I had to get a physical last week.

As you may know, I’ve been dread-avoiding this for months and have postponed so many times that it’s ridiculous. Really there is nothing about getting a physical that is even remotely palatable for me, and the last one was so traumatic that after it was finally over I spent most of the following week in bed crying.

So things were a little tense and anxious over here at Worry HQ in my head, and yet, it had to happen, iatrophobia (fear of doctors) aside.

So here’s the report on how I prepared for it, and what went down….

First: The Renaming.

I am a big fan of changing the feel of something through giving it a new name, or changing the metaphor.

And I adore anagrams.

The word physical anagrams neatly to Lacy Hips. Or Lacy Ship!

I went with the first one because it sounds racy: sexiness and lingerie and being a Bond Girl, which are all things I like. Also all things that are basically the opposite of the image in my mind of me trembling and crying while wearing (if you can call it that) a flimsy paper “gown” under awful fluorescent lights.

Operation Lacy Hips! A promising name for a secret mission.

Second: Ohmygod. So. Much. Legitimacy. Why this is important:

Well, for one thing, skipping this step strengthens resistance and avoidance.

Pretending that something which feels horrible actually isn’t…well, it doesn’t really work.

If I want to help coax the small, sad, scared and scarred parts of me to come on board with the mission, they need to know their pain has been heard and that their pain makes sense. That I’m paying attention. That I care about Safety First, and what happened then isn’t going to happen again.

Giving legitimacy is a form of comfort.

Legitimate things to be concerned about that I was legitimately concerned about:

1. I don’t want to get weighed. I think checking weight and height is such bullshit, such an obvious compliance maneuver. And while I am all for challenging bullshit, I don’t like starting off something that’s already scary for me with conflict. Legitimacy for anxiety about standing up for myself!
2. My approach to physical well-being often doesn’t really work with doctors. I know my body intimately. My body is where I live. It’s hard to talk to people who think, for example, that it’s relevant what I ate if my stomach hurts, when I know from life that my stomach only hurts when I’m adjusting to a big life change. They ask questions that seem wildly personal or wildly irrelevant, or both. It’s like speaking to someone in a language that doesn’t have enough words. Legitimacy for the frustrating perception of being perpetually misunderstood.
3. Fear about potential bad news: this is always legitimate, and especially now!
4. Residual trauma from last physical which was truly awful: legitimate!
5. Fear that now might be like then even though Now Is Not Then: legitimate!
6. Worry that if I get triggered again, I could lose a week of getting work done. Very, very legitimate.
7. Dislike of feeling vulnerable. While being naked. Legit.
8. I loathe being told what to do by people who don’t even lead healthy lives. I do not accept their authority. Ugh! This too is legitimate.
9. While my mind understands that this is consensual touch, my body doesn’t actually want to be touched like this, and has trouble believing that that this is okay. Big trauma. Pretty much everything about this is a PTSD trigger. Legitimate.

Everything I am experiencing is legitimate.

Third: Alignment.

Doing the alignment exercise is one of my favorite techniques that I forget about.

It’s so simple, and shifts my mood and perception so quickly.

The mission: list ten things the doctor and I have in common, for example that we both genuinely want me to be well and to feel comfortable.

The idea is to keep reminding myself that she and I are really working towards the same mission.

We both care about safety. We both want ease. We are both doing the best we can with the tools we have. We both want this encounter to be pleasant and relaxed. We both want to use our skills and abilities to be of service in the world. We both want to be heard and to perceive that we are understood. We both care about my body. We both have devoted our lives to wellness. We both want to be present and engaged. We both want me to feel safe and comfortable.

Fourth: Gwish-Scripting. (This is my favorite!)

Gwishes are a mix of goals and wishes. Gwish-scripting is a technique I used to teach at retreats, it’s amazing.

The quick explanation is that you just write out what you want from an experience — what it looks like, how you want to feel. Some people prefer to do this in past tense, as if it has already happened. I personally prefer present tense. This helps me feel as though I am in it.

Either way, this exercise is a great way to interrupt the neural patterns of a mind busy replaying The Worst Possible Scenarios over and over again.

The trick to this exercise is really zeroing in on the middle ground, because there are two things you don’t want with this. One is to go over-the-top with positive spin, which triggers resistance. If it seems like it couldn’t possibly be true, you get sidetracked by dissonance. On the other hand, you don’t want to go too neutral. We want to invite the glorious superpower of Maybe Something Even Better Happens.

So, for example, let’s say you’re gwish-scripting a plane ride. Here are examples of the extremes we’re avoiding, followed by how how I do it, aiming for middle ground.

Too Over-The-Top: “I’m bumped up to first class and seated next to a very handsome basketball player!” Cons: I am unlikely to believe this will happen. Also it probably won’t happen, and I may feel disappointed when it doesn’t.

Not aiming high enough: “The plane ride is slightly less miserable than I think it will be.” Cons: Come on, you might as well allow room for some good surprises! I mean, you never know…

How I do it: “All doors open for me! My interactions are warm and harmonious. I find things to laugh about. I remember to turn inward and breathe. I am receptive to being delighted by good surprises. I am pleased with my seating arrangement. I take exquisite care of myself.”

