How Do I Pull Myself Out of This One?

As the day for my first chemo treatment approaches ever nearer (less than two days, now) I find myself feeling more and more depressed and weepy. I'm not too sure exactly why, maybe just the realities all coming home to roost at once or something, but whatever the cause, it transcends my logical mind and reaches deeper into myself than I typically tend to look and I have yet to discern or explain it to myself satisfactorily. I do know it is inexorably linked to the many facts in my life that continuously remind me I am not ready for the chemo and all the resulting side effects that will be a part of the four months of treatments. The house is a mess, both of us are messes, the kitties are what kitties are, I have not been to see a dentist yet, and I do not have the mental and physical stamina I need to cope with even a decent fraction of the things that need to take place before my white cell count drops into the soles of my feet for the first time. Add to that having to cope with health insurance issues, financial difficulties, running as many errands as possible prior to my first treatment, and so on, and maybe the bouts of weepiness begin to take on a reasonable perspective. I am also still trying to heal up incisions from my last surgery, at least one of which may not be healing due to an infection (I see a doctor tomorrow) and the knowledge that the chemo will also retard the healing processes which my body seems to be so slow with at such a crucial time. I really do not feel ready for this, but suspect I never will even if everything were done to my satisfaction and there were no concerns to grouse about at all.

I have encountered many other breastless women in my travels over the past couple of weeks and there seems to be a rather strange comradery in meeting others who have traveled the same road ahead of me. They all smile and wish me luck and I hope they know those same kind words and thoughts are theirs from me as well. I had some rather wicked thoughts the other day about starting a dance group of breastless women to be known as the "Pockettes" a part of whose routine would employ the "stripper" music (Da, da, da...ta, da, da, da...) during which they would strut seductively removing items of clothing and, eventually (without ever getting naked, mind you) reach into the pockets of their bosoms and remove their prosthetic breasts, tossing them aside like gloves or some other article of superficial clothing. Perhaps a comic strip would be more appropriate for the idea, but the ending would be the same...a group of women who had all survived the ravages of cancer, who were all able to celebrate their survival, and who had all found their beauty despite having lost breasts, hair, and possibly other body parts during their ordeals. Maybe they could come out initially dressed in sequined red gowns and "strip" down to pink jumpsuits or something as modest...of course it would be "Breast Cancer Pink."

Another incident that took place at the beginning of last week was my grandmother landing in the hospital with, as it turned out, and infection that almost killed her. At one point no one really expected her to last the night. I could not have slept, so I chose to drive up to Vermont despite my still being in need of recovery time from various surgical procedures (I had a port for the chemo placed into my left jugular vein two days before we got the news about my grandmother) and ended up pushing myself a little too hard, but being very glad I went to see her, especially since she responded well to the antibiotics and recovered when no one thought she would be able to. She is now back in a nursing home until a cousin of mine and his wife arrive to live with her and help take care of her on a full-time basis. We really would go to a lot more trouble than this for her, both as individuals and as a family. It is the one thing I truly regret about never having had any children of my own; should I live to be the age my grandnother has reached (91) I will have no extended family to visit and care for me in the way we have all rallied around Gram.

I will admit I have been so wrapped up in my own little packet of woes I have not been as attentive to Mike as I normally would have been. I have been putting off or forgetting to return his phone calls and I feel very badly about this and hope to try remedying this fault over the next several weeks, although I may be physically unable to see him or talk to him much during my treatments. My youngest sister (She-who-declines-to-be-named) has been so helpful. She reminded me today that I really should go out and buy some nice clean buckets to throw up into and place them strategically around the house. She even suggested some disposable bags for the car - not something I have wanted to think about at all. It makes me wonder what else I have allowed to slip through the cracks because I did not want to have to cope with it.

Well, there you have the latest update on my cancer journey. I'm not sure when I will feel up to typing more, but as this entry has helped me feel a little better, voice some of my fears and insecurities, and get the worst of the day off my chest (along with other things...) I may do more typing than not during my treatments.

Blessings, peace, and good wishes for all who venture here.

Izzlebug