Nuns and Mr. Magoo

I have a bad attitude. I'm just going to tell you that right off the bat. I know I'm letting some of you down- I'm letting myself down. I want so badly to set a good example for my girls and to have an attitude of thankfulness, but it's just not there today. Or yesterday. But this blog is about honesty and reality, so here's my reality.

I'm so frustrated and angry and scared that I really want to crawl into a hole and stay there for a good long while. Not because I don't love my life, but because I'm so tired of all of this and I'd like to go somewhere it can't find me for a while.

I miss my 3-weeks-ago-life. More than I could possibly express to you. I miss just being able to enjoy my babies and my new job. Everything now is scarred. My joyful things have the scar of cancer across them- again- and I am really, super angry about it. Some people have said that it's good to get angry- that I can channel it towards the cancer, but this isn't that kind of anger. It's aimless and random- hard to explain. It's not the kind of anger that makes you want to fight- it's the kind that makes you want to run.

I know I said I don't 'hope' for much, but the doctors had given me some concrete (I thought) positive news. There was a chance that I wouldn't need chemo and that I would be able to have a flap reconstruction that would mean a one-step surgery and great results to look forward to. Today I learned that my tumor has already grown in size and I can count on chemo. A few months worth at least. And apparently all of that hard work I put into losing weight and getting healthy means that I don't have enough fat and skin to perform a flap surgery. That means a 6-12 month process before the painful and embarrassing reconstruction process is complete. To make matters worse, I just couldn't stand the surgeon. It's not really anything he did or didn't do- I just don't like him. Of course it didn't work to his favor that he was about the 10th person this week to ask me the same 30 questions and then make me take my clothes off so he could poke me like the guy from the 'Operation' game. Also he appeared to be 80 years old and mostly blind.

I think maybe I was having a premonition yesterday. I woke up depressed and grumpy. Pissed off that I can't even crack an eyeball in the morning without the word 'cancer' being immediately present in my brain. I tried to listen to my 'screw cancer' songs on the way to work, but then got a notification that I had almost reached my data limit, so I had to turn on the radio. There was a nun speaking on the Catholic station and she sounded so old and sweet that I felt guilty changing it, so I started listening. I'll be damned if she didn't start talking about how we need to treat the challenges in our lives as blessings and lessons from God- and accept them with grace. Then she talked about a 45-year-old sister who had very advanced cancer and how much she admired this woman because all she wanted to do was enjoy whatever time she had left with her sisters and her God. Geez. I felt like such a whiny baby. I know that particular message was meant for me, and I tried so hard to soak it in, but it just kind of bounced off my heart. So then when I got the news today from Mr. Magoo I was just so incredibly mad, and not in a good productive way, but in a "I'm going to punch the nearest person and then drink too much" way. Finally the question of which of my many sins brought this particular punishment upon me crossed my mind. Yes, I know that all indications are that God doesn't work that way, but if you have met a sick person who hasn't wondered it nonetheless, I'd like to meet them. (Okay, so that nun probably never wondered that, but she doesn't count). And that's when I really began mourning my three-weeks-ago life.

Three weeks ago I could go to the grocery store without wondering what food I needed for the freezer meals I would make to get my family through. I could go to work without spending the whole day wondering what my new boss would think of me when I'm gone for a month. I could get dressed without staring at myself- trying to take in what it looks like so I can remember next month when it's gone. I could brush my hair without thinking about how much I have taken it for granted and how much I'm going to miss it. I could exercise without wondering what it will feel like after they cut through my muscles. I could look at my husband and not wonder what he will think of me when I'm bald and scarred. I could cuddle with the girls without thinking about how I won't be able to hold them close to my chest for months. I could yell at them without thinking about whether they would have good memories of me if I die on the operating table. And as much as I want to be positive and uplifting, I can't help but wonder what will be next. What if, in a few months, something else happens and THIS becomes my three-weeks ago life? While most days I can be thankful that we caught it early and I am lucky, these are the other kinds of days. The days when I remember that being "lucky" today does not, in fact, exempt me from further unluckiness in the future. And that's just kind of a crapper.