I was awake, but didn't want to get out of bed. I must've stared at the ceiling for a good 15 minutes...cuddled with my dog for another 15, before rolling over to stare at the wall for another 10. The stack of plastic surgeons' business cards greeted me on the nightstand next to my phone...laying to rest any denial I had left of my new situation and pending mental, physical and emotional breakdown.
I was unsuccessful in yesterday's search for an available plastic surgeon.
One would be out of town (isn't saving a life more important than a European vacation?).
A few didn't take my insurance (awe, come on...can't you make a special exception?).
The others were all booked up with previously scheduled procedures (bump those nose job, lipo and botox divas to the back of the line please. I'm begging you).
And this other one didn't do morning surgeries on Thursdays...it conflicted with his packed office schedule.
Then the phone rang. It was my surgeon's assistant...responding to the desperate message that I had left on the surgical coordinator's voicemail last night. I was told that they were trying hard to "get plastics on board" for the 11th, but to prepare to move the surgery back 2 or 3 weeks.
I CAN'T DO THAT!
Even the tiniest delay could mean the difference between life and death! I don't want the tumor to grow anymore! I can't allow the cancer to spread!
I WANT IT OUT OF ME NOW!
I contemplated throwing myself a pity party. I was depressed that this road block might force me off of my fast track.
I yanked myself out of bed, grabbed the laundry basket, and began my therapeutic mental detour...losing myself once again, in household chores and ear splitting, thought deafening Rock.
I was trying so badly to swiffer and head bang myself out of the world of cancer...if only for a little while.
Then it happened.
Mistakenly mixed in with my hard rock play list, there it was...a slower paced song peppered with those "don't let the world get you down" type of lyrics.
And I lost it.
The house was clean...but I was an absolute mess.
They say that for things to be properly digested, you have to chew them up slowly and thoroughly before swallowing...and here I was, seated in the front row of a roller coaster...masticated liquid knowledge churning in my brain. The ride is just beginning and already, panicked nausea is hitting me hard. That first loop forced everything from my head in to my overturned insides.
It was inevitable, wasn't it?
I was not having a good reaction to any of this, and the "pep rally" of not even 24 hours ago, was a desperate joke. The past few days were nightmarishly surreal and I didn't have a handle on it as I had obviously pretended.
Lucky for my emotionally delicate husband, I had picked up the pieces of myself that had come unglued...because he was absolutely beaming with good news when he got home.
His boss, who was on the Board of Directors at Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa, wanted so much to help us...to guide us through this...essentially unfurling a gigantic safety net that saved us from a near splattering on the hard, unforgiving ground.
Our feelings of aloneness instantly disappeared.
Then the phone rang...it was my surgeon's assistant calling to tell me some more good news.
One of the Plastic Surgeons rearranged his schedule to accommodate me!
Meeeeee!!!!
I couldn't believe it!
What Angels were he and his staff!
The puzzle pieces all came together!
Surgery was a definite "go" for March 11th!
It was at that moment when I "checked myself", and was bathed in a strange calm.
Everybody has to cope with their own big things in life...
each and every person will go through many traumatic events.
This breast cancer thing was simply, just (another one of) mine, and there are absolutely no excuses for "woe is me" thinking.
It is what it is.
And I slept really good that night.
Really, really good.
