welcome to the danger zone

That Was No Light, It Was A Damn Bullet Train…

The last two weeks have been hell. I thought there was a light in this tunnel. There probably is. Somewhere. Down this deep narrow tunnel, there has to be a light. I have to keep believing that.


I didn’t want to start writing because I was afraid that it would just be too depressing for you, my sweet readers, but like all the poison that’s been funneled into me in the last six months, it has to come out. Pills only slow it down, but poison in becomes poison out. This Mary Sunshine has been sucking it up the last six months…I’ve been cut open, poked, prodded, nuked, burned, drugged, x-rayed, stapled, stitched, jabbed, dehydrated, bloated, nauseated, scared, sad, nervous, depressed, empty, alone, and exhausted. I’ve been up all night, I’ve slept for days. I’ve been hot, cold, itchy, sore, achy, and sick. I’ve felt naked and exposed in ways I never imagined. I’ve wrapped myself in positivity and forced myself to get out of bed and get on with life on days when all I wanted to do is swallow percocet every four hours and stay in narcotic sleep. I’ve listened to my heart pound crazy because I haven’t had the strength to climb the steps, I’ve been breathless from walking too far or too fast, I’ve been trapped in my room relying on Andy to bring me everything, I’ve had hot flashes, cold sweats and fevers. It’s supposed to over now. I’m supposed to be able to get on with my life. I thought I was going to get a breather. A chance to recover. I’m not.


The C-monster has rampaged through my life the way I can tear through a bag of peanut butter M&M’s while watching TV. There’s so much more to it than just dealing with the disease. There’s so much fear. And not just fear that in a week when I get through the scans and the x-rays and blood work and another exam that Dr. Kesterson is going to say …uh oh, gotta do it all again. I still have to get a mammogram, and a colonoscopy to make sure there isn’t any signs of cancer there too. I’m gonna have to see the Dr. every three months for the next two years to make sure some stupid microscopic cell didn’t develop superpowers and jet off to start a new tumor somewhere else. There’s always gonna be a fear that I’m not going to make it to my 98th birthday. Add to this the fear of losing my job and health insurance (which isn’t a “real” fear at the moment, but I’m thinking down the road) and the fact that I’m not getting any younger, and then there’s still the grief of no longer having the ability to breed. I know, I know, it’s not like I was going to anyway, but that choice was taken away, and it wasn’t my decision and I’m still not entirely comfortable with it. And I am not ready for the menopause thing. This isn’t the life I’ve planned.


Every day I wake up…living in this bedroom for the better part of the last six months has left it a disaster. There’s so much crap in here, and I haven’t had the energy to clean it. I know where stuff is, but I have to rest after bringing clothes up the steps. The rest of the house is slowly improving because Andy has been working at it, but he’s not doing it the way I would, and while I am grateful for all he’s done, I can’t stand that things are so disgusting. And ashamed. So ashamed that things are like this. There’s literally a mountain of laundry in the kitchen. And because things were at least manageable for a while, the universe felt it was time to fuck with me again and have the dryer break. I suppose I should be grateful there wasn’t a dryer fire in which I would have perished because I was in dreaming the poppy dreams and didn’t know Andy had put clothes in the dryer and went to work. Okay, so there, I didn’t die in a house fire…there’s a positive in there!


And the fun doesn’t stop. Poor frogger is about to come up on our two year anniversary. I’ve put 50,000+ miles on it since I got it. It gets me to work, and Andy too. If you don’t know frogger, she is really is a beast. But the passenger side window is sealed with duct tape because the window doesn’t work and is held up with a piece of wood my nephew rigged inside the door because the apparatus thing that moved it up and down was trashed. It is louder than hell, since the muffler “somehow” came apart while Andy had it one night. The check engine light has been on for two months, we still have to pay for the whole curb incident debacle, the air bag and the radio have not worked since a month after we got it, the crack in the dashboard is slowly widening, and it’s due for inspection this month. Which means it HAS to get brakes. And there’s a rattle inside that I’m clueless to the source of. And I’m gonna have to replace the horrid tiger head seat cover because it has a huge hole in, and it has to have a seat cover because one night before my surgery I bled so badly on my way home I bled through the seat. ALL the way through the seat. Not on the seat. THROUGH the seat. Of course, another positive…no uterus means that will never happen again. However, there better not be a crime committed in my car, because there’s a lot of blood evidence in there…


Speaking of crime…it wasn’t like I wasn’t already down because I missed two full weeks of work, and will not have a paycheck this pay-period, but again, the universe continues to slap me with surprises…I received a lovely notice that there’s a warrant issued for my arrest because of the stupid parking ticket I got because I was parking out in front of the building at work because the hills and the steps were too much for me, and I neglected to pay the stupid ten dollar ticket, I guess ’cause I had other things on my mind, say like CANCER. Well I get to pay $116 now…my own fault, yes, but that doesn’t make me any less annoyed by that. So what’s the positive? At least they mailed it and the constable didn’t come to the door. Grateful I am for small things.


The bills keep piling up. I’ve managed to keep rent paid and the lights and phone and tv all working. I feel guilty if I spend $20 going out to dinner because it is money that could go somewhere else. I hate asking my dad for money to help me out. Andy is working overtime to help with bills. My coworkers and friends have been doing awesome things to help me out too. But the bottom line is, that I am ashamed I can’t pay my own fucking bills and that because I’ve lived my whole life from paycheck to paycheck and carry the burden of a ridiculous amount of student loan debt, that I hover around the poverty line when most people are planning for retirement. But there’s a positive even in this…there are no longer debtor’s prisons or workhouses so I won’t have to die there.


This is really about catharsis, and venting, and just letting go of all of this because at night when I lie down my brain is still in overdrive trying to find a way to fix all the things I don’t have control over at this time. It is all going to work out and be fine. I always always always have found a way to land on my feet. I keep reminding myself that the worst that could happen is that I lose everything. I own frogger though, and even if she dies on me, I still have AAA and could have her towed somewhere where I could live in her. I doubt they would tow her to under the Golden Gate Bridge, but I’ve slept in her before when I’ve had to take a nap, and she’s fairly comfortable. As long as I’m breathing, I’m good.


So yeah… this is all probably the result of a serious hormonal balance from the extraction of my reproductive organs. I’ve tried to combat it with superfood b vitamin drinks, extra vitamins (because I know I’m not getting any blood any time soon) and chocolate. I know this is no worse than anything I’ve been through…I managed to hold things together this long, I won’t let this crush me, although it has seriously slowed me down… I’ll be back to work tomorrow…I’ll keep thinking positive thoughts about my test results, I’ll keep doing what I do. Because in the end, I’m the sum of all that has happened in my life…and despite everything…I am pretty happy with who I am.


I’ll be writing more this week…I’ve got other stories to tell, pictures to post, and the like…thanks for slogging through this chocolate fueled diatribe. Thanks my lovelies for your support … and know this, I’ll be fine. Tired, but fine.


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