Anne SG and the Big C

Or should I say 36-AA day? Sorry, gallows humor. I couldn’t help my self. I got the call at last that my surgery has been scheduled. January 10th is the first surgery, to be prefaced by some as-yet unnamed pre-op procedures. I can’t seem to figure out why I’m not more conflicted about what’s about to happen. I suppose I don’t, in all reality, have a choice.

Living with cancer is like having a ghost on your shoulder–I told one friend that I felt like the Grim Reaper was in my backseat everywhere I went, grinning ghoulishly and reminding me of my mortality. “You will die” he keeps saying-without-saying, with that grin. Of course, we all will. That’s not the point. But having it in your sight, seated next to you silently, perched on your shoulder all the time, well, that’s a whole other thing. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, gosh how I HATE melodrama! That is just the way it feels.

The other experience I’ve had is to feel like a ghost. I see people and immediately know if they “KNOW” my diagnosis. Some people look terrified, like they’ve seen a ghost and as a result I feel only semi-solid, like I’m being perceived rather than actually being seen. Others greet me as if nothing is wrong. Others offer a hug, a word of support. None of it is normal, all things considered, and I’m just deeply grateful that everyone has been well intentioned. Heck, *I* don’t know what to say about it all!

My sister and I recently found out that as children we both always felt a weird premonition that we’d die young. Now, I don’t know if that is a common thing with kids–I’d half to check my handy DSM-IV. Maybe it was a rationalization for my hard-living 20s. But I talked with her about this recently and told her that I wondered if maybe we just sensed some sort of major life-altering event coming at this age–that we knew we’d be gravely ill. After all, kids tend to know things, to pick them up. and NO one, I mean no one, in my family talked about the Big C in front of us, despite its prevalence in the family, but of course they talked amongst themselves. I wonder if we just picked up this knowledge and stored it away. Either way, I’m convinced now that I won’t die, that I will come out of this okay, that I have a tremendous opportunity ahead of me. I am, oddly enough, very optimistic about my future. Gosh, I’m way too crabby to die!

Now, about next week, I’m less confident. It’s not the surgery that scares me, it’s being lily-livered about dealing with daily bodily issues. Being bald. Tubes and drains in my body. Chemo. Ewwww. Can I just go to sleep till it’s all done in June?