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Three days out from surgery day, and I’m starting to tweak out. I have only one half of a Xanax left, and if my primary care physician doesn’t approve a refill, I need to save that for surgery day just to get me in the door of the surgery center.
I’m waiting on the call from the surgeon’s office, to tell me when I need to check in. I had planned to veg out over Perry Mason and forget everything else, but I have not been able to relax. I keep thinking about how after this weekend, when Michaela goes back to school, I will be going into surgery. And I. Am. Freaking. Out.
We’re 11 days out from stage I of the DIEP flap surgery. It’s sort of daunting, thinking about what I’m about to undertake, and how much I have ahead of me, and how much I’m going to be hurting. Then there are the incisions and drains, and worrying how I’m going to wash my hair when I can’t lift my arms over my head for at least 4 weeks…
Then I think about how very far I’ve come already, and I know. I’ve got this.
Today is my 3 month (really it’s 4 months) follow up with the Radiation Oncologist. I don’t expect anything dramatic. I envision that she’ll check the skin on my chest where I had radiation, ask me how I’m doing, wish me a happy, long life, and send me on my way.
Yet here it is about an hour before we have to leave, and I am nauseous. I thought I was done with this. Crap.
Chemo ages you.
I’m convinced of that.
Just over one year ago I was walking a mile every day to work, and sometimes another mile between offices during the day.
Yesterday, I had done one load of laundry, one load of dishes, made lunch for Michaela and Ken, and then lunch and tea for myself, and after than my legs were heavy and my feet were in pain.
It amazes me to think that a mere 14 years ago I was stomping all over London and the British countryside for 10 weeks, and I was rarely as tired as I am right now.