Journaling through a health scare: writing in the waiting week

The days between a test and a result have a particular quality. Nothing has happened yet, so there's nothing to react to, and there's also no way to think about anything else. You're expected to carry on normally with a question mark sitting on your chest.

A journal doesn't shorten that week. It does give the fear somewhere to go that isn't a search engine at midnight.

Separate what you know from what you're imagining

In a waiting week these two merge completely. A doctor said one careful sentence, and by Thursday you've built an entire outcome out of their tone of voice.

Write two lists. What was actually said, as close to verbatim as you can manage. And what you've added since. Seeing how short the first list is and how long the second has become doesn't make the fear go away, but it does show you what you're actually reacting to.

Write the questions down before the appointment

This is the most practical thing in this article. People forget most of what they wanted to ask the moment they're in the room, and they forget most of what's said to them afterwards.

Write your questions the night before, in order of what matters most. Write the answers down during or immediately after, in plain words rather than medical ones. A week later that page is the difference between knowing what you were told and reconstructing it from a feeling.

Let the worst-case entry exist

Many people try not to think about the bad outcome, on the theory that thinking about it invites it or wastes the good days. It rarely works. The thought just runs unattended in the background.

Writing it down once, properly, often takes some of the charge out of it. What would actually happen. Who I'd tell first. What I'd want to be different. It's an uncomfortable page and it's usually less terrifying written than circling.

Keep a record of the ordinary days too

A health scare has a way of erasing everything else. Six weeks later you can't remember anything that happened except appointments.

One line a day about something unrelated protects that. It also gives you evidence, when you're convinced the fear ate the whole month, that you still had a Tuesday where you laughed at something.

Start your own private journal tonight.

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Notice what it clarified

This is worth writing during the scare rather than after, because the clarity fades fast when the result is fine. During a waiting week people are unusually clear about what they care about, what they'd stop doing, who they'd call.

Write that down while it's sharp. Reading it three months later, when everything is back to normal and you're annoyed about email again, is a genuinely useful experience.

Prompts for the waiting

• What was I actually told, in their words?
• What have I added to that on my own?
• What do I want to ask at the next appointment?
• If the news is bad, what would the first week look like?
• What has this made obvious about how I want to spend my time?

Why this is private by nature

Health writing is the most sensitive kind there is, and most people are also managing everyone else's fear alongside their own. You edit for a partner, for parents, for children. The unedited version has nowhere to go.

Innera keeps every story encrypted on your device, so the page where you say how frightened you actually are stays yours, and never becomes something you have to reassure someone about.