Chapter 6: T minus 20 some-odd hours. I’m not in the mood for math.

Decided to part with Lefty and keep my right side.  Since the odds are in my favor, recovery will be easier, and I’ll spend less time under general anesthesia, among other reasons.  I made the mistake of asking one too many clarifying questions of the anesthesiologist and now I know more than I ever wanted to know about how anesthesia works.   As a result, I’m now worrying/trying not to worry about all the things that could go wrong.  Put differently, I’ve pretty much convinced myself that I won’t wake up.  Not because of anything she said.  Or how young she was.  But because I'm a fatalist.  And I’m really glad that sounds stupid as hell, because I would love to be wrong.

And this is when I smoke a little pot.  Not so much that the neighbors can smell it – just a bit under that.  You know it cures cancer, right?  I heard that somewhere, I don’t remember where exactly, I was stoned.  And I didn’t listen closely at all to the part where you would have to smoke all day long every day without stopping for it have any effect.  And anyway you’ve got to have a goal to work towards, that’s what I always say.

Now please don’t worry.  I’m not smoking every day.  I’m not looking to get throat cancer.  Besides, I have to be alert when the doctor says to me “So when we inject this into your veins, it’s going to make you radioactive.  Don’t hug your kids.”

Hubba wha?! (as Willa would say).  Ok, got it.  I will not hug my kids.  I will not go near my kids.  I will check into a hotel.

And that’s what I’m doing today.  I’m getting radioactive and checking into a hotel.  (That’ll make you think the next time you sleep in a hotel bed).

Here are the D’s.  Friday morning I’m having my left breast removed.  Have I said that already?  I’m also having a sentinel lymph node removed so they can double check that the cancer hasn’t spread (which I’m sure it has because that’s how things work when you’re a fatalist).  In order to see the lymph nodes, I have to get radioactive.  (I don’t really get it either, but sometimes I choose ignorance).  The injection is today at 3pm.  The surgery is tomorrow at 7:30am.  Since I won’t be able to hug my kids today, I thought it would be best for all of us if I ducked out a little early.  Grandmom and Aunt Kate are coming up so the kids won’t even remember who I am.  And Michael and I will have our first date night in over a month (two months?  three?!)  And our first ever radioactive date night.  (Apparently you can be around adults because this level of radioactivity does not affect someone for 60 years and I hope that’s close to accurate).

As far as my timeline for Friday, for those of you who are planning to come to my hospital room to put on a show, here is what I know: I have to arrive Friday at the hospital at 6am.  Surgery is scheduled for 7:30am and takes about an hour and a half.  Two hours if I’m a baby about it.  They’ll wake me up (fingers crossed!!) and take me to a recovery room for a few hours where hopefully I won’t say anything stupid or offensive while I’m on drugs.  Then I’ll head to a room.  Then I’ll spend the night in the hospital getting to know the sick person next to me and watching episodes of Louie.  Maybe two nights if I feel like watching reruns and the kids are being annoying.   According to the Purple Pamphlet, I’m allowed to bring my phone to the hospital, so feel free to text me or email me to make sure I woke up from surgery.  If I’m on some really good post-op drugs, you might get some really great replies.  Don’t hold them against me.

 

And thank you for my gifts!  I have my new PJs packed, and some chocolate, and my stuffed animal ice cream sandwich…

Alright, I’m not gonna lie.  Cancer has been a little like Christmas.  The day I got my results back and I told my friend Beth, she put on her Super Mom cape and baked me EXTRA LARGE banana muffins in the shape of roses.  She also, crazy woman, bought me a really heavy and perfect mortar and pestle because I told her at lunch that I was thinking of getting one.  I think she was trying to show off her muscles by carrying it all the way from her apartment to mine while balancing muffins in a tin.  Beth works out.

My friend Bryant sent over a couple of beautiful flower arrangements, and so did my friends over at WNYC, and so did my mother-in-law.  I had to be careful to spread them out around the house because my apartment was starting to look like a funeral home and I cried because I thought I was dead.

My neighbors upstairs sent me chocolate and red wine.  My neighbors downstairs made me chicken soup.  My friend Susan sent me rocks to calm me down, Bryant brought over the stuffed ice cream sandwich, and my friend Antha sent me pajamas that button down the front for…you don’t want to know.

The package that arrived two days ago from my brothers and sisters was disguised as a birthday gift.  My birthday was 30 days ago, but I think it was more like a Cancer Arrangement.  A little man all but popped out of it and said “CHILL, girlfriend.  You got cancer because you don't know how to CHILL.”  They gave me two relaxation cds and a yoga dvd and a meditation cd and big foot warming fuzzy vibrating thing from Brookstone.  Some DVDs of Modern Family and Portlandia.  And a brand new pipe!  It’s the size of my head, but Kate says the extra space is for water to cool the smoke and she’s going to teach me how to use it this weekend.  If I wake up.

Okay!  I’m only kidding about not waking up.  I’m not 100% convinced of that.  I'm a little less than 100% convinced of that.  This is just me putting all my neuroses up online in a very public place because that’s what people with blogs do.  Like, maybe if I put them here, then I can leave them here.  And I will be rid of them!  (For more tips on how to embarrass yourself online, please visit Gwyneth Paltrow’s blog at www.goop.com).

OK.  Off I go.  I love you!!  I’ll try to post something while I’m under the influence.  For a good laugh.  We all need one.