Time

Just so we are clear….I know I keep saying I have nothing to do but wait. Wait for the next MD appt. Wait for the next lab result. Wait for a surgery date. Sounds like I have nothing but time, doesn’t it? But really, my time is limited. I don’t have time to respond to each email, each text and each phone call, especially if it is always the same person. I don’t have time to see everyone. Because even tho it seems like I have nothing but time, I am busy. Really busy. I have a lot to do. And what spare time I have, between MD appts. and work, I am going to spend right here where I am. At home. With my family. I don’t want to go for drinks. I don’t want to go dancing. I don’t want to spend time with you when I could be with Michelle and Alan. Or my parents. Does that sound harsh? I don’t mean to be harsh, really I don’t. But it’s the truth. If I had a day free, and Alan was working and Michelle was at school….then maybe. But most likely not. Because I have a home to run, a checkbook to balance, and a million little things to do before I have surgery.

And I don’t yet know when that surgery will be. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say my surgery is on May 31. That is 25 days away. 9 of those days will be spent working. 4 of those days will be spent in WV. (as a side note, this WV trip with Alan, Michelle and friends was planned months ago. If we had been invited along last week, I would have said “no”). 3 of those days will be spent (at least partly) at an MD appt. That leaves 9 free days. 9. That’s it. I love you, but I don’t have time. And I don’t know how to tell you. But my friend Lynn, a social worker and the most diplomatic woman I know, has given me some advice about this. I haven’t seen Lynn in ages, but I had no problem explaining this problem to her, and telling her “I don’t have time for you either.” So if you soon hear words coming out of my mouth that are kind and diplomatic, what you are hearing is really Lynn speaking. But right now, what you are reading, this is me speaking.

But….after the surgery, when I am home I will have time. Lots of it. Because I won’t be allowed to do anything.  So while there may be things you want to do for me, or with me, now, please know that the time I will need you will be then. Really. I will need you. I will need you to come over and play Scrabble, to make dinner for my family, to help scrub toilets. I will need you then. All of you. And I will take whatever you have to offer. But if I don’t answer the phone, or the email, or the text then please don’t take offense. I am having a bad day, I hurt. And I don’t want to talk.

I have been surprised with some of the responses I have gotten when I have told people this news. I know you are sad. Perhaps I am the first person you know that has breast cancer. I know you feel for me. But I will say it again: I am not going to comfort you. I can’t. It’s not about you. I know you feel bad, I do, but vent your worries about me to someone other than me. Tell them how hard you cried for me yesterday. Not me. I can’t take it. I can’t. And someone out there loves you enough to listen to your concerns for my health. For my family. For my life. But I can’t help you. And until I beat this, I don’t want to hear your worries. It won’t help me so knock it off.

I know I sound mad. Perhaps I am reaching that stage of grief that is anger. Perhaps. But if you feel overwhelmed about what I am going thru then take a moment to imagine how I feel. This is my breast cancer, and I am owning it. I am going to do all the things I need to do to beat it. And it’s going to suck.

I am going to lose my breasts. Both of them. I am going to go thru what I have been told is a long and painful reconstruction. I am going to take a cocktail of chemo drugs (poison) to rid my body of this cancer. My body hair is going to fall out. I am going to have to a medicine called Herceptin to keep my HER2+ from metastasizing to other parts of my body.

Me. Not you. Me.