The author attending a holiday party with her family while awaiting test results.

“Love you forever,” I said as I tucked my 5-year-old daughter into bed.

“Even after you die?” she said, her blue eyes wide.

The question nearly knocked the wind out of me.

“Yes,” I stammered. “Always.”

Unbeknownst to my daughter, I was waiting to find out if I had breast cancer. At 45, I was one of millions of women recently advised to begin screening at a younger age due to skyrocketing diagnoses in women under 50 — especially since I have dense breast tissue and a family history of the disease, both of which increase my risk.

“Stay positive!” Those are the two words a lifelong friend had texted me when I shared that something suspicious had appeared on my breast MRI and required a biopsy. While in theory I agreed there was no reason to worry when it could be nothing, not worrying was another matter. I knew increased screening leads to earlier detection and more false positives, and yet the high likelihood of a false positive didn’t change the fact that I was terrified. And the more afraid I felt, the more I tried to replace my fear with optimism.

As the daughter of a psychologist and as an author who writes about mental health, I was familiar with the research that shows optimism can improve our health, longevity and happiness. I also knew the importance of acknowledging feelings like grief and fear. The trick is knowing when to use which approach, and embracing darkness and discomfort is an easy one to ignore in a society that prizes smiling faces, smiley face emojis and conversations riddled with superlatives like “awesome!” and “amazing!”

I had acted nonchalant when a breast care coordinator called and introduced herself as Hope. The ironically named Hope explained that because of the type of irregularity on the scan, I would need a special biopsy that takes place during an MRI. I scheduled an appointment for the following week and tried not to think about it as I drove to my daughter’s kindergarten holiday party.

My breath caught in my chest as I parked, but I told myself it was pointless to freak out when this was probably not cancer, and even if it was, we would catch it early. Yet, as I watched my daughter decorating cookies, the possibility of having a disease with the potential to take me from my children took my breath away. It’s probably nothing, I thought as I opened a jar of red frosting for my........

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