Another day, another chance to surrender. Another anxiety-producing event, another opportunity to choose joy. This morning was my annual mammogram – the one day a year I allow myself to worry about a recurrence of breast cancer.
When I finished treatment for breast cancer nine years ago, I determined that I was not going to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder to see if cancer was coming after me. I had done everything the doctors recommended – surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and 5 years of an estrogen-blocking drug – there was nothing else medically I could do. Now it was completely up to God.
I've always been prone to hypochondria (embarrassing but true), and if I followed my natural bent towards anxiety and fear, I saw a long future ahead of me filled with sleepless nights, constant checking of any tiny abnormality in my body, and a complete and utter lack of joy as I anticipated cancer's possible return.
I gave myself a good talking ...1