Today I had what I like to call a “procedure.” My doctor’s office calls it surgery. It was minor and nothing to worry about. But try to tell that to someone with anxiety and white coat syndrome (like me).
So this morning I had my minor surgery. All is well. I’ve been dreading this day for a month. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t be concerned. It was done in the doctor’s office with local anesthesia, and only took fifteen minutes.
I could’ve driven myself to and from the appointment. But my husband knew I’d be anxious, so he offered to take me. At first I said, “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to.” I guess I wasn’t convincing. He took one look at me and we both knew he’d be going. I’m glad he did. I felt more comfortable with my safe person there. He’d be sitting in the waiting room if I needed him.
It wasn’t busy when we arrived, so I was taken back right away. That was good because I didn’t have time to dwell on what might happen. The doctor came in, and he got right down to business, shooting in the numbing medicine. A minute later, he was cutting. I didn’t feel a thing. And of course, I didn’t look. My doctor and I talked about our kids and the holidays. I was distracted, which was perfect.
I didn’t let myself panic. I controlled my anxiety. I took deep breaths and thought of anything other than what he was doing. Before I knew it, I was stitched up and ready to leave.
Phew. Pure relief. And the doctor said everything’s fine, I don’t need to be concerned at all.
Okay. I won’t worry anymore. Until next time…