For as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of anything medical related. When I was younger it was almost debilitating. It felt shameful and embarrassing, like a secret I didn’t want to share. I tried not to let on how much it horrified me. So I lived with it instead, and it weighed me down without me even realising it. 

I physically couldn’t look at medical related images on TV — a two second camera scan of a person receiving an injection, someone being rushed into emergency on a stretcher. The sirens, the pain, it was all too much.

I also couldn’t listen to people’s stories about them being in pain, without feeling lightheaded. To me, their stories were real enough to puncture through my own skin and make me feel as if they were happening to me. I didn’t just picture it, I could feel it. 

 

 

There are words for this kind of intense emotion, a language built around people like me, who tend to feel things deeply. There is more awareness, and also less shame. For all I know, my medical fears might just be an extension of my sensitivity. And I know I’m not the only one to deal with it.

I remember a classmate of mine admitting that her mother would rather have a baby then get an injection. It sounds extreme unless you’re the one with the needle phobia. Because phobias are real, and they do exist. 

I’m relieved to say that the intensity of my phobias have lessened in heat and urgency over the years, and I’ve learnt ways to manage my fears so they don’t overtake me. I’ve also had enough exposure to medical things through my everyday life to develop a slightly thicker skin.

In fact, it’s only in the last few years, that I’ve been able to walk into a hospital without feeling that any minute the nurses would be huddled over me because I’d have fainted, right there on the spot. 

I should know, because I had to go into a hospital last week for a routine scan. And I was able to go through with the procedure without any major drama.

But if I’m being completely honest, that’s not the entire story. 

 

 

A few months ago, I wrote about my experience of finding out I’m a BRCA gene mutation carrier. Being a BRCA carrier means my risk of developing breast and ovarian cancer over my lifetime is increased. Preventative management involves yearly mammograms and breast MRI’s. 

I had scheduled my first MRI months ago, and had been actively dreading it. I carried that dread with me everywhere for three months.

The day of my appointment came, and I went into the hospital and through the motions, praying I wouldn’t panic, kick up a fuss and refuse to go through with it. 

I was anxious, tired and weak before I had even reached the elevators. But I was also quietly determined. I wanted the scan done so I could leave it behind when I exited the double sliding hospital doors. 

Shaky and completely out of my depth, I went through with it. I came out feeling triumphant. I had actually done it. Somewhere, somehow, I had accessed my hidden reserve of strength. 

I knew I had conquered something important as I walked out of that MRI. My fear? Maybe. Or perhaps something bigger that wasn’t so definable. 

You see, bravery isn’t cutting off your feelings or pretending they don’t exist. We aren’t immune to feeling, nor should we try to be. 

Bravery is feeling all that messy emotion — the worry, confusion, dread — and doing it anyway. It’s carrying that bundle of fear, allowing it to be felt and seen, even as you put on your bravest face.

Bravery is humanity.

The thing is, people are complicated and messy, and full of contradictions. We can act in control, appear calm and collected, while our insides do backflips off a thousand internal trampolines. We can feel a hundred different things at once, and not be able to name even one of them. We are multidimensional. We are human. 

So I’m trying to lean into that, to remember it. I don’t expect others to be perfect, so why should I expect that of myself?

I’m messy, I’m flawed, but I’m also braver than I think, stronger than I feel. 

And I can do it.

*As always, my purpose in writing is to reach people who may be going through something similar, and help them feel less alone. If you or someone you know is dealing with a BRCA result or preparing for an MRI, please feel free to get in touch via my contact page if you’d like to chat.