So here I am again, about to jump off the cliff into the semi-unknown, semi-known. I’ve decided to be indulgent and go to the local coffee shop to have coffee (yes Mark, I’ve totally relapsed) and breakfast and write this since I’ll be stuck at home for quite a while after today. I’m even sitting at one of the tables that says “please don’t sit here unless you’re at least a group of two”! Hah! (Obviously I’m not the first one doing this here since I have a fear of being reprimanded by authority figures, even at a coffee shop). The weather today reminds me of Thailand. It’s steamy and hot, perfect for happy memories before something hard. We’re also going to take Wally pup on his first walk today, we’re supposed to wait until tomorrow, but we’re living dangerously.
I am a tornado of emotions. Some good and obvi some bad. I’m excited to get this done and over with. I actually finally actually feel happy about where I’m going and the care I’ll have. I’m happy I get to see my Mom really soon. I am over the moon that I have A. to stay with my in the hospital and have my back through this. I could make a list of all of the negative emotions, but I’ve mostly already done that, and I think if you tried, you could come up with them yourself. I’m going to eat this giant buttermilk donut hole instead.
I’ve been focusing on my choices through this. It’s something my therapist helped me do in the front end of this mess that helped me not sit in a deep dark hole through everything. It’s hard. Cancer is a shitty thing that happens to you, it’s not something most of us could have avoided by going left instead of right. But every step of treatment is a choice. No one can force you, even if it is the common sense, non insane track to take. What I’m about to go through is a big choice of mine. I could cop out and get implants at any time, less recovery and less pain. But I’m not. I’m choosing to do this and it’s helped me feel more of a badass and less of a victim in the last few days. I’m also rocking my “I’ll kick your ass” hair thanks to chemo. It’s a shame I didn’t get any fake barbwire arm tats to rock during this. I’m hoping once I emerge from my painkiller cocoon that I’ll have enough hair for a pixie cut and be able to look more girlie. (Casey and Jordan, assuming I’m well enough to make the wedding, I’ll either look like I just got out of prison or Twiggy).
My procedure starts at 7am tomorrow and I’ll be at the St Charles Surgical hospital until Saturday. Through some good and bad luck, one of my besties is in town this week. Bad luck because we originally had an awesome time planned and now I’m going to be in the hospital, but good luck because I get to see her smiling face during a really tough time. On that note, if you want to facetime, google hangout, email, or talk on the phone let’s do it. I have got nothing going on for weeks and have a cell phone this time around and better internet. Plus I have got some wonderful family here, but not a lot of friends so going to need to outsource some love. If you get really lucky you might get me when I’m feeling euphoric on the pain killers.
I think one of the hardest things is going to have to severely downscale my animal time. Wally climbs in my lap every time I sit on the floor in the most adorable almost to big to be a lapdog way. It’s going to be a very long time until we can do that again due to the abdominal and boob proximity.
Nero has become the best cuddler ever, but cats are getting banished again to help keep the bed clean (no infections!) and because they tend to jump on me. Myles will have something new to complain about.
Yesterday was my pre-op appointment and everything went well. My doctor ended up running an hour and a half behind schedule which was lame, but so typical hospital. This appointment he drew all over me and they took photos to reference during the surgery. I look like Braveheart/NipTuck. He used blue marker obviously. I’d take a photo to show you, but there’s really no way to capture it without compromising myself on the internet so just use your imagination. The best is the FN on my boob, which A. said “Why does your boob say footnote?”. FN stands for fat necrosis, but foot note sounds way better.
Thanks for all the love and support through this fucked up trip. I’ll see you on the other side.