Final Count Down

 You know those brown, older, 90s alarm clocks? The very annoying EHH EHH EHH ones? Yeah, I know you can hear it in your head. I am constantly hearing that in my head. It’s constantly buzzing, reminding me “it’s time.” We leave the day after Christmas. 6 days till we leave. Christmas I hoped would be an amazing day spent with my kids and husband. Though we will get that time it’s going to be such a hectic day. So many things to do when all I want to is freeze that day, make time stop so I can just celebrate our family. Instead… The kids will have to go to moms, the dogs to their places, lots of packing, cleaning, final errands… then 9 days. 

Only 9 more days until surgery… I’m involuntarily becoming anxious. I start sweating and getting jittery. I feel like all the air in the room is running out, as if a boa constrictor is squeezing me. I feel so confused. There are three different outcomes that my brain is simultaneously train-wrecking in the center of my cerebrum. 

Let’s start with the "worst" one: I just don’t make it through surgery. I simply just don’t wake up at all. I guess on my end it might not be so bad but I can’t just let my kids down like that, not now. I’m not ready to leave them motherless. They still need me. Need my guidance, advice, my hugs, just me. I’m not ok with adding more heartache to 2020 for everyone. There’s too much I haven’t seen or done. And I WILL do them if given the chance. 

Next, what if I wake up again and shit just didn’t go as planned. I wake up like last time, scared, alone, with more wounds than planned, or they messed up and have to take the pelvis or my colon and I’m forever a different person. As strange as it sounds this is the worst option to me. At least if I didn’t make it through surgery I’ll be treated into the afterlife and be a peace. This option pushes me further in an anxiety-ridden, stressful life. It leads to more questions, more heartache, more struggle for my family who in no way deserve that. 

Third, and obviously best. The surgery goes perfectly. I wake up perfectly, just a nice forced nap which, not going to lie, I wouldn’t hate right now. This thought splits into two others… one, they didn’t get all the cancer. Where does that leave me? Do I leave it alone? Do I wait and treat later? Will my fight ever end? Two, they get it all. I don’t mean to sound stupid but at this point, after all my struggle, my physical and mental epiphanies, I cannot imagine not having cancer. Even if just for a short time. I cannot fathom not being a fighter anymore but a survivor. Every single day since April 7th I’ve spent in pain (not to mention the three months prior in extreme pain and zero sleep), sick, exhausted, in tears (one or a combination of them), and hoping at some point it would just go away. 

So, my brain is not capable of thinking of what it might be like to not have this disgusting tumor in my body. Besides the incisions, will I notice a difference? Will my body physically feel different inside? If that makes sense? Shit, will I lose weight from Bertha being out? I know these kinds of tumors can be really heavy. Anyway, the countdown is on and I’m starting to panic. There’s so much to do and so little time to do it. 

Not to mention my fatigue, though getting so much better still is there especially when I actually have to leave the house and do things. I just feel like I have to see you all, just in case. I mean in the end, would it have ever really been enough? I suppose not. 

 I’ve been trying hard to focus on the AFTER. After the good scenario anyway. Making plans, setting goals for myself. Coming home in a new and hopefully better year, 2021! So we can lay 2020 to rest and bury the bad right along with it. I can only hope! I hope you all are staying strong out there! I LOVE YOU! Take care of yourselves and spend every moment of your Christmas with loved ones

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