I remember my first brush with fear sometime beginning at 3 years or 4 years of age. My mother was getting ready to go to work and I felt fear when she left the house. I don’t recall why I was afraid, or what even spurred my fear, but it was fear nonetheless.
The biggest fear during my very young years was of my mom leaving me, followed up with the fear of eating animal body parts that I could identify – not the "if you could imagine what this burger looked like before it became a burger" type of identification, but the "here is a real cow tongue, the whole tongue, on a plate – and it is for dinner" type of identification. I was afraid that I would be hurting what I was eating. I mean, if it hurt me to bite my own tongue, I couldn’t imagine the pain of not only biting, but also chewing the tongue of another.
After I began school, I had the regular fears that begin at kindergarten age; the fear of not being able to find the bathroom in time, the fear of not being able to find my way around, the fear of not knowing my ABC’s. By the start of first grade, the fear of knowing where the bathroom had diminished, however, the fear of knowing that the principal’s office was just down the hall, was enough to send shivers up and down the spine of a six-year-old. I remember the clandestine whisperings in the hallway about how the "principal had a paddle in his desk drawer and the last kid (who never ever had a name, but was just referred to as "the last kid") got a paddling and died. Now, at five or six years of age, "death", "dying" or "died", were very abstract concepts – and they were scary concepts.
In second grade through third grade, my biggest fear was not getting any valentines on valentines day – before the school made it mandatory that every student exchanging valentines had to have a valentine for everyone in the class. Of course, this is also the age where fear of being the last to be chosen for a team – or worse yet, being pawned off by the gym teacher onto a team that didn’t want you in the first place, meant becoming "bully-bait" on the playground at the first recess.
I think that somewhere between kindergarten and fourth grade, I became very aware of the lives of those around me, most importantly, the lives that I thought I impacted. Since my mother told me I "was the most important thing on earth", well, my world seemed very small then. It was very painful for me to watch the relationships my mother had tried to nourish, fall to the wayside. It was even more apparent, at least to me, that I was a cause of a lot of her troubles. I had developed the fear that I could, single-handedly bring pain to those that I loved the most. I think that this is when my rationalizations and misconceptions of my universe became "out of whack".
Transferring from school to school, studying for all of the tests to pass high school, applying to college, graduating from high school, then moving into college – brought different types of fears and acceptance issues into play. These were the regular fears that everyone goes through in one capacity or another; does he like me? Does he know I like him? Do I look fat? What if my costume for the show falls off? What if I don’t pass my driver’s test? What if I do lousy on my SATs? What if no college wants me? What if I can’t make friends at college? What if I flunk out of college? What would I do with myself? What if I die?
I’m not sure exactly when in high school my depression started, but it lasted long after my failed attempt at veterinary school. It was a very dark, suffocating time for me and my family and even now, to recollect that "lost ten year funk" of so long ago makes me feel as though I have awoken from a sleep caused by uncontrollable crying. It was during that time that I did find out first hand that bad things sometimes do happen to good people. I also realized that I was not the center of the universe and that in the vast scheme of things, I was really not that important after all, at least not any more important than anyone else.
I had found that in order to overcome some fears, I had to put myself into other unknown situations, to give myself other things to worry about. Sometimes in order to take my mind off of the current "fear du jour ", I would do something incredibly ballsy, or stupid, depending on your point of view. I was terrified of failing while striking out on my own – so I moved out of my parents’ home as soon as I was able without obtaining parental permission. I was afraid of commitment - so I moved in with someone, who was not only divorced, but had kids. I was afraid of making a fool out of myself in public – so I joined a road top 40 band and sang my way through the Midwest. I presented myself with challenges that I knew I would overcome – I just didn’t know at the time just how I would overcome.
Eventually, after I felt I had sufficiently made a mess of my life, I finally made up my mind to separate from my support system by moving 2000 miles away from my Chicago home to California to start over. Once I was there, I finally began to see the person who I had become through my eyes – and not through the eyes of my parents or my closest of friends. Even that venture nearly fell through, until I met my future (& happily my current) husband at about the 6th month deadline I had given myself to forge out a good life for myself, or move back to Chicago and fall back into the rut I had developed.
Nick and I got married, we rented a small apartment, and we saved for a home. Finally, after many years and with a lot of help from our families and friends were able to buy a piece of real estate, in the Bay Area, no less! Nick’s career was going well and I was able to remain employed and employable in the career known as the "Executive Daycare Provider."
