by Ann Ferguson

Leslie Householder's voice echoed in my mind: "When there is a choice, I choose to believe."

"What kind of doctor ordered your MRI for today?" the woman behind the registration desk asked. My heart sank. My doctor is a naturopath. Oh no, not this. Not now. "What do you mean, what kind of doctor?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "He’s the same kind of doctor he was when he ordered my MRI a year and a half ago. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Just a moment, I need to check on something," she said, rising and walking over to her colleagues.

They whispered. She returned, wearing a smile that softened the blow she was about to deliver. "I’m so sorry, but your doctor is not authorized to order diagnostic testing. We won’t be able to help you today."

My heart deflated. Then the warrior in me rose. Deep breath. "That’s strange," I replied evenly. "Do you know why?"

She glanced at her coworkers and said, almost patronizingly, "Well, it has to be ordered by a 'real' doctor."

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. On the outside, I remained calm. On the inside, I was a storm of anger, victimhood, frustration, fear, disappointment, and pissosity.

"I’m confused," I said, gently. "If my doctor has been ordering MRIs for 15 years, what makes him not a real doctor now?"

Her coworkers looked over. One of them quietly said, "You might want to call a supervisor."

She tried. No answer. The supervisor was in a meeting. Still, I waited. Calmly. Smiling. I was not going to surrender.

"I’ll go find Scott," she finally said, and disappeared with my file.

I stood there, staring at her empty chair, lost in a movie playing out in my mind. I saw all that would happen when she came back with the supervisor to tell me I couldn't get the MRI.  I wished my husband had waited before he ran home to get the insurance card that I forgot to bring to the appointment. He had held it together pretty well when we discovered that it wasn't in my purse, and had gone to look for it.

I envisioned him as he walked through the hospital doors and submitted with frustration to the Covid-19 prevention protocols. He walked to the imaging waiting room and sat down next to me. I felt his annoyance that things had not gone smoothly due to my not being on top of things.  I explained that I had been refused the test.  He got frustrated with the hospital staff and told them how displeased he was with the whole thing.  We marched out with indignation.  I cried all the way home and felt overwhelmed with a plethora of negative emotions throughout the day.  The day was ruined, and I had to wait even longer to find out if the lump I had found was what I feared the most. 

I don't know how long I stood there.  I was lost in my thoughts, and they were leading me into the dark abyss of worst-case scenarios. They were clear and real, even though they hadn’t played out yet.  After about five minutes, one of the ladies behind the desk said, "You can go sit down and wait, we'll call you when we have an answer for you."

I turned around, found a seat, and took a deep breath to slow my heartbeat. That's when I heard Leslie's voice, "When I have a choice, I choose to believe."

I closed my eyes. Choose to believe. My training came back to me. Think truth in spite of appearances. This was it. Time to practice what I had learned in Mindset Mastery and Genius Bootcamp.

I opened my eyes. Still no sign of Tom. I closed them again.

Deep breath. "Ok, what is the data telling me?" I asked myself. The data said I wouldn’t get the test. The first time I found a lump, it was breast cancer, and I denied chemotherapy and radiation.  It was a battle of wills between the medical community and me.  And today, four years later, it was playing out again. The data said the medical world was against me, again. That Western medicine wouldn’t help me because I chose a different path.

Despair began to rise.

Another breath. I asked, "Think truth in spite of appearances. What is the truth?  Heavenly Father, what is the truth?"

The answer came, soft and sure: Everything is according to God’s timing.

Peace began to flow in. If I don't get the test today, it's part of a bigger plan.  There is something about today that God is orchestrating on my behalf.  Maybe he is redirecting me to another facility.  Maybe there is something more than I know going on right now.

I let go. "Ok, Lord, I give this all to you.  Thank you for always having me in your hands. I'm willing to just ride this experience out. I'll stay calm and watch what happens."

And something shifted. This was the moment I chose to believe.  I took another deep breath and let it out.  The knots in my shoulders were starting to release. I choose to believe!

I gently challenged the negative visions with new questions: "What do I want? What would I love?"

I prayed, "Father, I’ll accept whatever comes, but I would really love for the test to happen today. I want answers. Please help me see what I need to do so I’m not the limiting factor."

The thought came: See it done.

"I choose to believe," I whispered.

Time to practice the Law of Transmutation. Everything is either being drawn toward me or repelled. I had a choice. I could create a new vision or ruminate on fear. I chose creation.

"What do I want to feel?" Calm. Supported. Relieved. Peaceful.

I envisioned myself on the MRI table.  I heard the music in the headphones that were provided to block out the machine's loud noises.  I felt the coolness of the contrast as it released through the IV into my veins.  I realized that this vision could happen today or another day.  Whenever in my future it was,  I laid calmly on the table.  Gratitude washed over me. The technology that allowed my doctor to see inside my body was truly amazing.  I faced my fear, and the answers were coming. It was done. It was clear and real, even though it hadn't played out yet.

Then, I saw myself in my doctor’s office, results in hand. No anxiety. Just readiness. I was in harmony with the outcome.

Tom sat beside me, gently startling me back to the room. I told him what had happened and why I was still waiting. He wasn’t upset. He held my hand. We waited.

Twenty minutes later, the receptionist returned with a supervisor. "He’ll probably say no," she warned quietly.

The supervisor looked at the computer screen, asked some questions, grabbed an orange folder, and walked toward me.   He sat down and said, "I'm so sorry you have had to wait so long. We have gotten everything worked out, so if you just fill out this paperwork, we will get you in for your test." I breathed a big sigh of relief and gratitude. 

"Would you mind telling me what’s going on?" I asked.

He explained, "There has been a new ruling that has come down from the State.  As of the first of the year, naturopathic doctors are no longer authorized to order diagnostic testing at hospitals. Your doctor signed a contract with the hospital that circumvented the red tape.  Because of this, we can get this done for you. I'm sorry it took so long. I was reviewing all of the e-mail correspondence that we have had with him.  I found the contract and examined it. Your doctor provided us everything we needed and signed the contract.  We need to make some changes to your account.  As soon as that is finished, we will take you back, and you will get your test done."

"Thank you," I smiled. "I really appreciate your time."

I turned to Tom and said, "Wow. That just happened."

I smiled at the supervisor and told him, "Thank you for the effort you expended on my behalf.  I really appreciate it." He smiled and walked away.

I told him everything—how I almost spiraled, how I stopped and chose to believe instead. He squeezed my hand. I felt calm. Supported. Peaceful.

"Ann Ferguson," the nurse called.

I stood, walked through the double doors, and prepared for the test.

Looking back, I realized something important: everything I needed for either outcome was already in place. The contract had already been signed. The positive future was already available. It was my choice which one I would live.

That morning, I had shown up resistant, scared, not fully committed—even forgetting my insurance card. But when I chose to believe, everything aligned.

How often do we miss that moment of choice?

From now on, I will pay closer attention. I choose co-creative empowerment over victimhood.

And by the way—the test results came back. The lump is a fibroadenoma. No malignancy. Four years post-diagnosis, I am still cancer free.

And I choose to believe that will be my future.

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