Happy to Be Alive

A few weeks ago, I called Preston and asked him how he was doing. He replied, “I’m just happy to be alive.” I couldn’t argue with that sentiment, but as a worrisome mother I wondered what it meant while rummaging through my list of threatening teenage perils: Did someone try to kill him? Did he try to kill himself? Was he in a car accident? Did he overdose on drugs or booze? Did he knock up someone?

But teenagers are rather sensitive, and so, having recently vowed to be less Gestapo-ish in my mothering tactics, I didn’t probe into the reasons or psychology behind his proclamation.

Not long after that phone call, I went in for my annual mammogram. After the technician completes the mammogram, she asks you to wait in your hospital gown until she can tell if they need to do more screening. In past years, I had mistakenly thought that while you are in the waiting room, your scan is being read; and if they let you go, and don’t require another screening, then you are free and clear for another year.

This year, the technician called me back for more scans, telling me that the first scans were too light. I was suspicious. When she was finished, she gave me a phone number and told me that if I hadn’t received the results in the mail within ten days, that I needed to call.

For seven days, I was convinced that I had breast cancer. My mother had breast cancer and I’m pretty sure that they detected it at the age of forty-six: my present age. So all week I was on edge.

Finally, the anticipated/dreaded little square note arrived, as if it was an invitation to a party. It stated that the mammogram showed no signs of cancer and that the tests are 90% effective. Immediately, I was incredibly happy proving to myself once again that happiness is a state of mind.

When I jog or lift weights, I silently recite a mantra. The morning after receiving the card from the hospital, I replaced my usual mantra with I’m-Happy-To-Be-Alive-I’m-Happy-To-Be-Alive-I’m-Happy-To-Be-Alive. I had a fantastic run. The trees were greener and more numerous. The dog urine wasn’t as annoying. The car fumes seemed sweeter.

It took awhile, but the wisdom of Preston finally seeped through to me.