Ms. Glass Half Empty puts on rose-coloured glasses

I’ve talked about J. and me enough for you to have discerned our fundamental differences. She’s the clean one and I’m the slob. She’s the efficient one and I’m the procrastinator. “If you’re not early, you’re late!” she once told me. (On that occasion, I was early but she was earlier.) She’s energetic and I get exhausted just watching her buzz around. And her glass is half full while mine is half empty.

Glass half full or not, J. is also a realist. She wants the straight goods, even if the news is bad. She’s a big girl who can deal with anything. Me, not so much. I’m sometimes so overwhelmed that I want to plug my ears and sing, or bury my head in the sand, or…you get the idea.

Last week at the Cancer Centre, I discovered that my platelets had proliferated like bunnies since they were last tested. My count was abnormally low, but my platelets had catapulted through my usual ceiling over a short time. I hadn’t realized that a dramatic rise in platelets can sometimes be cause for concern.

I was still cleared for takeoff, but Dr. Blood decided to send me for one last blood test before I hopped on that plane. I wasn’t concerned–I was going on vacation no matter what–but J. seemed a bit preoccupied with the findings, as if there were a new potential roadblock to our trip.

The clinic was to call with results Tuesday, but nothing. I didn’t think much of it–no news is good news, right?–but J. seemed uneasy not knowing. I know that sometimes the call doesn’t come the day it’s promised. I wanted to wait, and to leave it if I didn’t hear.

But then, since J. seemed concerned, I started to stew: “What if they haven’t called because the news is bad? Maybe I’m dying but they don’t want to ruin our vacation.” This is the mind of an anxious person with her head peeking out from the sand.

I had no intention of seeking those results but I told The Realist that if she needed to know, which she seemed to, she could call. To her credit, J. accepted my thoughts and waited. Lo and behold, the next day, the nurse practitioner extraordinaire called with the findings. She confirmed all was well and wished us a good trip.

My yoga teacher’s wisdom this morning helped me understand what happened. Kathy said that sometimes, when we’re feeling overwhelmed, we need to put on our rose-coloured glasses. Without them, we’d be a mess. I took what she said to heart.

My cup may be half empty, but I still have rose-coloured glasses which I pull out on occasion. Without them, I’d be constantly thinking about having cancer and hospital stays and dying and other unpleasantries. To what end? I need a break from my life so I’m packing those glasses. If they don’t work, there’s always yoga.

A final FYI: I anticipate being too busy enjoying my vacation with J. to script witty updates–my artistry takes time, you know–so you can relish a well-deserved break from me. You’ve earned it. Ta ta for now!