Catastrophizing

When I was in middle school, I got an eight-pox case of the chicken pox. Ever the resourceful child, I self-diagnosed after using the massive home reference medical book that lived on a shelf in our library. Reaching the massive tome required standing on a stool, balanced precariously as I lifted the book and brought it back to the sofa. Happily, I quickly found flow charts in the front section that seemed logical and useful. "Do you have a fever?" No. "Do you feel fatigued?" Yes. "Do you have a rash anywhere on your body, particularly the torso?" A quick glance revealed two raised, red bumps on my belly. Yes? Within two minutes, I'd arrived at chicken pox, and, just a few moments later, I was a tear-soaked mess, having discovered that I would surely need multiple shots and must be in the very small percentage of "potentially fatal" cases. Two pox or two hundred, I've always been one to "catastrophize."

Today marks a week since I stopped taking Provera to restart my cycle. Though the body can still respond up to two weeks later, the "normal" range is four to seven days. So, last night, I pulled down another weighty tome to help self-diagnose: Dr. Google. Within a half hour, I'd gone from mildly concerned to utterly panicked; by this morning, I was reading up on domestic adoption, convinced the D&C scarred my cervix and we'd lost all chance of a biological child of our own. No amount of planning to set up a doctor's appointment next week or reading stories with happy endings could calm my damp palms and speeding heart. Though adoption is an amazing gift and one we may consider one day, I had to recognize that I was, once again, catastrophizing.

As I remind Jeff daily, recognizing what I'm doing is the first step. The second one is to check in with what my therapist calls my "wise mind"--that gut feeling that I can choose to, or choose not to, heed. More often than not, I ignore it, deliberately and consciously, because resting in a state of limbo seems almost harder than actively acknowledging the worst case scenario and seeking to prevent it. If I can DO something, perhaps there will be less to fear.

I'm blogging from bed this morning; we'll be headed to RCC in a few hours. For this, I am so grateful. With our church family, I can be raw and hurting and not try to fix things all the time. I only pray to find that ability to rest in the moment throughout the rest of my week. Catastrophizing is the easy way out; what happens if, instead, I sit in a place of discomfort and lack of knowledge until things resolve themselves?

I wish Google could show me how to fix this one.