I've gone from Law and Order reruns to ER.
This is what my week has looked like.
DH has been a total mensch. He makes my meals, tracks my meds, empties my drains and takes care of all the house and kid stuff while I lie in bed and sleep.
This may sound heavenly but because I like things my way and because I don't do well with people taking care of me, it's not actually that glamorous.
Nothing about any of this is glamorous.
My flat stomach is more tight than flat. It pulls. I have more scars, stitches and bruising than I care to have. My new breast; the same.
I sleep a lot which may also sound amazing but I'm just irritable because I'm so tired.
I cry out of the blue.
You're almost done, I'm reminded. This is the last big step.
Which only makes me cry more.
If this is the last step, why do I feel like it's just the beginning?
Remember. Glass half empty girl here.
With the 'final' surgery, I see needing some minor touch ups in my future.
With herceptin finishing in January, I see 5 years of cancer drugs.
With "your hair is really growing", I see "It's not growing fast enough".
I'm sorry I cannot see the glass full.
I want so desperately to.
I try to hard to see that I'm alive and done with the tough stuff.
I sat in the cancer center waiting area the other day; awaiting my infusion.
It was full.
I grabbed DH's hand, so saddened by how full it was.
The young adult woman accompanied by her mother.
The older man in a mask, protecting himself from germs; accompanied by his elderly wife.
A woman with a best friend, or perhaps it was her sister.
We all do what we have to do to get through this god awful disease.
But what I guess I'm trying to tell you
it's the afterwards....
the after the treatment
when you pause and breathe for a nanosecond
that the fear and anxiety start to rear its ugly face
once again.
Cancer is the gift that keeps on giving
and no where accepts returns or exchanges.
(No matter how much you beg.)
This isn't the end for me.
Please be patient with me.
It's the beginning.
This is what my week has looked like.
DH has been a total mensch. He makes my meals, tracks my meds, empties my drains and takes care of all the house and kid stuff while I lie in bed and sleep.
This may sound heavenly but because I like things my way and because I don't do well with people taking care of me, it's not actually that glamorous.
Nothing about any of this is glamorous.
My flat stomach is more tight than flat. It pulls. I have more scars, stitches and bruising than I care to have. My new breast; the same.
I sleep a lot which may also sound amazing but I'm just irritable because I'm so tired.
I cry out of the blue.
You're almost done, I'm reminded. This is the last big step.
Which only makes me cry more.
If this is the last step, why do I feel like it's just the beginning?
Remember. Glass half empty girl here.
With the 'final' surgery, I see needing some minor touch ups in my future.
With herceptin finishing in January, I see 5 years of cancer drugs.
With "your hair is really growing", I see "It's not growing fast enough".
I'm sorry I cannot see the glass full.
I want so desperately to.
I try to hard to see that I'm alive and done with the tough stuff.
I sat in the cancer center waiting area the other day; awaiting my infusion.
It was full.
I grabbed DH's hand, so saddened by how full it was.
The young adult woman accompanied by her mother.
The older man in a mask, protecting himself from germs; accompanied by his elderly wife.
A woman with a best friend, or perhaps it was her sister.
We all do what we have to do to get through this god awful disease.
But what I guess I'm trying to tell you
it's the afterwards....
the after the treatment
when you pause and breathe for a nanosecond
that the fear and anxiety start to rear its ugly face
once again.
Cancer is the gift that keeps on giving
and no where accepts returns or exchanges.
(No matter how much you beg.)
This isn't the end for me.
Please be patient with me.
It's the beginning.
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