Coping and Self-Compassion While Navigating Healthcare
We welcome guest blogger, Peg Conway. Peg is a writer and energy healer in Cincinnati, OH. Her memoir of early mother loss and the spiraling journey of grief, The Art of Reassembly, was published in 2021, and she volunteers at a children's grief center.
Anticipating my annual breast MRI recently, I debated whether to request prescription pills to take ahead of time to relax. I wanted to skip them. But how would I feel setting out in the dark for the 7:30 am appointment? Would I go alone or ask my husband to drive me? If I took the pills, of course he’d have to drive.
I’ve never had breast cancer, but my mom was diagnosed at age 35 and died two years later, when I was seven, more than five decades ago. Because of her young age at death, I had my first mammogram at 22.
Hope Edelman, author and mother loss expert, states that “Women who have experienced mother loss often feel ‘stuck’ in certain parts of their development, as if a piece of them never got to grow up.” Further, she says, “Mother loss can lead to an intense fear of other losses. Health anxiety, catastrophic thinking, and fear of death or abandonment are common for women who have lost mothers.”
Oh yes. No matter how composed I appear when speaking to a doctor or registering at a testing center, a frightened child lurks behind the facade. What looks like self-assertiveness can quickly dissolve into distress or irritation.
Health anxiety first spiked after my college graduation. Leaning into habitual hypervigilance, I consulted multiple doctors, which led to the initial baseline mammogram. After settling into graduate school and then a career, I picked up the screening thread again in my 30s. By then I was a young mother of three approaching my mom’s age of diagnosis and death, which Edelman notes is a significant emotional rite of passage for motherless daughters.
I inched toward age 37 unable to shake breast cancer as my inevitable fate, especially after my mom’s sister was diagnosed. But overwhelm left me unable to act. Fortunately, a friend’s timely suggestion led to a sensible protocol of annual mammograms overseen by a breast surgeon that continues to this day. MRIs were added more recently due to dense breast tissue.
Meanwhile, being a mother brought many fraught health encounters, from infant vaccines through teen mental health crises. Being with my children through their challenges gradually taught me to offer compassion to my scared young self. I’m still always learning to be the adult I need, using all the resources I can muster.
Here’s where I must acknowledge that the vast and ever-changing bureaucracy of our health care system itself creates anxiety, compounding our individual concerns. With this context in mind, I offer the following toolkit for coping and self-compassion while navigating health care.
#1 -- Practical Information
Investigate what to expect from a procedure or test beforehand! I’d had a full body MRI once and did well, so I wasn’t too worried about going for my first breast MRI three years ago. But it was very different! I had to lie still in the narrow tube face down with arms overhead for more than 30 minutes, and I nearly broke down halfway through when my arms fell asleep, and I felt closed in. So, I learned the hard way to anticipate curveballs.
#2 -- Personal Connection
For the first time, about 10 years ago a suspicious something turned up on my mammogram, which required me to have a follow-up ultrasound. It ended up being nothing, and I had both scans and saw my doctor all in one agonizing afternoon, so I wasn’t in terror for long. I realized right away that the worst part of that entire experience was how alone I’d felt. I’d gone to the appointment solo, and I hadn’t shared it with anyone.
Now I seek connection via text with several friend groups in advance, especially the motherless daughters I met at one of Edelman’s retreats in 2018.
“I’m having my mammogram tomorrow. Good vibes, please.”
“Absolutely, we’ve got you.”
“Positive thoughts coming your way!”
#3 -- Self-Soothing
Even in the most supportive medical settings, moments of difficulty arise. Despite preparation, there can be unexpected challenges. I find that simple body practices help. My two favorites can be done quietly while sitting or lying down.
Long exhale – I generally don’t resonate with patterned breathing, but just extending my exhale, fully emptying from my lower abdomen, settles my shoulders and relaxes my neck. I do these three or four times in a row to steady myself.
Sensory observation – Childbirth educator Pam England calls this practice non-focused awareness. You just notice the environment for a few minutes without telling yourself a story about anything that’s annoying or pleasing. What are you seeing? Hearing? What is in contact with your body? This input brings me back to the present.
I used all these tools for my recent breast MRI, and I still became quite anxious! Though I did not take medication, I asked my husband to go along. We arrived on time, and registration was smooth. Then we waited and waited as other people came and went. Nervous energy started pulsing in my limbs. When I found out the MRI did require an IV for injecting contrast solution, which I was not prepared for, I cracked.
The final tool in the kit saved me.
#4 -- Vulnerability
Seated outside the MRI suite, my gown gaped half open, I allowed myself to shed tears and tremble a little. Lauren, the technician, offered a warm blanket, and I accepted. I asked for water and a tissue, and she said, “Of course.” She called a nurse to place the IV, and it was quick. Then I climbed in the tube. Like a spent toddler ready for a nap, the agitation had been discharged, and I was able to lie prone in relative calm, breathing out long, noticing the sensations of my body in that tiny space, hearing the machine’s loud vibrations, and not telling myself any story about any of it.
The next day, I copied my doctor’s message to my friend groups. “Breast MRI normal. Repeat in one year.”
