It began as a line of ache low in my back that showed up after long days. I blamed the office chair. Then my periods went a little off rhythm. I blamed stress. I kept promising myself I would get checked when the quarter closed, when the shift bids were done, when the site audit ended. There is always something urgent in mining. There is always something more urgent than yourself.

One Friday I carried the dull ache into the weekend and woke up on Sunday tired for no reason at all. I made tea, opened my notebook, and wrote a single line in the margin: Book the test. Not a plan, not a strategy, just a decision that felt like a hand on my shoulder saying enough. Here is what you need to do to book your test: Book now. If you have any kind of back pain or energy loss, I say you book it today. I mean it.

The clinic was bright and ordinary. The nurse spoke softly and did not rush me. We did the screenings my doctor advised. A week later I sat across from the doctor as she explained the results. I remember the clock behind her and the way the second hand moved without sound. I remember my pen uncapped in my fingers, ready to write anything, ready to turn fear into a list I could follow.

I told myself two things. First, I would not google myself into panic. Second, I would get a clear picture fast and make decisions from facts, not fear. That meant a careful review of my reports and imaging, and it meant asking for another expert to look at everything. I called Teralife and said the words that felt strange in my mouth, like learning a new language in a single day. I need a second opinion, and I need help coordinating what comes next.

What happened after that surprised me more than the diagnosis. Someone answered like they had been expecting me, not like I was interrupting anything. They asked for my reports and notes. They explained what a full scan would mean in my case and how quickly it could be arranged. You can get a full scan done with Teralife here. They spoke about centers in Dar es Salaam where the teams do this every day, and how the logistics would actually work rather than how they work on a brochure. I could feel my shoulders dropping as the call went on. Not because it was easy. Because it was finally manageable.

At work I am the person who knows which form to file and which manager to nudge. So I did what I do best. I told my line manager. I checked my insurance. I asked exactly what would be covered in Zambia and what would need approval for Tanzania. I made copies of everything. I put my reports on a flash drive and labeled the folder like I would a personnel file. When I felt the fear scratching at the door at two in the morning, I opened the file and looked at the plan instead.

The second opinion did not make the truth softer. It made the path clearer. We talked about timelines and why acting soon matters more than acting bravely. We talked about treatments I had only seen as acronyms and what they actually do inside a body like mine. Most importantly, we agreed on what to do first, not what to read first. There is a steadiness that comes from being looked at properly and spoken to plainly. It feels like standing on rock after weeks of sand.

There were small, practical moments I want to remember. Packing a sweater because hospital air is always colder than it looks. Calling my mother and letting her be strong for me for once. Asking a friend to take my plants and sending her a list of which ones sulk if you move them. Writing three questions on a card and handing it to the doctor so I would not forget the most important thing the moment I sat down.

If you are reading this because something is nudging you and you keep pushing it aside, I know that dance. I know the thousand reasons women give to wait. Here is what I learned. You do not need perfect courage to go. You just need to go. Start with the test. If you already have results and you want clarity, ask for another pair of expert eyes. If you need imaging to see the full picture, you can get a full scan with Teralife here. If your mind is racing ahead to travel and cost and time off work, ask real questions and let real answers slow the panic down.

I am writing this on a warm, dry Tuesday evening in Lusaka, the city’s quiet hum drifting through the window. My body feels like a place I am choosing to live in again, not a problem I am trying to solve. I still have appointments on my calendar and a few unknowns that make my chest tight if I look at them too long. But I also have names, dates, and a plan that fits inside my life instead of swallowing it.