Mary and I are up before the sun, preparing for another long drive to Indy. Pre-op arrival time is 10:30; surgery is at 12:30; they tell us we’ll be home in time for dinner. I am hopeful. For reasons too lengthy and complicated to explain at this early hour, I am headed back to the same surgeon. I’m giving him the chance to correct his error. I trust his technical ability 100 percent. I believe his error was one of oversight. With his reputation on the line, I know he’ll bring his A-game (too bad he didn’t bring it the first time).
These past few days have been a blur. I found a new therapist; I call her my “cancer shrink.” She helped me to diffuse my emotions–a good thing. I visited family and friends in Louisville and gained much strength from their love. And I read, re-read, and deeply appreciated every email and blog post. Thank you all for feeling angry, sad, and frustrated for me. While, I am still all of those things, I did find a place of emotional equilibrium to usher me through today–or at least to the doors of the operating room.
Meanwhile, Mary’s got my back. For those of you who don’t know Mary, she is amazing. (So much so that she deserves her own post, which is on its way.) But, for now, just know that even with her crazy-making academic career, Mary has been by my side at every appointment, held my hand through every procedure, and asked the tough questions when I was overwhelmed.
Since today’s questions are tougher than ever, we’ve called in reinforcements. Our generous, smart, fearless friend, Z, is coming along to support Mary in her quest for answers. The three of us motoring up to Indy to kick ass and take names is quite the picture.
Wish us luck!
Queridas Catherine y Mary, las tengo en mi pensamiento. Please, keep us posted.
Un abrazo fuerte para ambas. Y
I’m thinking of you both!
Catherine, I’m beside myself with fear and frustration and anger and disbelief this morning, I’m glad you’ve moved ahead to something more practical (if painful) today. I just wish I could be beside you, or at a minimum close enough to do something more useful than to send you a message of love and hope.
Thinking fierce thoughts of healing for you both today and sending you tons of positive vibes.
the cafeteria pizza is great.
this PA system harpsichord, however, is creepy.
As I write now, at 9.52 p.m., I hope this note finds you home and in comfort. Sending great thoughts your way.
Luck, luck and more luck. Thinking of you and hoping for good news tomorrow. Clare
Your grace is an inspiration. My thoughts are with you. Just wish there was something I could do.
Wishing you the best,
Christie in Colorado
I like how you are “taking names”…it made me smile because you’ve got the fiest in you and that’s good stuff for healing and recovery. Take care.
Meredith from FLX
I was gobsmacked when I heard the news and real scared for you. I think you made a great decision though returning to this surgeon… he will be on his bestist of behaviour!
I am sending green thoughts (“breast cancer pink is the WORST colour) and bad jokes your way with all my love…
How amazing that you’re able to convert what must be a stomach-turning mix of grief, anger, and bewilderment into this beautifully articulate account. You are extraordinary.
We’re all pulling for you, and thank god for Mary.