Worry

I can still visualize myself on the phone with my Dad. I was beside the telephone, cord held in my hand, one knee on the bench beside the phone. You see, once upon a time young’ uns, we needed a bench because a long conversation meant staying in one place for a while. Heck, could you non-wrinkly folk even run one of those phones?

I can’t remember what I was worried about. (which probably means my Dad’s advice made sense.) He said,

“Why worry? It’s doesn’t solve anything.”

Here I am, not far from the age he would have been at the time, and I realized today that I finally understand and am living his advice.

I recently had an excisional biopsy. The 3-year-olds in my life were all suddenly asking about a mole I’ve always had. When the second one commented I thought,

“Maybe I should have a look at this thing.”

It had changed colour and size but being in an area semi-protected by the sun, I wasn’t too concerned but had the doctor take a look. Doctor wanted a biopsy done to make sure.

There was a time when low risk or not, I would have been awake at night in a state of, if not panic, at least…worry.

I’m not worried at all. This is today, I’m another week or two from hearing the results, and until the results come back, the biopsy doesn’t exist aside from the stitches I’m having removed today.

It’s not denial.

It’s…

“Why worry? It doesn’t solve anything.”

Thanks Dad.