Brave? This is so not me. Not even close. I’m shaking in my boots 24/7. Since this whole thing began the information on this cancer has gone from bad to worse to pretty damn terrifying, along with the aborted surgery and yesterday’s emergency visit from the visiting nurse (pain and fainting are not a good combo, but Gatorade saved the day). I get my drains out this morning, which is a good thing, but in my present state of nervousness I assume that something–anything–will go wrong.
As I explained to Banjo Man last night, I’d decided weeks ago not to be brave or courageous dealing with this cancer. I don’t need the extra work of pretending “I got this” with a smile on my face and a reassuring wave to family and friends.
Nope. The thing is, I have no control over this disease or the processes by which it will be attacked. I have no control over how long chemo will last or how quickly I’ll lose my hair. Will I have radiation first? Be sick as a dog? Gain or lose weight from the drugs? Be able to go to Texas for Christmas (I frenetically bought the tickets on my phone the hour they were released from Southwest, between a cat scan and a bone scan)?
And as a friend reminded me, because I am such a “planner” this is especially difficult.
Rosemary the Visiting Nurse worriedly asked if I was a high anxiety kind of person. I did laugh at that. Uh, no, Rosemary. Just the opposite. Until I got cancer and had my breast sliced off!
So maybe in a year or two I’ll be spouting the benefits of green smoothies, running a marathon while wearing a pink tank top, and waving cheerfully to those folks cheering on the sidelines. It’s a pleasant vision, but for now–today–I’ll settle for a day with no surprises.