I feel like I need to put this out there because it's making me squirm: I am not a tech-nerd (though, let's be real, I wish I was). So if you are viewing this blog on a mobile device the header image likely looks like rubbish, but I just don't have it in me to attempt making things look pretty right now. Not when there are more pressing matters at hand. Like talking about my escalating lunacy as surgery creeps closer.
Actually, the lunacy has been there from the start. When I first learned that I would have to go through chemotherapy, I launched into this frenzied nesting craze. After wasting a good 3-4 days weepily watching Downton Abbey, obvs. It was like being pregnant all over again. In my mixed-up head, it was like I had to prepare for a total domestic collapse. For a future where I wouldn't be able to lift a finger so I'd better scrub the hell outta these pergo floors while I still have a spring in my step!
A week or so prior to chemo, I went mildly beserk in Target loading my cart up with "essentials" - all-purpose cleaner, laundry soap, a 10-pack of tissues, toothbrushes, handsoap, febreeze, swiffer refills...and an eyebrow makeup kit so I could look less freaky scrubbing my toilet. Priorities.
Maybe, in part, my nesting craze was in response to the complete lack of preparation I had when Paul first went through chemo. I mean, I had literally just given birth when his cancer came back. I had nothing sorted out. Things were nutty. I thought (or didn't think at all) that I'd push out this kid, and we'd go home to start our happily ever after. Not the romantic movie version of "happily ever after," of course. I'm not that delusional. But nothing involving an entire kitchen cabinet relegated to anti-nausea pills. That, I did not prepare for.
I didn't have our kitchen stocked with white rice, saltines, and applesauce. I didn't have that special mouthwash for receding gum lines. If I'm being honest, I was not prepared to go back to work full-time while Ingrid was still so little. I wasn't prepared for the post-partum depression, the exhaustion, the chemo farts (those are real!)
Hence, the nesting. I didn't want to feel that unsettled mayhem ever again. With my diagnosis, things were different because I could arm myself before battle (gotta quit with the "battle" analogy). So I went into hyper-preparation mode. I organized sock drawers and stocked my pantry with broth and oatmeal. This time around, I'm familiar with the cancer process (scans, infusions, blood counts, etc.) By now, I know a thing or two about nutrition during chemo, and I've had time to watch YouTube tutorials on how to tie a head scarf. I went to Amvets to pick up comfy sweats (much more essential than cleaning products, in the end).
I was ready for chemo. My uncluttered closets were ready for chemo.
Thankfully, for Paul's sake, the more weeks of treatment I put behind me, the weaker my nesting impulse has become. You can find proof of this in this photo I snapped today:
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| If you look closely, you may be able to spot a reading toddler among the rubble |
I'm almost on the other side now. One more Taxol infusion to go. I'm finding that as I switch gears from getting through chemo to preparing for surgery, I'm entering a whole new phase of mania. Pray for Paul.
My surgery date is now officially less than one month away. I don't like that. The idea of a modified radical double mastectomy makes me woozy. Just the word: radical. It's fine when we're talking about political stances or 90's pop bands (New Radicals, anyone?) Not so much when we're talking about slicing into my body.
So, I've been a bit prickly lately. I feel unsettled. Like there's nothing I can do to stop this terrible something from happening. It's unpleasant.
And what do we do when things feel like they're spinning out of control? Based on my feverish patterns, we can:
A. Head to Target
B. Bleach our shower curtains
C. Break out the Gin & Tonics OR
D. Put our Rosaries to good use
(psst. You're supposed to pick choice D)
It's hard. VERY. But I try to live by this:
It's a toss-up, given my touch-and-go mental state these days. Pray, hope, and don't worry. It doesn't hurt to follow that mantra with a good stiff drink, too. It is Gin & Tonic season, after all.
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