Have you ever lost something (your keys, the phone, info scribbled on a napkin) then desperately tried to retrace your movements for the last twenty-four hours like a slow-winding movie rolling backwards? That’s what I’ve been doing ever since I got the call from my OBGYN that my biopsy came back positive for pre-cancer in my uterus.
What was I feeling a year ago today? How bloated was my abdomen back then and is that why I have such a hard time finding pants that would normally fit a clown with suspenders? That sharp pain I felt on my right side that I thought was my appendix, was actually something more sinister. Oh, and the constipation. The constant feeling like it’s all just packed in there no matter how many times I use the bathroom … successfully.
Well … now that my eyelids are as bloated as my stomach from the first initial bouts of crying … it’s funny how the possibility of death knocking at my door motivates me out of pure laziness to MOVE. I’ve decided to organize me, my life, and my house. So, it’s like trying to move sand out of the pit I just dug in the beach even though wave after wave just gets in my way, but at least I’m doing it.
Look, I’ll admit it. I don’t want death to ring my doorbell and see my home office in disarray! Oh God, no! At least my kitchen is presentable. I cleaned out my fridge and organized my booze cupboard. That’s right, I have my priorities straight—cheese and wine. There’s nothing like sitting down on my lounge chair, propping my feet up sideways, just to nuzzle a slice of Parmesano Reggiano with a nice glass of Brunello. What, me worry? But, oh yes, now I am … and oh yes, I do worry … and wonder … am I prepared enough? Short answer: I’m not.
Guessing that I could possibly not wake up from having surgery that so many others have gone through before me, has got me writing things down, making lists of how my days are structured, telling my husband where the folder is that I’ve painstakingly put together that has everything and anything to do with our little child, and of course, making sure my Living Will is where anyone can find it. Even in their sleep.
I’ve even gone through, countless times, a list of friends that have specific tasks to live up to should I not live. Morbid details, but why did I wait until now to do this? I guess I’m like a high percentage of the population on earth who just keeps thinking we can just keep lolly-gagging along, picking a flower here, buying an ice cream cone there and not owning up to the responsibility of making sure our family and friends know where we stand and what we stand for. Pull the plug or don’t pull the plug? It’s not so cut and dry. We all can’t have Sleepless in Seattle endings (or beginnings for that matter) to rely on.
Still trying to recall how long I’ve had odd symptoms that I just ignored. Still trying to remember the last time I had a normal period. Still wondering where am I going to find the time to let everyone know that I have no idea where I’m going to find the time to do anything … and can they help me?
What’s not helping me, is me. There I am, late at night, going online only to find pictures of post-surgery extracted uteruses that look like octopi mating. No calamari for me for dinner … or for any meal at this point.
I think I’ll just stick to my cheese and wine, and a few sliced apples.