Red Blinking Light

Walked into the kitchen after yesterday's race. Red light blicking on the answering machine. Hit play:

"Hello. This is Beth Israel Deaconess Radiology department..."

Sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Cold sweat. Stop breathing. I don't have an appointment there until March. Why are they calling now? My mind takes off and finishes the rest of the message.

"...we made a mistake reading your mammogram last spring and you need to come back in immediately so we can do further tests."

What she actually said was, "we need to reschedule your appointment in March 2008 from blah to blah"

Wow. The visceral reaction really surprised me. Kind of thought I was over all that. I don't think of myself as a cancer survivor. I barely notice the scars on my chest anymore. (I do, however, still notice my radiation tattoos because they annoy me. I figure if I'm going to get inked I may as well get something more interesting than blue dots.)

I suppose you never get over it. Despite the fact that I certainly don't sit around waiting for the other shoe to fall apparently there's some tiny part of me that still worries it'll come back. And if it did, I know I'd deal. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world - unless it meant I couldn't ride/run/board/sail. Then I'd truly be annoyed. So gotta keep doing stuff like that just in case that phone call comes for real.