My daughter hates that I put out all my personal stuff out into the forever interwebs for everybody to know. She believes that human events should be private and dealt with in quiet, just family or maybe with just yourself. Because she's oh so strong that way. She can keep her head up in all kinds of tough situations. My daughter would make a great British person. She has a terrific stiff upper lip. My daughter was also lucky enough not to inherit all the chronic crap I did, such as depression, diabetes, breast cancer, the whole "wheel o disease". I think she would be surprised to know that I am not famous for anything. This blog has a few loyal followers, but not a worldwide audience by any stretch of the imagination. Nor will it ever. Therefore there should be no reason for shame on her part. I'm not spilling any of HER secrets. (Not that I really know any to begin with) But allow me to apologise in advance to you, daughter, if anything I write here offends your delicate sensibilities, or is cringeworthy. This is my catharsis. This is the way I deal with the light and the heavy. And yes, I am kinda heavy these days.
Dealing with my impending mastectomy has been generally easy, until today. I woke up after having some really gnarly dreams. Up to now I've allowed myself only two times per day to feel sorry for myself and I really only used one if any. I've tried to entertain myself in comedy, cooking (came out disgusting, don't ask) giving TLC to our cat who's recovering from fatty liver disease, and NOT SMOKING. And even being a non-smoker wasn't shitty until today, 12 days after having my last cig. So WTF?? Not that I would go out and buy a pack. I don't get replacement tits if I do, so it's really a big no-no. But why today to feel like an emotional train wreck? I don't get it.
When I was doing nails I learnt a really good lesson. If I had a problem, I would go to work and no matter what, I'd have a client that day who had a way worse one. Maybe that's the issue here. I'm holed up in my house and have no one to compare my misery to. And I have to face this crap without the usual crutch I hid behind for so many years.
I like to call this the "Breast Cancer Theme Park". I go to the "Cancer Pavilion" for all my cancery needs, including the "Chemo Experience" and the "Oncologist Patience Ride". There is also "Diagnostic Village" where I go to "Scan land". Included in admission of course is "Serious Surgery Way" where the Drs are efficient but lack any sense of humor that I can detect.
Let's get this straight. I'm not brave. I'm scared shitless. And I'm still angry. I could talk to a million other breast cancer survivors and still feel totally alone. I feel invaded. I'm not a surgery fan. I never liked the idea of fake boobs on anyone. Now I HAVE to get them. SHIT. AND fucking chemo too. Blech.
I guess I'm not a big fan of radical change. Strange coming from a self proclaimed "progressive".
OK I feel a little better.
Dealing with my impending mastectomy has been generally easy, until today. I woke up after having some really gnarly dreams. Up to now I've allowed myself only two times per day to feel sorry for myself and I really only used one if any. I've tried to entertain myself in comedy, cooking (came out disgusting, don't ask) giving TLC to our cat who's recovering from fatty liver disease, and NOT SMOKING. And even being a non-smoker wasn't shitty until today, 12 days after having my last cig. So WTF?? Not that I would go out and buy a pack. I don't get replacement tits if I do, so it's really a big no-no. But why today to feel like an emotional train wreck? I don't get it.
When I was doing nails I learnt a really good lesson. If I had a problem, I would go to work and no matter what, I'd have a client that day who had a way worse one. Maybe that's the issue here. I'm holed up in my house and have no one to compare my misery to. And I have to face this crap without the usual crutch I hid behind for so many years.
I like to call this the "Breast Cancer Theme Park". I go to the "Cancer Pavilion" for all my cancery needs, including the "Chemo Experience" and the "Oncologist Patience Ride". There is also "Diagnostic Village" where I go to "Scan land". Included in admission of course is "Serious Surgery Way" where the Drs are efficient but lack any sense of humor that I can detect.
Let's get this straight. I'm not brave. I'm scared shitless. And I'm still angry. I could talk to a million other breast cancer survivors and still feel totally alone. I feel invaded. I'm not a surgery fan. I never liked the idea of fake boobs on anyone. Now I HAVE to get them. SHIT. AND fucking chemo too. Blech.
I guess I'm not a big fan of radical change. Strange coming from a self proclaimed "progressive".
OK I feel a little better.
Hey Carolyn,
ReplyDeleteHow have I not discovered your blog before today? I've long missed your humor and wisdom, and it's been on the web all this time? Well, maybe not "all" this time, but at least a while. Thanks for sharing!
Having your tits cut off must be a shitty deal, I'm sorry you have to go through that. Thought you might appreciate the book: "Smile or Die" - here's a book review of sorts to whet your appetite:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/jan/10/smile-or-die-barbara-ehrenreich
<3 Courtney
Cari -
ReplyDeleteANYTIME you want to get out of the house, distract yourself - I'm only a minute away. Coffee? Bookstore? Shopping? Talk?
When is the surgery?
Sharon
It can make you feel better just to express to others that you're miserable or scared. Not to whine or to expect somebody to be able to fix things, but just to be able to state what your feeling and to be acknowledged. I feel ya'. Living without smoking will get easier, but the Breast Cancer Theme Park is a far cry from Disneyland though the souvenirs are much more sensible. ;) Hang in there~xx
ReplyDelete