A day and a half after I got the confirmation that this is indeed cancer, I think I'm wandering backwards through the acceptance phase. It feels less real tonight that it did yesterday. I'm not used to the vocabulary, and it's absolutely weird to use the actual word. I'm not ready to be treated differently, even though now I'm going to have a very visible disease. Before everything I was going through was invisible, unless I wore a t-shirt announcing my chronic illnesses. It's going to be hard to pretend everything's normal with a bald head or flat chest when everyone knows me very differently.
I don't know yet what they will expect of me (the doctors, that is), so no, I have know idea whether I will have surgery or chemo or what. I need to pinch myself to be sure this is really happening. No, actually I don't. The pinch in my left breast never lets up. It feels like someone clamped a heavy plastic chip-clip to me, and then let it dangle. The bruise from the biopsy is spectacular. They had me stop taking my NSAIDs five days before the procedure to prevent heavy bleeding. Yeah, nope. It still got sloppy in the clinic, and the bruises afterward are ginormous. It hurts like heck. I still haven't gotten a good answer about what the story is with the underarm, but it's getting increasingly uncomfortable too, more than a month after I gave up underwires.
I learned lessons from a close family member who went through cancer. (I don't know whether I have permission to identify, so I won't.) This relative's spouse kept thorough, detailed notes of every single doctor visit, test result, etc. I honestly believe this had a huge influence on the successful outcome, with my relative now considered cancer-free by the doctors. I am following this example, and while I was out buying a giant shopping cart full of salad fixings (another health tip I gleaned--side salad at every single meal), I picked up a pink three-ring binder and some pocket pages. I had a spiral notebook that I put in there, plus the folder they gave me from the breast surgeon. I'm going through the appointment reminders in my phone to get the dates from this year, from all the process so far, documenting everything I can remember. There will be way too much information for me to keep in my head, especially since lupus brain made that difficult if not impossible to juggle on my own.
I wonder whether I've been looking at something from the wrong direction. For months, Rabbit has been staring intently into my eyes, purring like she was giving me a message, reaching out and patting me on the chin while I'm napping, and refusing to be more than about four inches away from me round the clock. I thought she was telling me that she was ill. We went to the vet, had a thorough exam, including bloodwork. She's fine, other than turning into a skinny old lady. What if it wasn't her own self she was concerned about? What if she recognized that I was unwell sooner than I did? I think maybe she was worried about me, not trying to get me to worry about her. She has always acted as my nursemaid, after each of my previous surgeries. She always wants to give me belly time when I'm laid up in bed, where she drapes herself across my midsection and purrs to comfort me. Why would now be any different?
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