I had just begun becoming comfortable with who I was, thinking that life couldn’t be any better, when I became caught up in a very unhealthy working environment – within a very cyclical, volatile industry. Although my job wasn’t different from any other place I worked at, the mentality of "The Company" was about as progressive as the Spanish Inquisition. I had to find a new place to work for my own mental well being, and because we had a Silicon Valley mortgage. So I ran out and jumped – found a better paying job, closer to the house, higher risk because it was (and still is) a start-up company, but at least I would finally have the money that I felt my 25+ years of experience not only commanded, but deserved.
A lot of people would take off time in between companies to rest, sleep, catch up on soap operas, read, or go on vacation. I decided to do the "health" thing, get a physical, do all of the tests that are really uncomfortable, go to the dentist, get a haircut and scheduled a mammogram. I also was able to do a lot of gardening, and cleaning and straightening up, too – about 4 years worth in a few short weeks.
I was able to get a lot done before I started my new job, but I was unable to get my mammogram scheduled until after I had already been at my new job for over one month, June 9th @ 4:10PM. I didn’t think anything of it. I went into work early that day because I knew I would have to leave early. I fought traffic to get to the radiologist center. I waited patiently for my appointment time to come and go, then I went into the room to have my breasts picked up and placed between two steel, glass and plastic plates, then the plates were brought together into a vice-like press ["Okay, Mrs. McCurdy, please take a deep breath and hold it and don’t move until I tell you.] I had the wind squeezed out of me after the first film of the right breast was taken and just went through the motions of breathing until two films were taken of each breast.
After the films were taken, I was instructed to sit in a dressing room that was the size of a half-closet, with a cloth curtain that suspiciously looked like the same material as the smocks the radiologists were wearing. I knew this part of the procedure. The radiologist has another radiologist "interpret" the films to make sure that the images are clear, then I would be told "All clear, you can get dressed now, we’ll call your doctor in 3-5 working days and she’ll call you with the results. We’ll see you next year."
This time, I was told, "We have to take a couple more views. Don’t worry, this is common." I, of course, am thinking, "Maybe I did breathe after all, and somehow "smudged the image." I proudly displayed how I could remember how and where to stand, only to be told to "put your arm behind your head and stand over here." The first film was taken on my left breast and I stepped back, ready to present my right breast for the other film. I was told, "No, we will take another view of your left breast."
"The same breast, huh?" I believe that was the first twinge of absolute, sheer, unadulterated terror that I can’t remember ever recalling, in my entire life. I was delegated once again to the "waiting/changing" closet to glimpse through a 3 month old gardening magazine, and a couple of pamphlets with titles like, "Living with Breast Cancer" and "Breast Self-Examinations and You." I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking until the technician told me to "get dressed and that the radiologist would call my doctor in 3 – 5 working days with these results."
I drove home that Friday afternoon, with tears streaming down my face. I think I sat in the car for about 10 minutes until I could compose myself long enough to walk into the house. I flashed back to the times I thought I was scared, like when I was afraid my mom would find out that I ate all the nectarines she had just bought at the grocery store, or when I was failing math, or when I dropped out of college, or when a former boyfriend stole all of my stuff and his friend’s car – and the police came to my job to interrogate me, or when I was stranded in Akron, Ohio because the bandleader got us fired, or that I would trip while walking up to the judge to get married, or that I might get laid off from my job….
This situation, the realization of my own mortality slapping me in the face, couldn’t compare to those very trivial unimportant fears.
I didn’t dare say my fear out loud, as if somehow keeping it silent would make it not be true.
I spent a majority of the weekend staying very close to home, especially to Nick and to the birds. Clyde, one of my parakeets had been diagnosed right before the Memorial Day holiday weekend, with an abdominal "mass", and although the test results did not diagnose cancer "conclusively", it was still a mass. Now I had my fears of dealing with the impending death of one of our "children". Even though we had experienced death in our "family flock", many times – it was still a very difficult time for Nick and I, and for the other birds. Even though it is nature and everything dies, it still really is hard to deal with – it never gets any easier.
