Looking Back at the Big Baby
The lesson here, people, is that I should have my phone calls returned immediately. Because if they are not returned in a timely (to me) fashion, I will plan my funeral.
The oncologist’s nurse called me a little bit ago and it’s the doctor’s opinion that this is nothing more than a hematoma (little sack o’blood) because a tumor couldn’t pop up and grow this fast while I was on chemo.
“Are you sure this isn’t a tumor that was undetected before my surgery because it was across the line from where my MRI, ultrasounds and chest x-ray were?” I asked the nurse. Who didn’t chuckle but said, “We’ll do an exam when you come in next week and decide if anything else needs to be done, but it’s unlikely that it’s a tumor.”
Okay. I believe her. But I’m not going to admit to that because if I do it will magically become a tumor and I won’t make it to chemo next week.
Imagine what torture I’m putting my poor husband through, what with all the drama and insisting that things are worse than they really are. I do this so that when it becomes a fact that things are not so bad, I can let out a huge sigh of relief. I’m wearing myself out!
I said to The Big Nugget this morning, “I can’t wait until the day I can say ‘Man! I was such a big baby through all of that!'” I can’t remember exactly what he said about that statement but it had something to do with the fact that one of us has already figured out just what a big baby I was through all of that.
One week to chemo #5 and I plan to do as much as I can to get ready for Thing 2’s graduation party. Because I know, for sure, that something else is going to smack me upside of the head after this round of chemo, just like it has every other round of chemo: folliculitis, lymphedema, seratoma-change to-hematoma, in a tumor suit.