It was obvious that I had become obsessed with my new book collection. Over the course of a day and 1/2, I think I got up to go to the bathroom twice, ate next to nothing (which is unheard of) and...as the bags under my eyes professed...got much less than half a wink of shut eye. As far as my self imposed research was concerned, I probably bit off a lot more than I should have chewed that weekend.
Twelve o'clock rolled around on that gorgeous Sunday afternoon...and I was still hungrily chomping on all the facts, when Doug's cell rang. We were invited to his boss' house for a "chat over beers".
I needed a break to pull my tired eyes away from the mountain of literary cancer therapy, and give my clumsy, paper-cut-bloodied fingertips some reprieve...not to mention, get some circulation back in to my parked-on-the-couch-for-days, numb, flattened butt.
We pulled up to his house.
And, because I had been driven in to such an unstoppable, fact finding frenzy
(try to say that 3 times fast)...
perusing websites and absorbing each and every written word from all of my books...
I had learned soooo much about this disease in the past week.
I suddenly felt pretty darn good about having an intelligent, informed conversation about my diagnosis.
This was not going to be an "oh-you-poor-thing-we're-so-sorry-for-you" kind of afternoon. Yeah, this whole thing sucks for me...big time...but, I really do think I've got a good chance at kicking it's ass.
The beers were going down nice and smooth...and I'm a girl who LOVES her beer...and her red wine and her martinis...and anything that's wearing a tiny umbrella.
It's such a shame that I'm going to have to stop drinking, but they say that alcohol contributes to breast cancer.
DAMN IT TO HELL!!!
Isn't it bad enough that I'm going to lose my boobs, my long, thick, golden, women-pay-lots-of-money-for-fake-hair-that-looks-like-my-hair hair, my ovaries, AND...if my awesome, "Personality Matched" Oncologist was right...I could quite possibly lose my finger and toenails to a painful, black death before this crap is over too.
IT'S SO NOT FAIR!
The day was electrified, yet filled with that special "cancer community"word I should get used to hearing... empowerment.
How "PC" and "Ra Ra" this word is.
EWE.
I already loathe it.
Anyway, we were told that he and his wife will pull out "all the stops" as far as getting me in to Moffitt for trials, and that he would even fly me to MD Anderson in Houston if it should ever come to that.
(cancer AND flying combined! Oh what a lucky girl)
He also told my husband that he didn't have to travel as much this year...and to take whatever time off he needed...to be with me...to help me through this. And that his paycheck would be unaffected. No worries.
Our heads were buzzing from the alcohol as well as from their kindness and generosity.
We left there grinning from ear to ear.
Walking into our house, I felt the sweet, heartfelt goo of the afternoon's "bonding" quickly drain out of me...when that ridiculous heap of breast cancer books rose to meet my eyes.
Reluctantly, I wobbled (beer belly sloshing) through the living room and parked myself on the couch...to begin yet another evening of obsessing.
