He said the freckles on his arms
were roadmaps to the sky,
and the bruises that he carried
were supernovas in disguise.
~ Alaska Gold, Growing Light
Some days are filled with faking it to degrees you never wanted to have to fake it to.
It’s like that scene in Pretty in Pink where Margie Potts tells about how she never went to prom and something about losing her car keys… wait, let me look….
“I have this girlfriend who didn’t go to hers, and every once in a while, she gets this really terrible feeling—you know, like something is missing. She checks her purse, and then she checks her keys. She counts her kids, she goes crazy, and then she realizes that nothing is missing. She decided it was side effects from skipping the prom.” (source)
Yeah, that – only its like Oh yeah, I fucking have cancer, for the second time.
So, I set out to count my proverbial blessings and try to feel better.
- My mom and aunt are not being a$$holes about this time.
- I have a cadre of friends that are staying in touch and making me feel loved.
- I am making sure that my choices are about how I want to manage this and not so much about how I can help others manage this go around.
- I am working and have a job.
OK, that is all I have the energy for right now.
Jane (my tumor) is being a supernova right now, in that she is purple, like grimace or barney purple. My doctor warned me yesterday that it is most likely a moving supernova (he did not actually call it a supernova) and she will take a ride all over my breast. This should prove interesting.
Poor Jane, she looks like hell. She feels like hell. She just wants to go to bed and sleep.
Hey, maybe talking about my new (and *improved*) cancer in third person will help with resilience and shit?
Anyway, I get to take off Janes’ dressing this afternoon. I wish it were some sexy erotic experience but it will most likely hurt like hell. I will take pictures, I probably won’t post them.
Also, I have been blessed with (up until now) really nice breasts – my whole life – I am talking good lookin’ boobies – they are symmetrical even. Yes, I am rather vain about them too. So, here I am, facing a life with a deformed irradiated breast in the near future. I am going to be very honest and say it breaks my heart, I love my boobs whether I was skinny or fat, , tanned (guffaw)they were a source of pride. Will I be proud of them after they (the right it, really) go through some huge surgical and medical transformation? Fuck. I hate facing my vanity and feeling like I am stupid. I mean… it is a freakin’ boob. It is not my most charming asset (or is it?). OK, now I am just trying to be funny. Which means I am feeling less freaked out by this whole experience.
Though, having your brother drop off a package of granny house dresses that our mother bought me made me feel old – because they are GRANNY DRESSES. They button up the front though, and between the surgery and the (hoped for) brachytherapy radiation, it will be easier to wear in recovery phase. So, I guess I better pull up my granny panties (not at that stage yet, thank you baby jebus) and buck up.
Now, I want ice cream.