Thursday – 4/16/2020
As I was getting ready for work this morning, I looked in my closet at my button-up shirts. For a split second, I hated them all. Not because I don’t like the patterns, but because they will be my wardrobe staple later this year. After I get the double mastectomy, for a couple of weeks, I’ll have to keep my arms at my side. The “T-Rex” position.
I have to tell friends soon. I’ve already called a handful of them. They are all sorry. There’s one friend I dread telling because she will become hyper obsessed. Another will have her sensitive heart bruised and she will needlessly worry for me. Yet another will ask endless questions that’ll annoy me with things she finds on the internet until I tell her to stop.
These are the things I never imagined having to do.
My parents reached out to my oldest sister to let her know I’m BRCA-2 positive. We don’t talk. It’s a long story that no one reading has the right to know about. But I hope she listens. More than that, I’m praying my brother and sisters are negative and my nieces and nephews are kept safe.
Yesterday, my phone calls to the local surgeon I was referred to proved useless. They are busy helping women currently diagnosed with cancer and due to COVID-19, the soonest I’ll be seen is mid-May. Maybe. Possibly June. But I have the gift of time and hope those ladies with cancer win their battle.
I’m going to call Dr. VK later today. Ask him about the oophorectomy = surgery to remove my ovaries. Will he perform the surgery? How soon will I go into menopause? Do I have that first since the mastectomy is going to be delayed? I read a bit about it and…
Ugh. A hospital stay. Reader, please know that I like visiting people in the hospital. It’s a crappy place to be and visiting people brings me joy. Soon, I’ll be in that crappy place. At least twice. I will need new earbuds because hospital sounds drive me up a wall and I can’t sleep. Dear Bose, please sponsor me because my years old earbuds actually disintegrated because I lub them. (Husband, when you read this, you don’t have permission to buy me new ones…)
My pity party has started before anything has even begun.
Speaking of pity party, my hubby and I talked with our pastor/elder and his wife last night. They’ve actually known about this test the longest. He asked if I knew the steps of mourning. I do. But somehow, I don’t think they should apply to me. They are nice to read about, as long as it is someone else.
Found a silver lining after calling Dr. VK’s office this morning! Usually, the surgeon and Dr. VK coordinate so that I have a 4-for-1 surgery date. Do I get a free coffee too? The nurse asked me if Dr. VK had mentioned it on my phone call. I told her that I didn’t hear a majority of that conversation. “Oooh,” she said. Seriously. I don’t remember if he told me he would doo the oophorectomy.
Waiting for phone calls is hard. Anyone who says otherwise is an LLPOF. That’s a law enforcement term for Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire. You trick yourself into “being busy” but it’s a lie. That niggling thought is jabbing my eyeballs every time my phone buzzes.
Also hard? Telling people. Every freaking time I think, “I got this. Won’t cry.” Obviously, a ninja is cutting onions nearby.
And you know what’s funny? I just realized that the first letters of oophorectomy spells “ooph,” which sounds like “oof.” That’s pretty much spot on.