I kept my mind busy by cleaning the house, running into the bird room to check up on Clyde, going to the vet to pick up more antibiotics to help Clyde fight the infection that was building up in his body, cleaned the house some more, and made sure that Clyde was eating whatever he wanted to eat in order to keep up his strength. In this case, his food of choice was cooked rice made with bouillon cubes.
I would catch myself thinking such thoughts such as; What if I had cancer? Does this mean that this is really it? Then, just as quickly that the thought would kick in, the positive, "Oh, it’s only nothing – probably just a cyst" thoughts took over the forefront of my thoughts. Reality would set in because my thoughts had to focus on my sick parakeet, his "brothers and sisters" and Nick.
I had ventured to mention my fears to Nick and even would cry about it for a moment or two, but I knew that it was making Nick nervous and that was the last thing I wanted to do, to worry anyone about me. Nick would say, "Watch, Face. You’ll see it will be nothing."
Another "diversion" I had to keep my mind occupied while I was waiting the 3 – 5 working day period to hear the test results from my doctor, was my new job. Since I hadn’t been at the company for very long, I was dealing with the stress of being new. I feared that I had made yet another misjudgment of a company and came to the sad realization that maybe I really had jumped too soon to join this new company – only because I was so desperate to get out of the hopeless situation in my previous company.
So, in addition to a new job, I had the stress of a sick bird, the residual effects of stress-related illnesses I had begun dealing with at my previous job and now, that nagging fear of "why did they need to take two extra mammogram films on just my left breast?"
The times I spent worrying about myself were broken up by daily calls from our veterinarian, who called every day to see how Clyde was doing. I would get so sad thinking about how soon his life would be over. I felt fear that maybe my life could be over too soon.
I also realized by the third day of waiting for my test results, that I really, really, really hated my new job. In reflective moods, while I was running upstairs to use the copier, then running downstairs to find out I had to go back upstairs to pick up a visitor in the lobby to run back downstairs to check my boss’s voicemail to find out he was playing phone tag again…. "So, THIS is how I will spend the time I have left on Earth, answering the phone for my boss who is playing phone tag with one of his buddies – but my boss won’t give his direct dial number, or his extension - he’ll give out mine – just so I can answer the phone, then announce the call for him."
I began thinking of the eulogy that would be given at my funeral – "Here, before us lies Ro, the best Executive Daycare Provider ever put on this earth. After performing her "profession" for the past 25 years in literally all aspects and departments of business, she had been able to find THE job that utilized absolutely none of her work experience! She could answer a phone, type up a letter, make photocopies, clean out the burned coffee pot AND wipe someone’s @ss all at the same time. She really made a difference in the lives of multitudes, no, in dozens, no, in a couple of people – who just were too lazy to do for themselves. Thank G-D for lazy people, what else could she have done with her life?"
Well, the stairs kept my mind occupied for awhile, and then there were my worries of losing Clyde.
The fears I shared with my friends, and my mom were my recent job selection and wonders of if I would I ever find a place where I could be respected, work to earn a decent living without having to be on call 24 hours a day / 7 days a week and do work was that really useful and would be appreciated. Then I shared how sad I was that Clyde was dying. That was all I could muster for the sympathy department. It did help to talk about the things I could talk about when I wasn’t crying, mostly.
My mom tried to put things into perspective, like a job is a job and don’t sweat the small stuff and enjoy Clyde while you can. I still couldn’t shake taking my job too seriously, but I did let some of the little trivial things not bother me too much. However, I saw Clyde in a whole new light. He was eating [first boy in the food trough!], he was playing and he was making the cute parakeet noises that parakeets made. Some days were better than others, and he slept a lot more, but Nick and I just hugged him when he felt like being held, kissed him and preened him.
On Wednesday, the 3rd working day, I called the doctor’s office to see what the mammogram results were. The receptionist said, "The results aren’t here yet. I’ll call you when they come in."
On Thursday, the 4th working day, I called the doctor’s office to see what the mammogram results were. The receptionist said, "The results aren’t here yet. I’ll call you when they come in." I explained that there were two additional views taken on one breast and that I was very alarmed. Almost exasperated with me, she said, "I understand how you feel, but the results aren’t here yet. I’ll call you when they come in."
On Friday, the fifth working day, I called my doctor’s office right before the front desk went to lunch. I had to call 3 times that morning, because the first two times no one would pick up the phone. I finally got the receptionist who said, "Oh, Mrs. McCurdy, the results came in this morning and I was just going to call you!" I didn’t even want to know what time "in the morning" the results came in because now it was almost lunchtime….
