I told my mom if I freaked out every time a doctor suggested a scan or a lab, I’d be stressed out all the time.

Year one… I was stressed out all the time.

Year two and beyond… I walk in expecting good results.

I constantly remind myself there is nothing to worry about, until there is something to worry about. So, imagine conquering your scanxiety, the anxiety or worry patients often feel before undergoing a scan or receiving the results of an examination, walking into the breast clinic in faith and with confidence… only to be literally draped in doubt.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love the color pink. It’s been my favorite color since I was a little girl. I don’t mind pink ribbons, though I do tend to gravitate toward darker pinks because they just seem stronger to me.

There’s just something about walking into an office covered in a color that’s almost synonymous with the disease you’re trying to discover you have. A disease that will change the course of your life as you know it.

There’s something about pink in breast clinics that’s not calming, inspiring or hopeful.

To be honest, it’s rather unsettling.

I often think of the day I did my second mammogram. I was 26. I remember putting my clothes in the little cubby and taking the key tied to a light pink ribbon back out into the waiting room. I remember sitting in this pink gown and looking around the room.

I felt so out of place.

The only other women in pink gowns were two or three times my age. The women my age weren’t there to be screened, they were there for support.

I was alone and filled with uncertainty and fear.

I fiddled with the key in my lap.

I shouldn’t be here is all I thought.

Out of all the screenings I did during that time, this one stands out the most for me.

Because I remember the anxiety I felt when I put my arms through the sleeves of that pink gown. I remember feeling like I was accepting an inevitable fate. I remember feeling like I had been asked to “put on” breast cancer.

So, after completing active treatment, but also understanding 30 percent of early-stagers will later develop metastatic breast cancer regardless, I don’t want to be dressed in doubt for every breast scan.

I’d rather be dressed in a color that means health.

I’d rather be dressed in a color that means peace.

I’d rather be dressed in a color that means healing.

So, please breast clinics, stop dressing me in pink gowns.