I do not own a home. The biggest disappointment is how much my life is controlled by fear at this stage of things. 

I used to watch Oprah with my grandma when I was a kid. And I remember she did an episode with Tina Turner, and I think Patti LaBelle. You know, all of her baddie besties. I think it was her birthday episode. Anyway, they went on and on about how being old was cool because you were so sure of yourself and free. They had no desire to be 20 because being 50 or 60 was where it was at! Worrying and fear were things of the past! I guess everyone has their own experiences, because the experiences they described laughing it up with Ms. Winfrey have not been mine! 

This probably comes as no surprise, but I was a scary, fearful kid. I didn't want to get in trouble. I followed the rules. My mom gave me a long leash as a teen to do pretty much anything because she knew how scared I was of everything. Even as a kid, I was fearful of death. I was scared my grandma was going to die or my mom or even my friends. I was scared of what would happen if I got really bad grades, and then in middle school,  when my grades fell, I was scared I wasn't going to get into college. In my young adult life, the fears just got more intense. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing my apartment. Fear of being a failure. Fear of losing my job! Those of us who suffer severely from the superiority complex that is having faith will say that you can't believe in God and be fearful at the same time. That kids is a lie! I have spent many a night praying while being overwhelmed with fear! I honestly don't know any other way to pray. 

Today, I got my test results from a procedure that I had earlier in the week. I called the doctor to see if someone could go over them with me, and the doctor who answered had a bit of an attitude with me. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe my anxiety is so high that everything anyone says sounds like it has some extra heat on it. No one has called me back, and I am so overwhelmed with fear that literally all I can do to address it is write about it. I have no idea when my Patti LaBelle moment is supposed to happen; when I am supposed to kick off my designer heels and scream on the stage of my life. Knee-deep in yet another hair-raising situation, I have to say, I am fearful that the day will never come. 

Dr. Hottie and the Biopsy

I'm not going to lie: when I was dropped off early at the hospital for my procedure, I stood on the steps and cried. I was scared, overwhelmed, and alone. I knew that I was going to cry, but I didn't think it would be that early. 

"Are you okay?" the security guard asked. I nodded, but he walked over to me anyway. I rolled my eyes. If men aren't ignoring me, they are bothering me when I am trying to have a private moment. I wiped my eyes and followed him inside where a man with a crutch was already waiting. We were the early birds, waiting for 6am to go up to get prepped for our surgeries. I sat there listening to Glorilla, praying that things would go my way. I had never had any type of surgery or anesthesia, and I was mortified of not waking up. My fears were not calmed when I was told I was sent to the wrong area and that I had not paid money I had a receipt for paying. By this time, my mind was all over the place. If one more oopsie was made, I was going to make a run for it! 

By the time I was checked into pre-op, I looked a hot mess! Sadness and worry were graffitied all over my face. I looked tired and upset. Looking in the mirror after giving my urine sample, it dawned on me that I looked the worst that I had ever seen myself! But the party was just beginning. I got changed into the backless gown that no one likes and sat still while a woman rubbed by back and butt down with antiseptic wipes. Then Nurse Heavy Hand rubbed my right arm down so hard with an alcohol cotton ball that she bruised me. How hard do you have to be rubbing me to bruise me with a piece of cotton? She couldn't find my vein. My left arm looked like a pin cushion, only for Nurse Tiny Little to find my vein on the right arm and get me with one prick. Thank. God. 

Once my doctor arrived, I was relieved and ready to rock. She came with the resident I had been seeing during my visits, which made me more comfortable. I almost allowed my shoulders to relax a little before a tall, brown brotha with beautiful eyebrows and lashes showed up at the foot of my bed. He was introduced as Dr. Hottie, another resident that would be helping out with the surgery. 

Oh no, I thought to myself. I looked like SH&T! Of course I did. When I was in high school and had bad asthma attacks where I couldn't breathe, my respiratory therapists always looked like they had hopped out of an Abercrombie ad. I was beyond embarrassed. 

However, the humiliation didn't come until I got into the operating room and needed help getting on the operating table with Dr. Hottie right there. I could have died! My butt cheeks were exposed and ashy. They don't allow you to wear lotion on the day of a surgery! I would have done anything for just a squirt of Nivea. 

