Time is a funny thing. When you think it’s all going too fast, it seems to start crawling. And now on the eve of the eve of this next big phase of this adventure it’s starting to spin out of control.
It’s an emotional roller coaster to say the very least. People say I’m strong. And yet not a day has past that I haven’t cried at least once about what’s ahead for me. The tears come without warning, now. Simple, kind words. Notes in the mail. Texts. Yet, the tears taste good.
I had to have papers notarized for my best girl, Shelly. Miss June, the traveling notary, was on the task. On her simple “drive by” I had her witness my power of attorney and living will documents that came in Rush’s surgery binder. We laughed about it, to start. And then the faucet set in. My tears were unexpected, much like my requests, to her. “You’re freaking me out.” Bill just smiled at her and rubbed my shoulders. Group hug. It’s heavy stuff. All the time. Thankfully I haven’t had to do any of it by myself.
My Ocho loves had a little soiree with me Friday night. Around a warm fire, complete with wine and good food, I admitted my fears – it’s all so permanent. They just listened. Let me talk through my sobbing and high fived my courage when I was done. We raised a glass to #fuckcancer. They propped me right up, loved me unconditionally and sent me home full, tipsy and smiling.
A friend of a friend, Laura, has been kind enough to text with me about all that’s ahead. From sleeping positions to drainage tubes, clothing choices and how others can help. It’s been a welcome, open conversation with lots of nitty, gritty details from someone who came out the other end uncynical. Never met her. Hope I will. I didn’t realize how much I needed her and others like her, until I was so close to the jumping off point.
Today, after considerable time and contemplation, I had myself photographed. Naked and bald, from the waste up, we took pictures that would make Annie Leibowitz proud. My friend and creative director Kyle help me visualize a shot list and set up that would work to capture the effect this journey will have on my outside. All in all I think we’ll do 4 or 5 more sessions. Try to get every phase in it’s simplest, most raw form. The photos are just for me. I actually hate having my picture taken, but once again, I’m running out of time. On Thursday my outsides and insides will be changed forever. I don’t know if I’ll ever really want to look back. But incase. Incase I do. I can. Thank you Jean for loving what you do, and capturing what will surely be remarkable moments in my history.
Tomorrow is treatment #7. No chemo this time. Only 1 hour total of infusions.
Tomorrow I say goodbye to my kids, they will be gone for a week with their PaPaPa.
Tomorrow is my last day with this body.
Miss Carm, another Ocho sister, sent this amazing gown for treatment. Designed specifically for woman going through treatment, it’s easy to put on without lifting my arms, and allows easy access to all that want to see what’s going on. Smooch Carm. You really heard my call for help on this one.
The meal train has been such a god-send. Special thanks to Miss Jeanne for setting this all in motion. So many generous, kind, amazing people have helped us through this. Thank you all thinking of us, taking time and energy to make something extra for us. It has been a relief I can barely describe. Ashley sent this lovely bouquet with her meal drop off. Thank you all for your kindness.