Spa Day

That’s what Husband and I have been calling surgery this week.  A day at the spa.  It’s a little trick we came up with to keep my feet pointed towards the hospital instead of anywhere else.  Like, say, the Aquarium. 

I can see it now: Me, barefoot in my johnny admiring the penguins, paper cone of Sel de la Terre fries in hand, when the men in white coats spot me and descend.  I fling my fries and holler, “You have to catch me first,” then sprint bare-assed up the ramp along the shark tanks as fast as I can, which isn’t fast at all, by the way, but I had a head start so they wouldn’t reach me until they got all the way to the top.  There I’d be, perched on the edge of the shark tank, dizzy and winded from, I imagine, the cancer, pausing because, after all that, the dramatic death-by-shark ending I was envisioning seemed, ultimately, way more gruesome than just losing a body part.  Also, technically, I think that still would have counted as a win for cancer.

So let me send my sincerest thanks to all of you for your comments, e-mails, and pigeon-o-grams that have done a lot to keep me from teetering into dark places.  What I’ve taken away from them is that anybody who’s anybody has a grandma that’s beaten breast cancer, so if I die, I’d better have a pretty good excuse.  No pressure.  Everyone who’s been through this, and I’ve spoken to quite a few by now, tells me that this is the worst part.  Weeks and weeks of waiting for surgery, waiting for a more comprehensive diagnosis, waiting for the final treatment plan.  Once you know what lies ahead and you accept it, while things may be rough physically for a stretch, emotionally it becomes a little easier to take.  All I know is if I’m going to be hanging out in the geriatric ward, I guess I should start working out.  (Cue Rocky theme song).  I hear it’s worse than prison over there.

And thus concludes Cancer Week.  It’s time to evict that evil gremlin before he takes gigantic dumps all over my vital organs.  Lord knows my immune system isn’t up to the task.  WAKE UP, Immune System.  Can’t you see what’s going on?  There’s a war to be waged and you’re just sitting around smoking cigarettes.  DO SOMETHING!!!!  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a hot date with a surgeon from Dana-Farber.  Dear God, I hope he slips me a roofie.

Comments

[MidLifeMama]

I am pretty sure that cancer patients get all the good drugs. Waiting is always the suckiest part of anything, good or bad. Anticipation...anticipaayaaaation...good luck and we are thinking about you.

[Katie]

Good Luck, we'll be thinking about you. Bring comfy jammies to the hospital and lip balm.

[giovanna]

Good luck to you dear Tammy. Dana-Farber is absolutely fantastic so that should ease your mind. While I took care of my cancer at Boston Medical, both my nephew and cousin had their treatment at Dana-Farber and they were wonderful. You are in very good hands.

Your strong spirit and wonderful sense of humor will get you through this and we will also be here to help out in anyway we can.

Good luck to you sweetie. I'll be thinking of you this week.
oxoxox giovanna

[Non-Bacon Tammy]

Good luck! Make sure you get the Husband to bring in lots of yummy food... there are some great places in Fenway, and if all else fails, a food court in Longwood. All of which are better than hospital food. :) I'm just down the street at Harvard Medical School(until this Friday that is) if you need ANYTHING. SERIOUSLY... don't hesitate to ask. It's a very quick walk...

[jenny]

Good luck. Hope everything goes according to plan. I guess you've got the support bit going.

Thanks very much for sharing my favourite clip of all time, it cheered me up when I'm feeling sorry for myself with a cold (arent I pathetic!). I hope we're going to see a youtube of you doing the same thing in a scary grey tracksuit when you've beaten the cancer!

[Tammy]

Thanks so much, guys. I really, really appreciate it.

Jenny: I think a re-enactment of that scene is a fantastic idea. Especially the punching of the meat carcasses. (I wonder if my meat CSA would be amenable to that? I do have a mean left hook.)

[Jane]

All good wishes, Tammy. Hurry back!

[andrea]

Seriously, Tammy. The images you put into my mind. You need to end posts with one of those MIB mind-zappers.

I just looked down at my saggy, lopsided, no chance they'll be mistaken for 20 (or 30) year old boobs and gave them a pat and a smile.

Will be thinking of you soooo much (just wish it wouldn't be accompanied by the bare-assed up the ramp to the shark tank scene...)

[Kate]

Delurking to say best of luck to you. Also, if you're interested (you may not be) - you might want to check out my friend Sarah's blog -- she's a BC survivor (diagnosed 4 years ago, I think, when her sons were babies). Anyway, she reprinted something a mutual friend wrote when she was diagnosed, and I know Sarah found it helpful:
http://phenway.wordpress.com/2008/05/14/we-miss-you-so-much/

[Amy]

Ugh. Waiting. Waiting is always so difficult.

Like being pregnant. We wait and wait in between appointments, worrying the entire time that something will be wrong with "baby," but everything turns out fine.

We wait and wait for the water to boil, wait for the cake to finish baking, wait for the cable guy to finally show up.

None of those things compare, of course, to cancer. Tammy, you will be okay. You will get good news and you will get through this!

[Kalyn]

I amazed at the quality of your writing during such a challenging time! Sending even more best wishes, and I think not knowing is always the worst part of any type of experience like this. Keep charging forward, just like Rocky! (Great video, so perfect!)

[adele]

Good luck. I hope the surgery is uneventful and the recovery smooth.

[Melissa]

Come back to us soon, dear Tammy. I'll be thinking about you, every day!

[Karen @ Mignardise]

I can just picture you at the Aquarium with the cone of fries. The penguins would be shocked! Too funny.
I'll be thinking of you - hope all goes well