Once I was in recovery, I looked over at the nurse's station and he was sitting there, working, looking good. I could tell he was fine, even with his face mask on. He even looked like he smelled good. I could feel myself smiling goofily at him and then it dawned on me: THIS FINE MAN HAS SEEN MY VAGINA! If I weren't completely out of it, I would have screamed!

However, once everything did wear off and I was getting ready to go home, I thanked Dr. Hottie and told him I was sorry if I was acting weird. I just wasn't expecting a man in the surgery. He said it was okay and smiled. I have to tell you, I felt something in that moment. But I cannot be sure if it was a sensual connection or post-surgical vaginal pain. All I know is that next time, if there has to be a next time, I am sneaking a travel container of lotion into pre-op in my bra. 

School

So...your girl is in grad school! 

I know that this is a shocker to many of you that remember how horrified I have been about retaking the GRE. The first go 'round I was so stressed out over it that I would punch the wall in my sleep. I pretty much gave up on ever furthering my education which was never a good idea, seeing that I got my undergraduate degree in a dying industry. But I'm in school now baby! I'm 36, working towards my part 2! 

You should see me. I look completely different than I did in undergrad. Not just physically (although I am still a cutie) but in the way that I am taking my education seriously. Guys, I won't even tell you how many times I chose frat parties I chose over studying. I was no slave to homework or tutoring. I was just trying to be cute, eat, sleep, and party in The Creasant City. I wouldn't give those carefree times up for the world, but in this season of my life, just call me a nerd! I am reading, taking notes, kicking butt, and taking names! I don't want to brag...but I am leveling.up. 

One of the things that was stopping me from going back to school was feeling like I was too old, especially when I looked back a few years and realized how much time I wasted. But I am in class with women old enough to be grandmother, and they are amazing! Don't let the excuses stop you sis! You aren't too old or too stupid are too ugly or whatever lie you have told yourself. Get it done! There are probably amazing blessing on the other side. 

Okay kids, I'm done for now. Gotta go study. 

Mortified

I have been pretty scared a few times in my life. One time that stands out in my mind happened when I was an undergrad student in New Orleans. I had gone to a parade with my friends and I was NOT in the best of moods. I was so immature back then. If I was unhappy, everyone had to be unhappy. So, eventually, my mood was so fowl that me and my friends decided to leave and go back to campus soon after the parade was over instead of hang out. Slow dragging behind my friends in a black hoodie with my lip poked out, I heard a man talking about how fat I was to his friend. I turned around and they both laughed, so I shot them both the finger. They stopped laughing, and the tall one who had made the remark motioned in his jacket the way that gangsters do in movies when they have a gun.
My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it over the band playing in my ears. I started to walk quickly, dipping in and out of the crowd, only to look behind me to see that the dudes were pissed and hot on my trail. I sped up, which should tell you how young I was. I am so out of shape now that, if this would have happened yesterday, I would have just stood there and taken the bullet before I tried to run from it.
I dipped behind a float alongside the train tracks. From my position, I was able to see the thugs racing down the street looking for me. And just when I thought I couldn't get even more scared, I saw the man who called me fat turn my friend Tiesha around quickly. I held my breath thinking, Oh God, please don't let this moron shoot my friend over something stupid I did. He looked her up and down, realized she was not me, then continued on the hunt. When we got to campus alive and safe I was so happy that I collapsed on my bed and screamed in my pillow. My mouth had gotten me in tons of trouble before, but that was a close call.
I say all this to say that this weekend I ran into an older woman in my life. She has been diagnosed with colon cancer and is doing chemo to shrink the tumor so that it can be removed. She got so upset while telling me about her treatment and her infusions that she started crying. I gave her a hug and that is when I felt it. This woman was not scared, she was mortified. This far surpassed the mere fear I felt when I thought that I was going to get gunned down in the Big Easy. Hugging her, I could feel the nervous energy bouncing around in her body. She was trembling and secreting a panic that sat in the air, making it warm, thick, and uncomfortable. You could literally smell her anxiety. I felt that if she could have, she would have screamed.
What could be scarier than knowing you are going to die or having good reason to think that you might? What could be more agitating than going over the list of things you want to do and get done over and over in your head? Is it possible to even explain in words the fear of not knowing what the afterlife holds in store for you and if you are spiritually ready to find out?
I thought these things as she left to go run errands. As someone who is often afraid to go after what I want in life, she helped me to remember that there are worse things than being scared.