Still. Life. Yeah.
Drugged as I am, I can't sleep. It's okay; I'm just beginning to process everything. My ear hurts, even with the Vicodin, and I know I won't be out of the woods until the pathology report comes back, and I go on and then off the interferon, and my skin is clear for a couple of checks, and... the docs say never.
I don't believe them.
My camera is God knows where; I took this with my cell phone, just now. I look like hell--but I really don't. There is an ear under there. And in case you can't see, the green circles are smiley-face stickers. (It came that way, but I like them.)
I'm really happy that there's a healing Eucharist tomorrow. It has nothing to do with me; this is the last regular Friday of the month. The band goes straight across my forehead; oh well, Louis will figure out how to anoint me.
My community has been the very definition of awesome. I still feel everyone's prayers, like little invisible wings fluttering all around me. Sure, I just had surgery to remove cancer--but all of the results so far have been as good as they possibly could have. (Yes, I had it--but it had not spread.) I was by myself today, in what I jokingly called "medical jail"--but I was never alone.
Thank you all, so much.
Cat dish comes off Saturday, any time I want. Then I get to practice putting Bacitracin over steri-strips, with a Q-tip, without flinching. Sutures come out next Thursday, but I won't be sleeping on that side for awhile.
I'm not looking forward to seeing my ear for the first time--but part of me is also giggling at the idea of being half-Vulcan.
Yep. Still loopy. Or just damn happy that this part is over. Thankful to God, my doctors, my community, and my body.
Story forthcoming, tomorrow sometime.