Cora's Cancer Journal

About Damn Time

2013-12-21T10:58:00.001-08:00

I was finally release to wear a normal bra with under wire. I have still been having issues with finding ones that fit right, but it is a big step.

I still have 3 months until nipple reconstruction OR a reconstruction revision. I can't say I am super please with how they look. They are just so foreign and one does sit lower than the other. I don't know what I am going to do next. Everyone has different sized boobs, or uneven or whatever. I have to think long and hard about yet another surgery.

Well Crap

2013-12-19T14:46:00.000-08:00

I got a nurse to read my mri report ( I got an mri in october ), I guess I have a cyst on/near my spine. Obviously it's been growing, which is why the pain is ramping up. Make sense. (People in pain sometimes feel like they are crazy. Especially when so many people "live" with degenerative disc disease.) I like knowing that there is a pretty clear REASON for my pain. (And that I am not just imagining that it is getting worse.)

Hoping that it's not going to take surgery, but preparing for it.

Hoping it's not cancer again. Trying not to think about it.

Strange Boobs - Again

2013-11-26T07:55:00.001-08:00

I get the new breasts examined on Monday. They seem strange. Lumpy. I have in fact found a small hard lump not directly under the scar. I am also thinking my flesh is bigger than the fun bags. Maybe that's why they seem so fluid. Dunno.

I am sure they are fine. Or at least as fine as fake boobs get.

A great article and an update...

2013-10-23T08:52:00.002-07:00

This is a fabulous read about the embarrassment of cancer.

Everything is sort of on the fence here. One of my reconstructed breasts has fallen, meaning I have broken through the stitches holding it in place.

I will need another surgery to correct it.

*sigh*

My back is not awesome either. Hopefully will get a MRI next week and another ablation.

Soon it will be a year since my mastectomy. A YEAR. I am on the home stretch, but it still feels never ending.

Molly's P.INK Tattoo

2013-10-16T08:48:00.001-07:00

Steady on...

2013-10-02T06:55:00.003-07:00

I got a glimpse of the scars this week, but just that. I don't think my PA wants me to obsess over the scars. I didn't look at them in the mirror so I don't know about symmetry yet. I was told they are behaving well. I certainly hope so. Sleeping on a slope is not a lot of fun. Neither is sleeping in the hospital bra that I am chained to 24/7. It's like a chastity belt for your boobs.

I am thinking more and more of the book and hopefully gallery show. Writing the book in my head. Some of that has to get on an actual page.

Used in accordance of terms of service by the creative director (that's me) at cutcaster.com

Ps. Fuck Cancer

Post-op

2013-09-24T08:37:00.001-07:00

Post-op today. Hoping to get permission to drive.

It's the little things.

No sleep

2013-09-19T08:31:00.002-07:00

Trying to sleep on my back at a 40 degree angle is more difficult than I could possibly imagine. 3 hours last night.

First post-op appointment today.

Next.....

2013-09-17T08:08:00.003-07:00

Ok, this part really is over. The spacers are gone and the new ones are in. Don't know what they are like yet. Still bandaged of course and pretty damn compressed. Youch. Surgery, after the falling to sleep part. Evidently I had a fucked up allergic reaction to the antibiotics. My skin is still crawling. I went from normal to hives head to toe in about 10 min. Then I was out cold. Woke muzzy but good. Got to come home. Me and sleep are not friends just not. I am a side sleeper and have to sleep on my back at about 35-45 degrees for a month or so. (Hopefully not the whole 3 months) The 3 months will be in a bra 24/7 moving and shaping. Then the nip tattoo (which I have no nerves to feel....so no prob.) I have a lot to think about in the next three months or so. I have been traveling toward better and better health, so getting hit with cancer was a shocker. I don't much like surprises. So diligent for the next 3-5 years with Dr. Cutie Jew, Dr. Paul. (Yes, I call him that to his face. He is soooooo cute) I want to write a huge assed letter to all of you who have been so freaking supportive....and I will, but for now maybe a nap in the chair.

10 days to go....

2013-09-05T09:07:00.004-07:00

It's getting real. 10 days until the last surgery. Hard to focus these days.

Sick

2013-09-01T15:32:00.001-07:00

Like really sick. For 4 days now. I don't even want to talk about it. I just want to feel better.

Never ending...

