Mopey and scared

I have another oncology appointment, this afternoon. I really, really wish I didn’t.

My friend’s coming with me, to take notes and to ask questions of her own. I need to charge the batteries in my voice recorder, before she gets here. I think everything is packed in the same box…

I’ve already heard all the statistics. I don’t need or want to go there again. I’d really rather keep this to discussing treatments: tell me the side effects; how will I know if one or another catastrophe happens; what do we do if it does, that sort of thing. Oakland oncologist and I already discussed what we’re doing. Give me one more week and let’s just start, please.

I need the week because I have two papers yet to finish, both due Friday. I also really want to go to friends’ ordinations in Alameda that night. It’s still so completely weird, to be healthy and strong and have to plan for when you’ll be incapable of motion.

I’m fairly incapable of motion in some ways, now. I keep saying that cancer has taught me some things I want to keep—but the fear that never really goes away, even after clean tests, is a steep price. It’s become a part of who I am. It takes me forever to do tasks I have to do, because I’m still staring cancer in the face. I can look away, briefly. But it never really leaves.

I wish I could just go back to being normal. But I can’t. And this, even with the most positive prognosis there could be. It’s the unknowing that gets you. It’s like walking on a high wire, everywhere I go.

Someday I’ll get used to it. Someday I might find myself back on the ground again. But for now, I’m up here, and the wind is still gusting.

Bah.