She blurted out, "The films are "inconclusive", so unless you can get your previous films from a few years ago, you should probably retake your mammograms in six months." The words were ringing in my ears. "INCONCLUSIVE? What in the H*LL does that mean?", I cried – and I really was crying. She said, trying to reassure me, "Well, shadows can be hard to read." If I weren’t so far away, I would have reached through the phone and grabbed her throat. "So, if you can find the films and get them to the radiologist, they will be able to better access your condition." "WHAT CONDITION?", I shrieked? "Well, it isn’t a condition as much as it is an interpretation." [I made a mental note to myself: if I am okay after this ordeal is done, I will go to that office and personally slap everyone there. If I am not okay after this ordeal is done, I will get better so that I can go to that office and personally slap everyone there.]
I slammed down the phone, went on-line to all of the hospitals listed in Mountain View – I remembered that was where I had my baseline mammogram, but it had been so long since I’d been in that part of the Valley, I’d forgotten where it was. I found the address, I had found the number, they had found my films, I had run out of my office, was on my way, parked, in and out, drove back to radiologist’s office, and back to my office in just under 1-1/2 hours. The radiologist’s office had left a voicemail message at my office by the time I got back that my films would be reviewed and the results would be sent to my doctor’s office in 2 to 3 days. I was so happy that I would be able to deal with those folks at my doctor’s office - one more time.
As with the last results, I began calling on day 2 and kept calling every hour or so, right to day 3 at lunchtime. "Mrs. McCurdy? The results are still inconclusive. You have to call the radiologist to schedule an ultrasound." I was in shock, "What do they think it is? What do you think it is?", I was nearly begging and choking back tears because I was sitting at my desk doing my very important job of loading a Palm Pilot that my boss had no idea how to use, with information he probably would never learn how to see. She couldn’t give me an answer and if she did, I didn’t wait for it. I called the radiologist’s office and identified myself and wanted to know how soon they could see me for an ultrasound – I could be there in 15 minutes. "Next Tuesday", was her response. I explained, "Well, your office told my doctor’s office that I need to get in for a follow up ultrasound on an inconclusive reading on a mammogram. Today is Friday. Tuesday is next week. I’m a tad scared to death." Then she said my doctor’s office didn’t send the orders over and she can’t schedule an appointment without the orders. I asked if they needed the orders in person, or faxed, or driven over or WHAT. She gave me the fax number and I slammed down the phone.
I called the doctor’s office again and said, "FOR THE LOVE OF G-D! Why didn’t you fax the orders over? They don’t even know what breast they are to be re-examining!" The receptionist tried to get snippy with me by saying, "Well, in situations like this, I’ve found it best to look on the bright side and not to think negative thoughts."
I began to focus, I became very calm and asked her in almost a mono-tone Christopher Walken sort of whisper, "Not think negative thoughts? I’m sorry, but have YOU ever had a doctor’s office tell YOU that a medical test on any part of your body was INCONCLUSIVE or that SHADOWS ARE HARD TO READ? Ever?" A pause, then a meek little, "well, no. I haven’t." I then announced to her, "Well, I’ll tell you what. When that does happen to you – and I certainly hope it doesn’t, but if it does, I want you to call me, so I can tell you how to think happy thoughts. OKAY?" She said she would fax the orders immediately and would call me when she did.
She called me. Then the radiologist called me. My appointment was listed as an "emergency slot" on Tuesday, at 11:15AM. Another weekend of worrying.
Monday night after I got home from work, I knew that the time had come for Clyde. He had begun hemorrhaging from one of his nostrils. His beautiful baby blue and white feathers began turning brown with blood. I took him out of his cage and Nick and I cried, then hugged each other, then hugged him, then held him up for all of the other birds to say goodbye. He was still in good spirits, but I knew it was just a matter of time for the blood to start suffocating him. Sobbing, I drove him to the emergency vet. Nick stayed at home and made a little wood box for our baby. Clyde chortled while sitting in his swing in the emergency transport cage, but I saw the droplets of blood beginning to splatter on the bottom of his cage. I told him I loved him every 2 minutes from Santa Clara to Campbell.
