I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster I did not sign up to ride. I’ve been feeling pretty good mentally and emotionally about moving forward with surgery in January. I’ve been researching what to expect post-surgery and trying to mentally prepare myself. That’s how I operate, the more I know, the less shock, the better I can deal with it. I’m even okay with not having all the information so I can adjust to expecting the unexpected. I can handle surprises along the way, but for some reason my first visit to the oncologist punched me in the face and sent me spiraling.

Leading up to the oncologist appointment, I’ve been in a world of distractions. I hadn’t thought about it too much. I jotted down some questions to ask, but to me it was just another appointment. I ended up with the flu after my son had it last weekend, so I dealt with the 3-day fever and focused on getting back to work. I met with my surgeon over the phone because I couldn’t go in for the appointment due to my fever. She explained my MRI results more and the surgery plan – what to expect and what is to be determined after further testing up to a week after my surgery. She answered every question to the best of her ability.

On Thursday, I went to work as usual and left early for my 3 pm oncologist appointment. My mom was waiting for me in the parking lot. I’m so grateful for my mom. She talks a lot, but she’s really trying to be there for me. She’s a good distraction while we wait in the waiting rooms because she talks about the craziest stuff. And this time was no different. We got checked in, led back to the exam room, and waited for what seemed like forever for the oncologist. I was asked the same questions I’m always asked over and over – medication list, etc, etc.

My oncologist, a petite Indian woman in her mid 50s, walked in and began the appointment. She spoke quietly, studied my chart quite a bit, asked a few questions, did a quick exam, and basically told me more of what I already knew – that I’d have to wait for post-surgery pathology results to return in order for her to be able to make a plan. She basically ran through a few potential plans, but kept ending it with, “but we’ll have to wait for your results”. At the end, my mom innocently asked “if she were to have chemo, how long would that process be?”

The doctor, with her face mask covering most of her expression, so I could only see the serious look in her eye said, “6 months”. She said, “it will be very strong, and it would be every two weeks for 6 months.” There was no hesitation to this response. There was no maybe this or maybe that, it was a very direct and definitive response.

Well shit.

I was happily digesting all information until that point. And then my brain malfunctioned into a soggy mess. My mom sat there with her mouth open for what seemed like eternity, while I fought back tears. I can’t tell you what else was said in that appointment. She ordered me two more tests to get and was on her way, said she was going on a trip to India and would be back after the New Year. The next time I’ll see her is a week after my surgery, when she decides the best treatment plan for me. Everyone left the room, and I cried while I got changed back into my clothes. My mom tried to hug me. I walked my tear-stained face to the appointment desk to make three more appointments in January: Bone density test, CT scan, follow up visit to oncologist. I feel like I need a personal assistant to help with all of my upcoming appointments.

I’m not sad for me. Obviously, I want to be healthy, but all I can think about is how my health is going to negatively impact my kids. They are 14 and 8. I physically do a lot to take care of them. I literally don’t sit down until about 8 pm every night after very full days. I was prepared for a 4-to-6-week recovery time from surgery. That feels very temporary. But to realize that my New Year could be completely eaten up with cancer treatments that are going to exhaust and deplete me (after finally recovering from surgery) is so disheartening and just makes me sad that I’ll be a burden. My parents are in their mid to late 60s. They already raised me, I don’t feel like they should have to take care of me. I then get furious at my ex-husband. I should be his mess. He should be taking care of me and the kids. I called him crying on my drive home from the appointment to let him know of the possibilities I just heard. I don’t expect him to take care of me, but he needs to step it up with our children. He didn’t say much, mostly tried to tell me “we’ll figure it out.”

Ugh. I got home and got my kids in the car, drove to meet my ex so they could be with their dad for the next couple of days. I ordered Indian food for pick up and came home to watch a movie and eat. Nothing tasted good. The movie ended up having a woman in it that got breast cancer and died. Seriously? I cannot make this up.

All I can do is pray. I have no control over anything. I’m supposed to be on this rollercoaster for some reason that remains to be seen. If I had no Faith, this would be much worse. It brings me peace when I’m spiraling. I’m a planner, but long-term goals are not in my view right now. So I’m going to go short-term and concentrate on enjoying Christmas with my loving family.

Stifle Me Not