The day is almost here--the day when we find out just how cancerous I am...or am not (grammar???)
Listen up.
I had a dream last night. A dream that reminded me that I can never get too comfortable, because my body is a freaking landmine.
In said dream, I was sitting in a Wal Mart (yes, sitting) on the floor in front of some display. Now, if I had simply been sitting in Wal Mart in front of a shelf, I would not have been able to make any sense of the dream. But in the dream, I was bald. Not only was I bald, but I was wearing my blue dress.
The blue dress! The SUNY Upstate-ugly-bald-chick-radiation-burn-chemo-vomit-sleepy-oxycodone-kidneyfunction-injection-fritos-pizza-nurses-nerfgun-hospital-smelly-get-out-of-my-room-I'm-too-old-to-trick-or-treat-around-the-cancer-ward-blue dress.
It wasn't really a dress so much as it was like...a nasty nightgown type thing that you could pass off as a dress for someone who has no fashion sense whatsoever.
I had the dress in blue and yellow. I can't remember which came first, the blue or the yellow, but I remember my mom asking me if I'd like her to pick up another one, because it worked so perfectly in the hospital. It hung low enough that my port was easily accessible, and didn't stick to the tape on my chest, or cause it to peel. It was easy to maneuver around tubes and medicine poles, didn't irritate my skin, and was very convenient when the nurse came in every two hours to make me take a leak. You see what I mean.
When I finished chemo, I told my mom that the dresses needed to go. They were so depressing, and not conducive to a girl who is trying to pretend that the past year of her life didn't happen. So they were disposed of post haste.
But apparently, my subconscious remembers them well. Because in the midst of final exams, final performances, final presentations, my brain reminded me that it's about that time again...it's scannin' time bitches!!!!
The dream makes sense. The blue dress, the bald head, the Wal Mart (I have a ritual the night before scans--my mom gives me twenty bucks and I go explore Wal Mart...gets my mind off things)--a brilliant reminder from my subconscious that its time to start panicking!
Now, the most rational way of dealing with scannin' time is to look at the facts:
*I feel fine! (and I'm sexayyyyy!)
*No pain.
*Hips doing fine.
*Bruising down to a minimum.
*Stronger than I've been in a long time.
*Pooping normally (the most important aspect of them all)
Reason would tell us that there's no reason to worry, right?
WRONG!
Over the next few weeks, I will look for as many reasons, signs, omens, etc, that my cancer is back, because it is clearly the most reasonable thing to do. By the time I get to the doctors, I will be so thoroughly convinced that I've relapsed that any other result will be utterly shocking!
You see, I have to convince myself the cancer is back. It's the only mechanism I have for getting myself through the crazy interim waiting period between now and my scans.
It works like this: In my brain, I say "Jesse...it's bad news. The cancer is back."
I have to expect the worst...it's in my nature...I'm a pessimistic, angry, easily annoyed, frustrated bitch.
In this case however, I find that it works to my advantage. It forces me to examine how I would deal with things if the cancer is back---and also helps me realize that it wasn't all bad:
*My family was closer than ever.
*I got to eat whatever I wanted.
*I got lots of time to read and write.
*Showering took less than a minute.
*No shaving required.
*Always had an excuse to take a nap.
*I met some of the most selfless people.
*I had a very wise sense of perspective, which I easily lose sight of now that I'm "normal."
I have to admit--it wasn't all bad. Just mostly bad.
Once I remember these few good aspects, I know I can handle anything--either outcome.
----->If there's no sign of cancer--amazing! I'm a lucky, lucky girl.
----->If there is...DING DING DING! bring it the f*** on. Round 2 bitches, here we go. Because the truth of the matter is, I can do it again.
And what choice would I have? It's something I think that only people who've been seriously ill could ever understand. People say to us "you're so strong, you're so brave." But there is no other choice. You just do it. The doctor says chemo, and you get chemo. The radiologist says radiation, you do radiation. The nephrologist says kidney transplant, you beg your sister for her kidney. There's never really this ultimate inner debate that people assume you have. There's not usually a point when you say "I choose to be strong." You just do it.
I guess in actuality I'm just preparing myself for the worst. Is it a fool-proof method? Probably not. It'll still be devastating if there's bad news. But at least I've prepared myself. I know what to cling to, I've thought it all through.
Just when you think everything's fine and dandy, you dream about a blue dress and everything's crazy again. Everybody has their cross to bear, and this is mine.
Life sucks. It's true. Everyday is just a new set of hours in which we all just deal--some days are better than others, some easier, some harder...
Good or bad...we deal. (drugs)
Just kidding, I don't deal drugs.
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