Monday, June 4, 2012

June 4

A funny thing happens the week that I have my scans scheduled. (This happens every single time. Seriously, I've been doing the rounds every 90 days for almost two years now and this always happens.) My friends and family know I have doctor appointments coming up, but they either don't know or can't remember when they are scheduled. So, every time I make a phone call, it seems, the person on the other end of the line picks up (thanks to caller ID) and asks some variation of "What did they say?" instead of "Hello".

And my response is, "My appointments are at the end of the week. Scans on Thursday. Results on Friday."

I've been having this conversation with... oh, just about everyone in my life since the end of the week last week. No less than three people stopped me at church yesterday and asked about the growth of the tumor. (I'm choosing to believe that this is because they love me and know that I have an appointment coming up, rather than I looked very much like I was wearing a maternity dress - complete with baby bump.)

Another thing that happens whenever I have a scan coming up. ... I turn into a crazy crying person.

I know, you're rolling your eyes and wondering how the crying could possibly be any worse during my check-up weeks than it is every other week of the year. ... All I can say is that it is. I hate that I turn into an obsessive, blubbering fool this week. H-A-T-E it. ... But I learned some time ago that it just is what it is, and trying to fight the emotion just makes me that much more tired. My best defense/coping mechanism is to make every effort to just live my life. I put myself to bed on time. I eat normal, healthy meals. I make myself assignments to go shopping and do my laundry and live life like a normal person....

But in the back of my head, I have a lot going on. Here's a small sampling of what's going on in there:

* Has it grown?
* How much?
* I hope it's grown, because if it hasn't, I have some weird hernia/cake combo going on in my midsection right now.
* I wonder if it's big enough to operate yet.
* How many radiation treatments will they do before they cut me open?
* How is it even possible to irradiate an area that's been hit before? (Didn't they tell me this can't be done? ... And the answer to that is Yes. Yes, they sure did. But these are different doctors who say they can. So, whatever. Who cares if my guts start to look like Chernobyl?)
* Will I ever truly be well?
*Gosh, I hope they don't have to put a tube in my stomach again this time.
* I need to find a way to make this surgeon believe that I'll need him to put me straight on Dilaudid. I don't think I can bear waking up on Morphine again.
* I need to play more with my nieces and nephews.
* Yeah, right. I need to sleep more than I need to play.
*If it has grown, I wonder if I can talk them into not operating until after July. I want to go to my 20 year reunion walking on my own two feet - NOT with my walker.
*At some point, I need to cook that turkey that's in my freezer.
*I wonder how long I'll be in the hospital this time.
*I'll bet all their rooms are private...
*I'm going to have to have Mom read Les Mis to me, or I'm never gonna be able to keep up with Myra.
*Who's kidding who? If I have surgery in the next few months, the plan to read Les Mis is toast. I have no attention span when I'm on drugs and I know it. ... Not to mention, the unabridged book is so heavy that there's NO WAY I could hold it until at least two months after surgery.
* I need a Kindle.
* I only have three boxes of Thin Mints left, and I can't buy more Girl Scout cookies until February. Crap.
* Another reason to hold off until after July: Batman. No way could I sit in a theater for at least two months. Let alone, my nervous system. I'm a pansy, and I'm pretty sure I couldn't take the stress of that movie if I was still in recovery from surgery.
* How in the world will I pay my rent, bills, etc when I have to stop working?
* One more day down that I didn't find/make time to call Jester'Z about my fundraiser. Rats!
* For now, I can still lie on my side. I need to revel in that.
* I need to take an Ativan so I can breathe.
* Will I ever be able to just live my life instead of taking a ride on this emotional roller coaster every 90 days? ... I hope so.

These are the things that I'm thinking, when I'm not consciously side-tracking myself with something else. No wonder I cry.

Scans on Thursday. Results on Friday.

I'm hoping for a full night of sleep on Saturday.