Does this make sense? All doors WILL open for me, because they’re automatic! I take responsibility for being present and engaged with my experience. And the rest are lovely thoughts to keep in mind. And, for what it’s worth, sometimes cool things happen. On the last six flights I’ve taken, twice I got to sit alone, three times I made friends with my seatmates (one is actually someone I now hang out with all the time), and once I sat with quiet people who blissfully ignored me the entire time, which was exactly what I wanted.

Note! Just like with Very Personal Ads, gwish-scripting isn’t about “manifesting” or “making things magically be just how I want”, this is about conscious entry, intentionality, being present and curious, finding the good. Investigating what I want as opposed to what I think I want. it’s about playful presence, delight in aliveness.

Here’s what I wrote in my gwish-scripting for the physical:

I come in knowing that the doctor and I are equals. I remember that I am the equal of everyone I encounter.

All of my interactions are harmonious.

We have rapport. There is laughter, and real christmas spirit (December 24th appointment!), in the sense of warmth and kindness.

I am receptive to good news.

I can stand up for myself in a way that is good-natured.

I treasure myself. I am conscious and free. I breathe calm, steady breaths. I ask for what I need. I take nothing personally.

I maintain my own wise counsel. I feel grounded and stable. I am beautifully anchored.

I write the word TRUST on my palms with my fingers.

There are clues everywhere, and I see them and laugh.

Superpower of This Is So Much Easier Than I Expected: ACTIVATE!

Fifth: Entry.

Conscious entry, aka preparing for the voyage.

This is all the things I did to prepare. Choosing what I wanted to wear (and would be easy to take off), and setting it out the night before. Packing a snack. Writing a list of sovereign buffer phrases. Asking my housemate to come along in case things didn’t go well. Canceling an afternoon appointment so that if I needed to cry in bed, there would be space for that.

And re-reading the gwish-scripting on my way.

Here’s how it went! The op in review.

Or, if you prefer, in revue! With dancing and spangles.

• Not getting weighed was a thousand times easier than I expected. I was prepared to say I’m a Conscientious Objector, to explain why my height/weight have nothing to do with my well-being, to fight the battle if need be, and it was unnecessary. The nurse said, “We’ll have you come over here and get weighed”, and I said, “I don’t do weight/height”, and she said, “Oh, okay!” It was THAT easy. She didn’t ask why. It wasn’t confrontational. We had a lovely chat about yoga and about Detroit, and that was it.
• Clue! The doctor was wearing a sweater that had tiny red anchors all over it. She provided my reminder that I am beautifully anchored, safe in this experience, which was one of the things I’d asked for. I’d also asked for clues, and the ability to see them, so this was extra great. I actually could feel my whole body relaxing.
• The doctor did not ask any of the obnoxious questions that the last one asked. She did ask, but in a super casual way, if I have any plans to move to Bolivia in the next couple years, and then cracked up laughing at my expression. And then she let it go, and didn’t try to convince me that Time Is Running Out And Maybe I Want To Have Kids After All, and that was awesome.
• I was treated like a human being! Instead of flimsy revealing paper garments, they gave me an actual robe and a large wrap. I was warm and, more importantly, comfortable, in all senses of the word.
• OHMYGOD! Both nurse and doctor actually acknowledged that a Pap smear, in addition to having the grossest name ever, is horrible, uncomfortable and not fun. They were both so nice about it. The nurse left out towels, saying “I don’t know about you, but I always just want to wash up after!” YES, THANK YOU. And the doctor gave me so much space and was sweet. She said, “Okay, now for everyone’s favorite part: the Pap smear! Alright, actually no one likes this, and I’m so sorry, and we are just going to breathe and get it over with, and you’ll tell me if anything hurts and then you don’t have to do it again until you’re 43! Ready to get covered in very cold goo?” Acknowledgment is healing.
• The doctor was kind and funny, and explained what was happening every step of the way with everything she did. Nothing hurt. The entire experience was easy, and over quickly.
• When the nurse found out my mother had died, she hugged me and said she will hold me in her prayers. It was actually kind of a lovely moment.
• Tetanus shot didn’t hurt. Blood work didn’t hurt. Again, the opposite of my last experience.
• I was able to take deep breaths, stay clear and steady, find gratitude in my thank you heart.

Anything I might try next time?

I think I would do all the same things again. The gwish-scripting worked really well to get me into a different headspace. And knowing my friend was waiting for me outside.

Next time I just want to remember that I had this good experience once, and that means it can happen again.

I still don’t have to like going for a physical. I don’t have to like any of it. And it can still get easier each time, layering on new experiences of safety and sweetness.

Come play with me in the comments!

Things that are welcome: excitement, enthusiasm or celebration about how surprisingly well my op went!

You are also welcome to do some planning (brainstorming, gwish-scripting, whatever!) for any ops you’re currently working on, or share things that are sparked for you.

Usual commenting culture applies: We make this safe space for creative exploration by not giving advice and not going into care-taking mode for each other.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take ownership for our stuff. It’s a process. We try things. We meet ourselves and each other with as much compassion and understanding as we can.

Love and appreciation for everyone who reads. And waving hello (very discreetly) to the Beloved Lurkers.

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