There I sat, one little heifer among the herd, waiting to be called back for a mammogram.
And as I waited, I nearly worked myself up into a proper tizzy thinking about all the time and money I spend trying to keep my body from flying off the rails.
Screenings, tests, procedures, checkups—all so that I can scratch the name of at least one assassin from the list of things that might ultimately get me.
The mammogram was just one of several medical appointments I had within the span of a few weeks. Not because I’m having any particularly scary symptoms, but because my medical history and due diligence make appointments and scopes and scans (oh, my) a necessary annual ritual for me. Like washing pollen off the deck furniture or planting a garden.
It’s spring, so it must be time for a mammogram, skin cancer check, some kind of yucky scope, trips to the dentist and gynecologist, and inevitably, an orthopedic malfunction or catastrophe.
Ugh.
As unpleasant as some of these appointments are, it’s not so much what actually happens there that bothers me the most. It’s the principle of the thing—the frustrating reality that my body now requires so much doggone maintenance.
It’s that I can no longer simply focus on what is actually happening right now, but I must be mindful of all the things that could happen if I’m not diligent.
A freckle could go rogue and kill me. Cancer cells could sprout here, there or yonder. Another muscle or tendon could say, “I’m outta here!” and let go of the joint it’s supposed to stay hitched to.
And then there’s my mouth full of 35-year-old fillings. One box of Crunch ’n Munch might be my dental undoing.
It would be irresponsible not to get these things checked, but it makes me a little nuts to think about being scanned, prodded, scraped, squooshed and drilled every year for the rest of my days.
Oh yes, I am very grateful for access to good medical care. Like many of you, I probably would have died a long time ago if I’d been born in a Third World country or in another time.
So even as the mammogram machine is bearing down and I’m mentally trotting off to my happy place, I’m also whispering a prayer of thanks for this technology that saves many lives.
And I’m thankful for a dermatologist who confesses that while she often forgets names, she never forgets the freckles on a melanoma patient.
And for an energetic gastroenterologist who, while solving some of my mysterious, complicated “plumbing” issues, also talks about what I write and asks about my sons.
Yes, I am thankful. But I’m also frustrated. God knows I’m frustrated, because I tell Him.
“Lord, we both know You could fix all of this. Please?”
But God hasn’t chosen yet to fix everything that is wrong. Not with me, not with the world.
But He will.
One day, for all those who believe and receive the salvation God offers through faith in Jesus Christ, there will be no cracked fillings; no mammograms; no need for endoscopies, colonoscopies, or any other -oscopies; no sunscreen as thick as spackling compound; no sickness, no pain, no death, no crime, no wars, no terrorists, and no fear.
One day. Maybe not this day, but one day.
And looking to that day gives me hope and grace for this day, whatever it may hold.
How did Jesus endure the incomparable suffering of the cross? “For the joy set before Him,” the Bible says in Hebrews 12:2.
That’s how we can endure, too.
You are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in your word. – Psalm 119:114