As I turn on the car and put it into gear, I feel a ball form in my stomach. I shove it to the side and take a deep breath. This is the day I have been dreading for the last two months. Just as I begin to back down the driveway my phone pings with a message. “Are you feeling nervous?” God bless the friend that remembers today is the day. I push the text out of my mind and begin the new Renegades podcast. Maybe Obama and Springsteen can take my mind off of what lies before me this morning.

It’s the day of my first mammogram appointment. I drive across the bridge and take a deep breath, soaking up the ocean view that never seems to get old. Bruce Springsteen is talking about what it’s like to be a shy artist and I find myself so immersed in the conversation that I miss the entrance to the hospital and have to turn around.

I pull into a parking spot and send a quick response to my friend’s text. “I’m trying not to think about how I feel. I’m just trying to get the thing done.”

I feel the butterflies in my stomach as I turn off the key and call the number to tell them I’ve arrived. I almost say “Oxner” when a woman answers and asks for my name. And then I remember—I’m not Oxner anymore—I’m Rowe! It must be the research I did this morning.

I spent this morning researching my father’s mother, trying to remember when she died of breast cancer. It was so long ago that there’s no internet result, but I did come across an obituary for someone I think is a second cousin. She died when she was only fifty. She had the same name as my Granny and was passionate about breast cancer awareness. Does that mean she died of breast cancer too? This family history is putting my emotions in overdrive. I finally understand this mammogram isn’t something I can check off my to-do list and be done with. This is something I need to do regularly now. For my family. And for me.

“You can come right in,” she says, “Once you get inside they’ll show you where to go.”

I put my mask on my face and get out of the car, saying a quick prayer of thanks for the warm sun shining bright overhead. I ask God to be with me as I walk through the door, and I take the hardest step yet in turning 40.

I found a new grey hair today. It seems since I turned 40 they’ve been multiplying overnight. You can only see them if I part my hair in the middle instead of on the side. I’m not sure what makes me look older—my normal side part or a center part that allows the grey to shine through. The last time I went to my hairstylist, I showed her the last one I had found. “Do you see it?” I pointed to where I knew it was hiding. “It’s right there!”

“It’s beautiful!” she replied. “You’re getting wisdom highlights!”

Good gracious I love her.

///

I turned 40 last year. Yup, that’s right. In 2020.

My best girlfriends had planned to take me to New York City to see things I had never seen before. That trip was going to be the first time in all of my 40 years of living that I ever took a trip just with my girlfriends. That trip was going to change my life.

Instead, I celebrated at home. 40 came and went. Like it was just any other day.

///

I had my well-person checkup a few weeks ago. After a line of questioning to ensure I was in a safe home and not having suicidal thoughts, my doctor moved on to her next point of business—the breast exam. As she felt around my boobs she reminded me how important it is to keep an eye on them myself. “Now that you’re 40,” she said, “let’s get you scheduled for a mammogram. Early detection is key, so it’s important to have it done sooner rather than later.”

I chuckle in my head at her choice of words here. “Let’s.” Like she’s going to go with me and hold my hand as my boobs are smashed by some machine. I don’t even know what happens at a mammogram—but I know it won’t be “let’s.” It’s all up to me to get this thing done.

///

Today I finally made an appointment for my mammogram. And I found a new grey hair. Somehow it doesn’t feel fair that the fun of turning 40 never happened, but the adulting part must go on.

Maybe next year I’ll take the trip that will change my life. For now, I’ll put on my sexy panties and embrace my wisdom highlights.

This post is written in response to prompts from 40 Days of Writing the Everyday with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs.

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