2013-08-26T09:08:00.000-07:00

Woke up in insane leg pain. (All the same only worse). Called my PT guy right away. 3x a week until surgery. Hopefully that will help because I have been told I will be given no more pain meds. The only thing that is OK is standing. Sitting and even laying down is painful. Cried. Hard. Poor long suffering husband held me. They want to change my pre-op to tomorrow. Any bets on if my surgery will be pushed back again?

I am trying to hide my tears from my son. I told him I would likely be very fragile leading up to the surgery. Cry a lot, be curt, freak out.

He said, "But mom, you cried all last year, and it was my best year of school." Which of course made me weep, quietly in the bathroom.

When will this end?

Hopefully this is it......

2013-08-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

New surgery date: September 16.

Never Again

2013-08-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

I met a woman yesterday who had stage 3 breast cancer. She chose a total mastectomy, and said she couldn't get the rebuild. She was cancer free but worries every single day about getting the cancer back somewhere else at any moment. I don't want to be her. I just want this to be over.

Dancing Star

2013-08-20T08:26:00.000-07:00

......or at least that's what I tell myself. Appointment made for my final surgery. After that I will consider myself cancer free and this long long ride will come to an end and I will become a dancing star. :-)

I have heard so many of these.....

2013-06-22T08:38:00.002-07:00

Watch this

2013-05-16T09:47:00.003-07:00

Amazing. Very worth the 10 min. Also, ladies please don't forget to get squished.

Another thought, I hope this guy/company/university makes this so cheap to use that EVERYONE can afford to have this test once a year.

Today's TEDxTalk: “If you find cancer early enough, most have a nearly 100% cure rate.” Raj Krishnan at TEDxSanDiego

Pre-Op

2013-05-15T10:02:00.002-07:00

Today is pre-op day for the hysterectomy next week. A nice lady called and asked me about 4 dozen questions. I shouldn't be as afraid as I am. I mean today is nothing. Ultrasound, inspection of lady parts, talking. No big.

I quit brandy this week.
I quit smoking this week.

As soon as they give me the antibiotics I give up wine too. Good-bye vices. I will miss you.

I have some thoughts about Angelina Jolie. I am going to save them for now.

make custom gifts at Zazzle

Ps. Here's some crap I make.

Bizarre-burlesque

2013-05-01T16:24:00.000-07:00

So this weekend I saw a woman perform a Portus Head song while stripping at an even this weekend. She did a fine job of it. I thought of how interesting it would be if 1) I could loose enough weight to do it. 2) I could find something modern in my range. 3) find the courage to be in front of a crowd, and finally when unveiling the breasts. (which in Colorado requires pasties/paint/tape over the nipple.) I wonder what the resultant reaction would be to exposing breasts without any nipples at all........

You are not your scars.

2013-04-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

This is important to share for those going through mastectomy or those recovering from it.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL NO MATER WHAT.

The Scar Project by David Jay

This is also very powerful:

Seattle To Allow Breast Cancer Survivor To Swim Topless At City Pool

Love

2013-04-29T16:26:00.005-07:00

I am speaking of the love of another, after an online conversation regarding what obsessiveness love is. I want to leave this here so I will not forget. (even though I wrote it....it's like that some days.

I often wish that I could just shake 15-25 year old's, and say, "You are not looking for love, you are not looking for that feeling in your pants, or that ever present thought, you are looking for your best friend. The one you could share ever day of your life with. When they are ugly, when you are ugly, when you are old, or hurt, or crying. You are looking for the person you can talk to about your every thought with. You are looking for the person who ignores your farts, and likes the same food as you. You are looking for someone who can help you grow, and who you can help grow.

Now go out...and find that.

I cannot begin to think of living through this without my partner/husband and best friend. It's not luck that leads you to your soul mate, it is the ability to work to find them.

Deep Thoughts

2013-04-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder what people will say about you when you are gone?

April has been every ounce of cruelty promised in the poem below. I am watching out my window as the wind blows snow slightly to the west, bound and determined to snub the remaining tulips, daffodils, and hyacinth. My mood is as grim as the sky. In between surgeries. At a crossroads in my marriage. Buried in self doubt. Moored only by my son, drifting on a sea of grey, where there are days that even he drifts from me. .....

I think they will just say that I was a sad woman.

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922.