The whole roundtrip took less than an hour. The folks at the emergency animal hospital were very, compassionate, understanding and sympathetic – they even tried to wash the blood off of his pretty little face. By the time I got home with Clyde’s body and cage, both Nick and I were still sobbing. My G-d, we were a mess. We knew that he wasn’t suffering anymore, but now we had to deal with our own pain in our own way. The other birds were so quiet and still – they knew and felt a loss, too.
As exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep that night, at least not for more than 20 –30 minutes at a time. I had to be up early to cover the time I left the office for my ultrasound appointment.
I became exasperated at work, "right out of the box", 30 seconds after I had walked into the office that morning. The first smell that wafted through the air was coffee. Upon further sniffing, I realized that it was burnt coffee. Someone had left the coffeepot on all night (that little on/off switch must really present a problem), so I had to spend the first 20 minutes of my morning scrubbing the pot out.
I didn’t want to speak to anyone about Clyde, not just yet. I had gone through my weeps for the previous month and had resigned myself to a somewhat complacent mode of thinking about him being so ill. Now that he was really gone and I had to be the one to expedite it, the feelings were just too raw to readdress.
I was actually extremely productive in those first couple of hours before my appointment. I don’t think I read through e-mails, typed responses, answered phones or made copies that quickly before. Of course, my mind was going at breakneck speed – waiting for the time for me to leave to go get an answer – one way or another.
I drove to the radiologist’s office and knew which clipboard to fill out, and knew which waiting room to sit in. Unfortunately, I had the waiting room with the pregnant couple and their four children. Their children couldn’t have been more than 1 year apart, so the oldest was 4 years old, maybe 5 years old and they have another baby on the way? It made me smile knowing that I only had little birds to take care of AND I could put them in cages when they got too loud or rambunctious. Then I thought, "What if what they tell me today, will change my life forever?"
I waited for about 20 minutes past my appointment time, so I had been there for half an hour. I saw that they still hadn’t gotten any new magazines since I had been there 2 weeks prior [I made a mental note to myself to drop off some magazines that I had sitting at the house in the radiology lobby – that way I would have something familiar to read the next time I had to come in].
Eventually the radiologist called me into her office. She asked me why I was there, and I started crying – mostly from stress, but being exhausted, being scared and mourning for my little bird wasn’t helping my disposition any. I told her that I hadn’t slept in two weeks and that I was "scared to death, pardon the pun." She told me to relax, to change into a lovely paper half gown (almost like a chincy half tee shirt, only made out of paper towel) and she would go look at my "mam films", and would be right back. "Mams?" Guess that is the informal medical term.
Anyway, she came back in and I was perched on the edge of the table. She turned on the monitor, told me to lie down, and to open by gown on the left side. She applied the gel to the ultrasound wand, then she started clicking the machine while really bearing down on my left breast. I saw images flashing over the screen and then heard the click-click-clicking of her marking the images on the screen. She was explaining what she was looking at and that the images are magnified, so that the thumb pad sized circle on the screen was actually very, very small.
Then she said those fabulous words, "I do believe these are only cysts." Then I started crying again. She said, I can tell you are still very upset, let me bring in the doctor. I covered up and couldn’t believe how warm this paper towel felt on my damp mam.
The doctor came in, introduced himself, then told me to open my gown. He started going over the same positions as the previous doctor, but his readings were coming out a little different. The sizes were different. I started crying again and he said, "NO! These are nothing more than cysts, there were just two stacked behind each other, so the readings were distorting. You are fine." So, naturally, I cried even more. The first radiologist explained that I had been "in limbo" for over two weeks and have probably slept a total of 5 hours in that whole time.
We all said at the same time, "You/I need to find a different doctor." I was told that I should watch for any changes in either of my breasts [which I do] and to come in immediately if anything changes [which I would] otherwise, come back in a year [no kidding!]
I got back to work, emailed Nick, then called Nick, and then only wanted to go to sleep. I was so exhausted, and I barely made it through the day. Before I would leave early , I made sure to email a very close friend that "I’m okay".
In an effort to save my mother the agony of worry, and a very close friend who lost her mother to breast cancer the added fear, I reached out to a friend whom I thought would be detached enough not to worry too much, but would be just sympathetic and compassionate enough to make me feel like "I wasn’t alone."
