Friday, August 9, 2019

Day 3

Is this my new normal? Waking up with the first thought being 'I have cancer'? Super crappy way to start the day.

I know I should be the Master of My Thoughts and hold the shitty ones captive and tell my brain to think of something else. Something excellent. Something praise-worthy. Something beautiful. Blah, blah, blah.

Hoping I get better at waking up as these 'I have cancer' days stretch to weeks then months.

Maybe I should print out a list of things I'm thankful for (in 48 pt font) and have it on the bed beside me (along with my laptop, phone, book, notebook, pen, Bible, camera) so I can read the list/remind myself of my good, good life before I have to pee.

Right now I'm thinking I should've taken some pics of my boobs before all the slicing and dicing. They were glorious back in the day. My left one is gonna look a bit war-torn and sad by the time surgery is done. Maybe having scars and missing bits is bad-ass cool? Maybe surviving this with two mis-matched, lop-sided boobs will be the best outcome possible? At least I'll still be alive? And there will be two pouches of nippled saggy flesh?

I haven't told many of my friends yet. I wrote an email on Friday, but have delayed in sending it because it's the long weekend. Hard news to get heading into a 4 day stretch of sunny summer days off. The last thing I want on anyone's mind, while they're camping their heads off is guilt over their great moments while 'poor Jane' is coming to grips with the C word. Also, the less people that know about it, the less real it is.

Today is a good day.
It's Saturday.
I'm at the lake; the boys are here (playing video games) and Dani is on her way.
Temps are supposed to about 30 degrees which is my happy temp.

I listened to the Mama Mia soundtrack and cried the whole drive out. I think, as much as I can, I'll limit my crying to when I'm by myself, on a highway going 120k, listening to lonely people singing, "Take a Chance on Me..."


Thoughts from my bed at the end of the day:

 I love memories like this:

Drew mashing potatoes, Dani setting the table, Clint and Max side by side at the stove butter-frying some of the steaks, while other marinated steaks were BBQing themselves on the grill. Then, all at once, it was all ready, so at 9 pm, under my string of lights, beneath a starry sky, the five of us sit down to eat on the deck. The corn is sweet. The mashed potatoes are creamy. The steaks are all perfect. The pickles are tart. The salad is a salad and I really don't know why I bother.

Afterwards, the boys go in (they really really like being inside next to a screen) but Dani and I stay out and play a game of Scrabble which was neck n neck til the end where she beat me by 4 points.

Cancer was not a thing tonight.

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