The Waste Land

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering 5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock, 25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu,
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 35
They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Öd’ und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, 45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations. 50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. 55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City, 60
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. 65
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson!
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70
That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! 75
You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”

II. A GAME OF CHESS

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion; 85
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended 90
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, 95
In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms 105
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair,
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110

“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

I think we are in rats’ alley 115
Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing. 120
“Do
You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent 130

“What shall I do now? What shall I do?
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten. 135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said,
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. 150
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said,
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. 155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME 165
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

III. THE FIRE SERMON

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 175
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept…
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse. 190
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. 195
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter 200
They wash their feet in soda water
Et, O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d. 205
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210
C. i. f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a week-end at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back 215
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at tea-time, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, 225
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest. 230
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house-agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses, 235
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 245
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronizing kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit…

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, 255
And puts a record on the gramophone.

“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City City, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. 265

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails 270
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach 275
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars 280
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores 285
South-west wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia 290
Wallala leialala

“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.“ 295

“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised ‘a new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”

“On Margate Sands. 300
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken finger-nails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.” 305

la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest 310

burning

IV. DEATH BY WATER

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.
A current under sea 315
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torch-light red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying 325
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience 330

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink 335
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mud-cracked houses
If there were water 345
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring 350
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock 355
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together 360
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you? 365

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only 370
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London 375
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings 380
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains 385
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one. 390
Only a cock stood on the roof-tree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves 395
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA 400
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed 405
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA 410
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours 415
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order? 425

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins 430
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih

....the bills are coming in.

2013-03-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

Having cancer is expensive. Hell, I got a $1600 bill from someone I don't know for what I don't know. Time to start getting the itemized bills.

Oh, and tried to get my last "fill" into my spacers today. I was improved but not enough. My lovely PA had a dream about me last night, being so happy with my new boobs. I hope her dreams come true, because just now, I feel like a monster. I didn't think I would feel this way. Just not one with my body. Not one with my woman-hood. Strange, alone, frightened...still. Luckily my husband returns on Saturday (or Sunday if Winter Storm 'Saturn' becomes a little more bitchy than they predicted.)

Fuck.

The deductible bills are coming through. Thousands of dollars worth. I could use a hand, but never ask for something for nothing. Check out my Etsy page. Maybe you will find something you like and help me pay off my bills at the same time.

Logic/Not Logic

2013-02-27T08:22:00.001-08:00

Handy Tip: Even though you are technically recovering, in my case still in the rebuilding process, if your significant other needs to travel for work, something will happen and you WILL feel alone, angry, stupid, and afraid. Life will continue for everyone else but you. For you, it will stand still until your life mate/support system returns.

I am not bitter. (Well a little) My husband had to go to India for 3 weeks. I am half way through. He will be home on the 9th. I cannot express what a mistake this was.

"I'll be fine," I said.
"I have the kid," I said.
"It is logical for you to go. You have the insurance card/job/providership." I said.

We didn't take into account that February is the snowiest month in Colorado. We didn't take into account that anything could go sideways health wise either. Ok, so it's just a little infection, and allergic reaction, but still everything is amplified right now. Turned up to 11 and a half.

Half way through.

I have been fortunate enough to have a friend who came over to shovel, and a couple who have taken me to the grocery in a blizzard. I have my online community and my work and my child, but I am so lonely right now. Today.

And it is illogical.

Second Handy Tip: If you can avoid Sulfa drugs, do. It's a totally uncomfortable, weird, nauseous, horrible time.

A little set back....

2013-02-20T11:57:00.000-08:00

Went in for my fill today. It's my first to last. My left breast has some bruising that has to be watched. I am hoping it is just the skin being weird, not a full on infection, but they did put me back on the antibiotics.

I have had MRSA so I know what to look for. The wonderful PA I see outlined the area so I can watch for spreading. It's all very clinical and logical as these things go. We are not doing my last fill until a week from now. Taking a week off to make sure I heal properly. I do feel like I have a cold coming on. I feel awful and tired from not being able to sleep properly.

My husband is in India, and I don't really have anyone to lean on, to worry on. Believe me, I worry on people, not to people. I am often surprised that my husband doesn't buckle under the weight of it.

Not a fantastic day.