I drove home and just hugged Nick, then hugged the birds. The phone rang almost immediately and it was my friend, who had not yet received the "I’m okay" email. I told her almost crying (with happiness, for a change) that I was okay. Needless to say, my heart dropped into my stomach, when she told me her mother had dealt with the disease. I felt awful realizing that I put my friend through such worry, especially since I realized that she knew first-hand how frightening it could be.
In my whole long list of regrets of how I have handled things in my life, that had to be one of the toppers [I made a mental note to myself to "casually" discuss any catastrophic or very scary disease with a future confidante BEFORE I spew my fears about the same disease.]
I’ve learned to take control of my life, much as I used to on the playground decades ago. If I have a question, I’ll ask. If I do not get a response, I’ll ask someone else. If I don’t understand the answer, I’ll ask again, but I won’t sit by waiting for life to happen to me, or slip away from me – not without a fight.
This situation worked out, but something more than "having mortality slap me in the face", as my radiologist so eloquently put it, happened to me over this past year. I did regain a certain measure of self-respect. I did learn who my friends were, are and will be in my future. I learned to love deeper, because deep, true and honest love, is what will carry a person through the painful times.
I’ve also learned that no matter how hard a person can wish for something, it may not happen – so instead of lamenting at the lack of the want, a person sometimes has to just pick up and move on, or learn to want something else.
I’ve learned that if something is truly unfixable, then don’t save it, don’t cry over it, and don’t wait for it to get better, because it won’t. Throw it away and don’t look back.
I used to be the type of person who justified other people’s poor behavior. I truly felt that if anyone displayed a lack of consideration or common courtesies in the workplace, on the home front or on the street, there had to be a justifiable reason. I would find myself forgiving people who treated me poorly, because there had to be a good reason. More times than not, I would set myself up for repeated failure or disappointment at the hands of inconsiderate, uncaring and rude people. These recent experiences have taught me to cut my losses a whole lot sooner.
If I find myself in an unhealthy relationship or work environment, I won’t justify the offensive actions of a few. I will not try to change neither the relationship nor the environment, but I will walk away from whatever is causing me to have negative feelings – especially those aimed at myself.
I’ve decided not to award second and third chances to people I do not know. If I am burned once by a stranger, that is it. Done is done. They have become a "non-issue" and will be relegated to the same category as the lint from a clothes dryer screen.
I’ve become aware of the people that only acknowledge my presence when they need something from me, whether in a work or social environment. I’ve found it easier to just give them what they want and walk away. In the future, I’ll avoid these people at all costs because since they feel they cannot be honest with me and just ask for something; they are sneaky, devious and dangerous.
I’ve also learned that looking into the eyes of our children, and in some cases our children’s children, reminds us that sometimes our biggest fears are not SO big in retrospect, but are certainly big at the time.
When I couldn’t get an answer from my doctor’s office regarding the potential of me having breast cancer, I surfed the web and found the www.imammogram.com (link no longer works) website. I asked the "on-line" physician a few questions, voiced my concerns and received a reply and reassurance in a couple of hours! Once more, I received a follow-up message inquiring as to the final test results.
Timeframe and things of "interest":
June 9th – Received mammogram
June 16th – Received "inconclusive rating"
June 20th – Picked up and delivered original base-line films to radiologist
June 23rd - Received another "inconclusive rating". Scheduled an ultrasound appointment and applied on-line for the imammogram imaging service.
June 26th – Received confirmation of my order, received the medical records release form, filled it out, and sent it back to imammogram.
June 27th – Had ultrasound to confirm cysts. Received immediate results AND second opinion there. The radiologists said they would forward the results to my doctor – and her office would follow-up with me.
June 28th – Received email notification that imammogram had received my films.
June 28th – Received email notification that imammogram had digitized my films.
June 28th – Received email notification that imammogram had returned my films and would be mailing me their results.
July 7th – I have not received a call from my doctor’s office saying I was "all clear", but I did receive a form letter from the radiology billing department saying that my mammogram of June 9th show "irregularities" that should be investigated further. The form letter was postmarked July 5th.
July 10th – I received my results from imammogram and they told me to be expecting a card from my radiologist in 10 days indicating if another follow-up was necessary, but in my case, probably would not be required at this time.
July 15th – I’ve still not received a call from my doctor’s office saying, "I’m okay." I’ll leave a voicemail message there – just for the heck of it.
