So in reality, the last post I created was a little bit of a lie. I do have something to talk about, but usually I just talk to myself about it, making everyone else none the wiser. Do I branch out and let my cup overflowth, or do I keep talking to myself because it is easy, no one feels bad or sad, and no one argues with me? Tough call. Sigh. Here it goes I guess.
In 16 days (who's counting?) I go in for my 6 month visit. Like always, there's the added fear that something might be wrong. You'd think a person would get used to doing this, but I don't think I ever will. Don't get me wrong, I feel lately that mentally I have grabbed this cancer by the horns, and I almost have it pinned to the ground. But for ever check up, my hands slip just a little bit, and the cancer gets to raise it's ugly head and look me in the face again. And let me tell you, he is ugly. It's almost like a little freeze frame (did you sing the song from the 80's? I did) is set into motion and plays back in my brain at rapid speeds. Swoosh....I can hear the loud click of the breast biopsy.....swoosh...Nadia is born....swoosh...appointment after appointment...swoosh....surgery. And so on and so on for 3 years worth of memories.
I noticed the other day that they forgot to schedule my chest x-ray for this visit. Easy enough fix. I call Mayo up and they inform me that there are no orders for a chest x-ray. No orders? What do they mean no orders? That was the last remaining test that I had done that put me at ease at every visit. How could they just not do it? What the hell is blood work going to tell? Nothing. I hung up the phone with a feeling of gloom and doom. But what if the fact that most days I can hardly keep my eyes open come 4:30pm is something, and could have been caught earlier with an x-ray done? What about the pain in my ankle? Certainly a chest x-ray would be able to tell me what's wrong with that, right? Ok, that would be a stretch, but you become so dependant on testing, to just have it done one day really doesn't help me continue a good path on the mental state of this cancer crap.
Another big thing is our home. We haven't had any bites on it, and the longer I am here, the more memories crop up. It's wrong that I know exactly where I was when I told my mom I had cancer. I shouldn't be able to so visibly see where I was sitting in the living room when I told Dion that I was ok if he remarried. I know exactly where I was standing when I called my friends Brandy and Tricia, and told them the news. I can see myself in our main floor bath, standing in front of the mirror with a sandwich bag taped to the cabinet as I pulled chunks of my hair out and softly put them into that bag. I see pill bottle after pill bottle all in an attempt to not throw up from chemo. I was standing in the front hall when during radiation I used some aloe on my burn, not looking to see that there was alcohol in the gel and having my open bleeding wounds burn like they were on fire. That made me cry. That made Claire, my little girl who was just 2 years old look at me with her big blue eyes and say, "Mommy's crying now?" That broke my heart.
I just wish someone would buy this house so we can close that chapter of our lives and start new. Build new, happy memories in another house. I am not naive enough to think that there will never be new sad memories, but this cancer crap, well, I just need to be done with it.