For the Love of the Surreal Life

I'm trying so hard.

Ever since the unfortunately named Dr. Pennes walked into the ultrasound room and uttered, "You have a little bit of cancer," I've been steadfastly and happily planting myself in a surreal version of life.  It just hasn't seemed real.

               Little bit of ...

Didn't that use to be the name of a candy bar?  Right.  Bit O'Honey.  Instead of honey I've got a Bit O'Cancer. 

Just a bit ... but, well, yes, it's just a bit but see it's an ANGRY bit.  An angry bit of grade 3 triple negative, you see.  That's a bit of aggressive, that is ... just a bit of aggressive cancer.  Nothing to worry about.  Just a  ....

 .... what's that?  Oh ... yes, well, there are also a couple of "suspicious" areas on the outer sides of, well, of both breasts but ... MRIs can lie, don't you know.  Yes, they can show things that aren't actually cancer so don't you worry ... let's just stick a few more needles in and check, shall we?

Just a couple of needles

Here, get on your stomach again and, well, wait, we need to put another IV in so we can send that icy, stinging contrast through, the better to see the suspicious bits, you know.  Now hover and aim well, there you go, right into those two holes because that's the most comfortable thing in the world, isn't it.  Now hold still.

No, really ... you must NOT move.  We'll just roll you into the MRI tube and take a quick picture and, now don't move, roll you out and insert the needles, don't move, now roll you back into the tube for more images to make certain the needles are well placed and now roll you ... don't move ... out again and
                *BAM*           
                           take the biopsies.

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At least that is how I'm imagining it will be come tomorrow.  And, as you can probably tell, I'm writing this while Downton Abbey is playing in the background.  Just picture Mrs. Patmore and/or Mrs. Hughes saying the above and you'll see.

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And now surgery of some kind is on Friday, and I won't know what kind of surgery I'm having until Tuesday or Wednesday.  Is the cancer still believed to be an angry little dot on the upper inside of one breast?  Or will I find out it has spread throughout the breast or, perhaps, is represented in both. 

Or further.  Will it be found in my lymph nodes?

The surreal nature of this mayhem is finally cracking for me. 

And I don't like it one bit.

One angry little bit.

10 Days

It took ten days for my calm to be truly damaged.

Ten days for a full-on break-down.

To find myself feeling real fear.

To sob.

To repeatedly murmur, "I'm going to be okay," like some goddamned psycho.

..........

This whole experience has remained largely surreal to me.  It's a bit like watching someone else's life.  Me?  I don't have breast cancer.  I mean, right, I do.  Right.  They've said that but ... it'll be fine.  It's just a little bit.  Of cancer.  Which by definition involves abnormal cell growth that invades other parts of your body.  And it's in me.  Right now.  Spreading.  Cells splitting into other fucked up cells. 

Inside me. 

I try to feel the tumor and I can't.  When would I have actually noticed this by touch?  How much farther along would it be had I waited another month or two or six to get a mammogram?  Shit, how much farther along will this be by Monday?  In another week?

One of my best friends is fighting this right now; has been for two years.  And her cancer is in various areas of her body.  I don't think I truly understood this aspect of it before.  And mine is (hopefully) very early and very treatable and, if the first doctor is correct, soon to be in my rear view mirror of life. 

I want it out now. 

I want it cut out NOW. 

Rear view mirror.  Right.  Screw seeing anything in the mirror.  Let's toss that shit out the car window, preferably as we're rounding a curve on a cliff and watch it tumble down hundreds of feet to explode into a giant ball of fire never to be seen again. 

...............

I'm no longer murmuring to myself.  [Good sign.]

I believe I'll feel better tomorrow. Of course, my stepmom will be here tomorrow.  The first of my family that I'll see in person after this whole mess started.  I'm a little worried about that.  Even with my break-down tonight, I'd like to keep the blubbering to a minimum and I've no idea how family in flesh will affect me.  I'm afraid it will make it even more real.

And I quite like the surreal, thank you.

I trust I'll feel better by Monday night.  Monday night there will be a plan.

Waiting really is the hardest part.  At least right now.