Doomed from the start
I’m starting to think this topic needs its own category because it’s just getting longer. I’m also starting to think I was born falling apart. I was created during a rape, after all. Born into a life of struggle that still doesn’t compare to the miserable lives of so many others. What’s the point anyway? The point of this. All of this?? Why experience anything when you’re just going to end up old with great physical health and no sanity; or, have all of your wits locked inside of a slowly molding body losing one organ at a time? Dad’s mom, they had to tape her skin to keep her together the last couple years of her life. Mom’s dad had to watch his wife lose her mind from his recliner and eventually his death-bed. How awful does that sound? Mom’s grandma was put in a home where every other month another piece of her jewelry would go missing. Pitiful. Who wants to live to be that old when your future is a fading light to the end? Maybe Kurt had it right about burning out than fading away.
Actually, this whole damn year has been absolutely *closes eyes, shakes head* it’s been rough and I have no one to talk to. Not even Kasper. Our fights are getting worse. I slapped him like 5 times, punched him in the face, then beat on his chest and tried to choke him. This is not me. He’s a good person. He raised his hand to me but when it came to the slap it was like a light, flirt-y, tickle slap. He didn’t hit me; in that last moment he was able to restrain himself when I could not…multiple times. I can’t even tell him how proud I am of him for that because we are so close to the edges of each other that even a compliment could turn sour.
Anyway– Kasper isn’t what I’m here for today. Monday I saw a neurologist for the first time in 2 or 3 years. I had to go out-of-town because no one here is available. I had/have so many questions but when I get in a room with a doc I clam up and am afraid of judgment, answers I don’t understand or like, or questions I’m not comfortable answering because I’m a terrible liar and am embarrassed by the truth. I think I did pretty good this time though. I made a short list of important questions mostly to do with my headaches, head pain, migraines, and anxiety. We talked about my seizures because I may have had one a few weeks ago, or I passed out. I’m still blurry on that one because I don’t think I ever actually passed out. I definitely went blind for at least a minute– which was awful. So he recommended an MRI to check scar tissue and a blood test to check my Keppra, which no neuro ever did before.
This guy was so incredibly hippie but he seemed to actually know about strokes and care about my situation. He understood my hip pain. He knew how Baclofen works and why. He even upped my dosage– a reason why I’ve been asking to see a neuro for so long. Neurologists here haven’t seemed to know any of these things. How is that even possible?
He noticed my bra
I had to rush to get a scan done that day. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Kasper wasn’t trying to treat this like a vacation inconvenienced by a random stop to the doctor. I was pissed that he was pissed. You know what, fuck the Goddamned Alamo. We stole it just like we do everything else, anyway. See it on your own time; don’t bitch at me because I have to do exactly what I came to do which was not a vacation. I was mad until they called me in and the tech was a super nice guy just doing his job. He started explaining the scan, but I obviously know the drill. He said he “noticed [my] bra” and asked me to take it off. But the thing is, I wasn’t wearing one! After two kids and a stroke, my boobs are still perky enough in all their small glory for a man to think I was wearing a bra. I thanked him for the compliment because I needed it. But, now I have to have my blood test done here because there was no time up there. I hope they take the work order here (they should). I just scheduled my EEG for Monday after next back up there, which means I have to get the blood test done before then so I can have everything discussed in one shot. I can’t afford multiple trips out-of-town like that.
Yesterday was scary
I met with my surgeon for the consult about the “things” in my boob. They’ve gotten bigger, it’s tender, and I can barely stand to wear a bra anymore. My sports bras are a little tight but it doesn’t hurt my boobs. If anything, they feel much better in the snug cotton than suspended in cheap nylon blended shit with wires holding them up and together. Dear Jesus what is wrong with women for creating such an unnecessary item? Sometimes I wish I wore maternity bras so I could open the flap and get some air and breathing room in there. How do big breasted women live with all that business stuffed in those things? I don’t get it.
The appointment itself wasn’t so bad yesterday because it was just a consultation; but, it was terrible because it was also confirmation that cancer or not, this shit is seriously happening to me. Words were thrown at me that are frightening despite the context: cancer, pre-malignant, cystic fibrosis, tumor, surgery, partial mastectomy…I even told the guy with a wide, flat stare:
I have no idea what you’re saying to me right now.
I didn’t even have a general idea. My head was blank. My mind couldn’t process words; there was no racing or questions, just a….quiet stare.
So they’re tumors
Personally, I prefer the term papilloma. I don’t know the difference, if there is one, but, saying mass or tumor feels way over done; like they should be reserved for malignant cases. I’d hate to detract from the importance of those stories and situations. It’s scary either way. As the surgeon was taking his time feeling every lump in my breast, spending more time around areas that made me wince, he repeatedly told me they were small and almost unnoticeable with all the “ridges.” Apparently I have more than dense boobs, they’re fibrocystic which is a fancy word for bumpy tissue prone to cysts I guess. What shocked me most was how small he said they are. My question is, how big do some of these things get before some women notice or finally become concerned? Mine feel huge to me. I feel them sitting up or laying down. How small is “small?” Why was he so surprised by how “small” they are? When you call something a tumor is there truly a “small” one? Is that possible? Malignant, benign, they’re all huge to me. And the potential for what they could have been superseded my desire to have no fear or worry whatsoever. Because it’s scary, plain simple:
Told me mum
I wasn’t planning on telling her but since she’s coming down sometime soon, I decided it would be best she heard it from me now rather than after the fact or from MIL. I don’t truly care but I can’t imagine being a mother finding out later that my daughter went through something like that and I didn’t know. So I sent her a text, explained it and left it at that. I didn’t throw any of the scary terms at her, except I did say “benign tumor” because she’s not very bright and wouldn’t know what papilloma means; she wouldn’t even look it up, just ask me to explain it to her. Why not help myself by keeping it simple for her? I asked her not to tell Stilla because I don’t need negative talk even if I’m not there to hear it. I think she’ll probably feel included because it’s just me and Kasper, and now her that knows. Skas will be told before the surgery just so he’s not confused later on for whatever reason.
There’s a surgery date and time, mom knows, and I got a pamphlet with a map on it for the surgery center. I guess this makes it official. No turning back, especially not after hearing the term “pre-malignant.” Just more scary stuff to throw at me to make me follow through. It’s all a big pharma conspiracy (joke). I’m just glad to get this over with, and before Trump takes away my Medicare and Medicaid? Double awesome. Hopefully after this, I’ll be alright with the doctor visits for a good while.
Thank goodness I started taking Zoloft; could you imagine this without it?