"...so, scariest environment imaginable? All you had to say. 'Scariest environment imaginable.' Ok."

After a reasonably successful day, the late hours of the evening brought back to the forefront some of the fear that I'd been maybe ignoring for a few days. Two main things occurred, and I believe that in retrospect, they'll be ridiculous, but at this point, I'm a wreck.

1) Katie scared the absolute shit out of me earlier by giving me her best estimate of what to expect at my oncology appointment on Tuesday. The main gist is that even though the type of tumor that was extracted is generally benign (meaning it won't metastasize to another location in my body), that it could still continue to cause a ruckus if even a few tumor cells managed to stick around. So, despite the lovely word, despite a clean post-op MRI, despite all of the progress that I've made, I'm still looking at chemo and/or radiation as a very real possibility. That said, let me be clear: this is obviously not the worst thing ever. I mean, if someone has to endure that crap, I'm glad it's me and not someone older, sicker, or weaker. However, I also know that treatments for cancer are awful-- I'm doing my best to keep comfortable and healthy as I recover from surgery, but let's cut the shit for a just a second and call a spade a spade. There's a lot of moderate pain, and there's a little of are-you-fucking-kidding-me?-level pain; there's the side effects from meds; there's the lack of autonomy; there's the ridiculous amount of time and effort required to do basic tasks. I don't want to harp, but this SUCKS. There are nice points and little victories each day, and this whole experience has been genuinely enriching and life-changing-- yeah, still totally sucks. And the mere idea that on Tuesday, a doctor will tell me that I need to start a course of treatment that will cause more discomfort and an even longer interim before I feel like myself again? Say it with me: GO FUCK YOURSELF. Katie said that if chemo/radiation is required, that they'll wait until I'm fully healed from surgery before they begin...and I honestly can't decide if that's better or worse.

I know I've been lucky in so many ways along this path already...and I know better than to assume it was going to be easy at any point, but I guess I was hoping for a little more time for the other shoe to drop. It's still a total possibility that I'll dodge this bullet, too, but right now, I feel like a [slowly, carefully] walking target.

2) I was opening the refrigerator when my dad's heavy tin toothpick dispenser fell to the ground and scattered toothpicks all over the kitchen floor...it didn't hit me or break or cause any damage, but for some reason, it scared the hell out of me, and it made me realize just how much of a hair trigger I've been on. Before the surgery, there was this huge threat of what could happen if I fell or hit my head-- since the surgery, that threat still existed but for a different reason. Logically, I know getting swept up in the what-ifs is pointless, but I dare any of you to walk a mile in my shoes and not wonder the same thing. Anyway, there I am, standing frozen in the kitchen when my mom rushes over to regulate the scene, Jan-style, and I just burst into tears, and of course that led to a wicked awesome spasm. I am sick of feeling this tension because it never completely goes away. Every waking moment is somehow colored by this intensity that refuses to relent. I want my mom to be able to hug me close and give me a chance to actually exhale for a minute, but she can't because it hurts too much! All she can do is put the bags of frozen veggies on the muscle spasms, and just keep reminding me to "be anxious for nothing", and to keep my head together, and hold fast to the idea that everything will be alright. I resent that my condition makes it uncomfortable to be held close. I resent that I can't tell anyone anything definitive about when I'll be back to my life...nevermind that I have no idea what that life will actually be or even where.

Anyway, tonight I'm scared. Tomorrow will certainly be better (my dad borrowed Pepe's pimp Cadillac to make the drive more comfortable-- how nice is that?!), and I know every tear I shed is helping me calm down so it's fine for right now. I am going to try to get some sleep and get my face to stop leaking. Good night!