Costco Rotisserie Chicken, Anyone?

Who am I kidding? I’m scared to death. Weird thing, nobody wants to listen and “I’m here for you” means – I will tell you to stay positive. I’m one of the most positive people I know, but fuck – I’m allowed to be scared and mad and freaked out and thinking dark thoughts – they go with the territory.

 

I really should have been typing my thoughts instead of writing in my head the last few weeks. There is so much I will forget. I am not sure anything in my head warrants sharing – but, so many things have changed since I typed that paragraph.

I was afraid. Until the next ugly thing happened. I was worried about my lab results. Those fuckers. Let’s just say – it’s in my nodes. (which I am delivering in Chloe’s panic and drama in Pitch Perfect)  I meet with an oncologist next week. Which is a sentence I never wanted to speak. So, either fear has given way to acceptance (and therefor fight) or I’m still out of my fucking mind. Which do you think is true?

Cancer isn’t funny. But, why all the support? What if I’d been told I had diabetes? Lupus? COPD? High blood pressure? A heart condition? None of these things need to sign your death certificate – but, most of them will. Cancer kills people too. But, we are living longer at an alarming rate. We are more worried about living longer and therefor running out of resources on our planet than we are about fixing it, but I digress.

First – the speed at which my medical insurance is responding is fantastic. My family and friends have been so amazingly supportive – I feel undeserving. My children. OMG my kids If you ever want to know if your little assholey teenagers love you – get cancer. Wow. The pit viper has beens sleeping with me. Wow!

Here is where I am: I’ve been given notice – life is short. You were on fire with your writing and goals a few years ago. Time to get back in gear. I’ve been slowly gaining progress in the health and exercise department. Well now, you know. I’ve got too much to do before I leave this universe. Also – the absolute worst part of having a boob removed so far? No hiding the fat. I used to look down at my big boobs and that was all I could see. I didn’t love looking in the mirror but, i was okay. Now. omg now, there is a dent where my boob used to be. I look like a Costco rotisserie chicken with one breast removed. And as my eyes glide over that pretty picture, I see my more than thin belly. I don’t like it. It is going away. It is long since time, anyway.

Something I am feeling now is that I am not really thinking I will reconstruct. I am not sure why that is where I am but, it is. I’m thinking super fucking cool tattoo. When I told my dad – my poor old dad – he was sure to let me know that I don’t need a tattoo.  Parents are so funny.

So – I was wanting to see my friends more especially during the holidays – guess what? I wanted a private secretary – got that too. I wanted to know if my kids loved me. Check. I wanted to eat better, be more focused on my health not that I’m older…check and double check. I could go on and on about all the things cancer has given me. But, I wonder what is really going to be the thing I take with me when this is over.

Or – I could be in the biggest state of denial there ever fucking was.

 

1 thought on “Costco Rotisserie Chicken, Anyone?”

  1. Dammit.

    I had to nice down what I really wanted to say. We haven’t spoken in quite a while, been dealing on this end, too…but dammit. I hope you at least screamed and kicked the shit out of something like I’d like to do now.

    Love and hugs, woman.

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