Editor’s Note: This article shares Scott’s personal experience with the emotional wait for biopsy results. It is not medical or mental health advice. Everyone experiences this waiting period differently.

There is a strange moment after a biopsy when everything you’ve been building toward is suddenly over.

The appointment is done. The tissue has been taken. The doctor has what he needs. And you have absolutely nothing left to do.

That’s where I found myself on Monday, June 9, 2025.

I didn’t know it then, but coping while waiting for biopsy results would have less to do with finding answers and more to do with accepting that, for the moment, there weren’t any.

I’d spent the previous five days sitting in what I called the waiting room of my own mind. By Sunday night, the what-ifs had gotten loud enough that I prayed until I fell asleep. One thought finally began quieting the noise: Be still, and know that I am God.

The next morning, when Dr. McConnell’s office called my name and I stood up to walk through those doors for the biopsy, I whispered another prayer: Thy will be done.

I’ve already told that part of the story. What I didn’t understand until later was what happened afterward.

For the first time in weeks, I put it down.

When There Is Nothing Left to Do

The biopsy itself was fairly routine. My tongue was irritated afterward, but nothing substantial — a couple of Tylenol handled it. I stayed home from work Monday night and rested.

And that was pretty much it. Barb and I didn’t spend the evening talking about cancer. I didn’t start Googling symptoms. I didn’t try to interpret what Dr. McConnell had seen or convince myself I knew what the pathology report would say.

The specimen had been taken. Whatever was in it was already there. I couldn’t change it.

That sounds obvious now. It didn’t feel obvious during the weeks leading up to it — because when something frightening enters your life, your mind starts looking for something, anything, it can control. If I research enough, maybe I’ll understand it. If I replay the doctor’s words enough, maybe I’ll figure out what he really meant. If I think through every possible outcome, maybe one of them will somehow prepare me for what’s coming.

I had done plenty of that. None of it changed a thing. Whatever was in that tissue sample had already been decided before I ever knew to be afraid of it.

Fear Shows Up First. Faith Gets the Final Word.

Looking back on it now, a year removed, I can see something I couldn’t see at the time — a pattern that’s shown up again and again since. Fear shows up first. It always does. It’s loud, it’s fast, it’s the first voice in the room. But faith gets the final word — every time, if you let it.

I didn’t have a coping strategy. I didn’t read a pamphlet on managing anxiety during a health scare. What I had was one decision, made walking through those doors Monday: I surrendered it. All of it. To God.

And once I’d made that decision, holding onto it looked a lot like something you’d see out of a stubborn kid mid-lecture — fingers in their ears, saying I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you, over and over. That’s honestly the closest thing I can compare it to. Fear would show up at the edge of my mind, and I just — didn’t let it in. Didn’t argue with it. Didn’t try to reason it away. I just wasn’t listening.

I flipped a switch. Fear could talk all it wanted those two days. I couldn’t hear it.

Those two days were the clearest, cleanest example of that pattern I’ve ever lived. Fear tried the door. Faith had already locked it.

Tuesday Came — Learning to Live While Waiting for Biopsy Results

So Tuesday came. And I went back to work — drove my route, same as always. Wednesday came. I worked again. Nothing extraordinary happened.

And that’s actually the point.

After a month or more of that lesion occupying some part of my mind — denial, questions, fear, appointments, hearing the word cancerous, hearing not good, waiting for the biopsy — I had reached a point where there was nothing left for me to do. So for a couple of days, I lived again.

I still prayed for good results. Absolutely. But cancer wasn’t dominating every thought. Barb and I weren’t sitting around discussing every possible outcome. I wasn’t researching. I wasn’t preparing myself for catastrophe.

Those drives were spent the way they always are — talking with the guys, or just riding quiet with music on. As far as I knew, we were getting the results on June 18. So I went to work. I drove my truck. I came home. Life did what life always does. It kept moving. And for those couple of days, I moved with it.

Maybe You Can’t Stop Worrying

If you’re waiting for biopsy results right now, I’m not going to tell you to stop worrying. I hated advice like that. You might as well tell somebody to stop thinking. When you’re lying awake running every possible outcome through your head, nobody is going to walk into the room and reason you out of being afraid. I know. I was there.

I’m also not going to tell you that everything works out fine, because nobody can honestly promise you that — not your doctor, not your faith, not me. What I can tell you is this: whatever that tissue sample was going to reveal had already been decided before I ever knew to be afraid of it. Worrying about it that Tuesday and Wednesday wasn’t going to change one thing about what was already sitting on a slide in a lab somewhere.

Don’t spend tonight’s strength on something that hasn’t happened yet. You may need that strength later. I certainly did. There’s a difference between preparing for what’s actually happening and fighting a hundred versions of what might happen. I learned that the hard way.

What can you actually control today? Maybe it’s eating something, getting some sleep, going to work, holding the hand of somebody you love, turning off Google, or simply trusting that your doctor knows what he or she is doing. Maybe the only thing you can control today is how you’re going to spend today.

That’s enough.

Find Your Anchor While You Wait

For me, there was another part of this. My anchor was God.

When I whispered Thy will be done walking into that biopsy, I wasn’t saying I didn’t care about the result. Believe me, I cared. I was acknowledging that I had reached the boundary of what Scott could control. I handed the rest to God. That’s where my peace came from.

Your anchor may be different. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your spouse. Maybe it’s your children. Maybe it’s trusting the medical team taking care of you. Whatever keeps you standing in today instead of living through a hundred imaginary tomorrows — hold onto it.

Because eventually they will call your name. And when they do, walk through those doors on your own two feet. Don’t let every what-if you imagined the night before drag you through them.

Fear is going to show up. It always does. It doesn’t need your permission to talk. It just needs you to stop giving it the final word.

I Thought I Had Another Week

By Thursday morning, I wasn’t waiting for the phone to ring. That’s important.

I had worked all night. I talked with Barb that morning about the grandkids and the Caribbean cruise we had planned for October. I climbed into the Jeep. Jimmy Buffett. Margaritaville headspace. I stopped at Walmart for chicken nuggets, milk, and bananas. Just another ordinary Thursday morning — because as far as I knew, I wasn’t getting my results until June 18.

Then, around 9:40 that morning, standing in the produce section with a bunch of bananas still in my hand, life was still just life. Ordinary. Unaware of what was coming.

Continued in: The Morning Everything Changed.

Nobody Fights Alone

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13