6 Weeks

I had a five-minute-freakout today. The enormity of what’s going down tomorrow morning is hardly lost on me. But, besides the few-and-far-between mini breakdowns – when I just feel sadness, nothing else – I feel so strong, so well really, and like God has been preparing me for this very moment my whole life. 

Six weeks from now, on May 12, I will be officially recovered. It will be springtime, the yellow daffodils in front of my house will be in bloom, the new green grass will be freshly mowed, NJ's unsteady trot will be a fast and furious gallop, these little sprouts on my head will begin to look a little something like real hair, I'll love my husband 6 weeks more than I do today, and I’ll be cancer free. I just know it.

When I fall asleep before my surgery, this is what I'll dream of – NJ dancing, twirling, falling on the bed. 

The Last Hurrah

Jon and I had a romantic getaway in Charlottesville at the Clifton Inn – our last rendezvous with “the girls.” It was dreamy, except for the part when I ate too much pork belly and oysters, drank entirely too much champagne and subsequently got sick. Not so sexy. But, that was merely a minor detail. The rest was perfect. Our room was a cozy hideaway and the service was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that there were chocolate-covered strawberries and several treats (compliments of my sweet sis), soft music and dim lighting awaiting us on arrival. Just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Anniversary: Postdated

 

Mom and Dad,

Thank you for staying married for 42 long freakin years, even when everything told you to move on, go another way, give up, give in. Your marriage alone, your commitment, loyalty, love for one another, dedication to our family, has left an impression on me that is more profound than any amount of money, gifts, stories and lessons, discipline and rules, guidance or advice (although those things are cool too.) No one ever said marriage was easy, but yours is what it's supposed to be. Enduring, strengthening over time, loving in spite of it all, hunkering down and getting through, and rising up to meet at the end, better, stronger, shaped and curved, like driftwood floating on a rocky current, smooth, graceful and sturdy after it's all said and done, resting peacefully on the sand.

Surgeons and Husbands

My surgery is March 31st, and I'm kind of excited. Weird, eh? Truth of the matter is, I'm way more sad that my ass has disappeared than the fact that my boobs soon will be gone, too. I've never been a boob girl. Well, maybe a little, but my ass was always where it's at. I'm not sure that it will ever come back: It's hard to gain weight and eat healthy at the same time. Wow, what an epiphany. Isn't that what nutritionists have been telling us for years about losing weight. So simple.

Of course, I'm nervous too, about things like waking up, boobless, and what that will feel like – crazy, probably. I hope I don't have a breathing tube or other weird unnatural things that I'm conscious of. (Although I should probably start getting used to things of the unnatural sort – but let's face it; those will be supernatural.) The yucky drains post-op. I heard they can be the worst of it all. But, then also that they're only annoying. Mostly I'm worried about not being able to pick up NJ for 8 weeks. That breaks my heart a little. A lot more than getting new, awesomer boobs. And, let's face it, "the girls" have done me wrong. Now, off with your head!

Choosing a surgeon is like choosing a husband. You just have to ask: Do I trust this person with my life? It's strange how long it can take to trust someone we're dating but how quickly we offer up trust to someone who's cutting us open – just a few weeks really.

Anyway, I'm going to start eating 4 avocados a day, and hopefully, that junk will go to my trunk. For real. Dang. Oh, and I did have a cheeseburger the other night. Got to, once in a while.

So Long, My Foul Weather Friend

Chemo is over. Need I say more?

Love Potion No. 9

Green tea with a hefty dash of black pepper, turmeric and ginger.

Piss Poor

Today was a doozy. I had to drive into work this morning. It's about a two-hour commute on a good day. My stomach hurt. I haven't taken a proper crap in days. Post-chemo meds make me, and anyone who is lucky enough to take them, constipated in a way that I would wish on a few people only. Bill O'Reilly comes to mind. Maybe Nancy Grace. I could barely eat my oatmeal, which, frankly, is getting a little old, and I wished I had some frosted mini wheats.

I was already hungry for lunch by the time I got to work (not nearly lunchtime). My work-lunch buddy and I went to the Thai place across the street. We'd tried to go yesterday too, but the place's credit card machine was broken. Cash only. Neither of us had any. So, this was like a two-day-in-waiting deal. They got busy fast, right after we were seated. And, nearly an hour and a half later, my friend had gotten her lunch, but I still hadn't gotten mine. I had a meeting at 1:30. We asked for our check and my food a few times; the waiter who seated us – we never saw him again. The clock is ticking. It was 1:25 – no lunch for me.

The meeting with my boss was less than stellar. I won't go into details for fear of getting dooced. Oh, and it was supposed to be 30 minutes long, only it ended up being over an hour and a half. By this time, I was running late for my Dr.'s appointment for my CBC. I was dreading it for some reason. Plus, I ran out of Lorazepam yesterday, which I usually take before my blood test because I still get so freaked out by needles. You'd think I'd be over it by now. Not so. I think my phobia has actually worsened of late. Part of that may be because my awesome vein in my left arm is out of commission for now, and the one on the right arm isn't as cooperative. It hurts when they draw blood, and I'm over it.

When parking at the doctor's office, you get a ticket when you pull in, and give it to the lot attendant on the way out. I was only there for about 15 minutes, which should have cost $1. Only I lost the fucking ticket. I looked everywhere for it. Where did it go? I had to pay for a full day of parking when I left. Lost-ticket price: $10.

On the way home, there was an accident on I-66. Right lane completely blocked. Traffic at a standstill. Oh yeah, and, on the way to the doc, I had drunk an enormous bottle of water, like, maybe a gallon, seriously. If I'm not hydrated enough, veins disappear, and more hurting. So, tons of water, and now I'm stuck in traffic and really, really have to pee. Finally, out of desperation, and I can't believe I'm writing this, but whatever, I grabbed my thermos, dumped out its contents, took my coat off to cover up my lap and what I was about to do, pulled my pants down and strategically, or so I thought, peed into it, while driving, on 66, in rush hour traffic. I emptied the first batch. And, again. This time, I miscalculated. Ok, now read this carefully: I dumped warm pee all over my car seat, and a little on me. I tried not to move too much, not to sit down. I moved my coat that was on my lap covering up the goods under my butt to soak up the huge amount of urine on my car seat. Is my car going to stink from now on? My coat needs to go to the dry cleaners. I feel bad even taking it to the cleaners. That means someone, an unknowing stranger, will have to touch it. This is absolutely terrible. All I could think of was thank God there is a brand-spankin' new prescription of Lorazepam waiting for me at Walgreen's.

At the drug store drive through at last. What a great invention. Convenient, legal, drive-up drugs. I happily declare my name, why I'm here, and that my doc called it in this morning. Tick tock, tick tock. Any minute now. Money, ID in hand. This is so exciting. But, my day takes a turn for the worse. The pharmacist informs me that they have nothing. No one has called in anything. She checked Walgreens everywhere, and there is nada, anywhere. I'm not really surprised by this, considering the turn of events up until now.

When I have a piss poor day like this one, at least I know it could be worse, like I could have a tumor in my boob or something crazy like that, but I don't, and I'm alive, so what's a little pee on my leg?