Down the Rabbit Hole

November 2009: "I think I need new glasses.  Maybe I'll get some vintage frames."  This is what I was thinking as I drove to my eye appointment.  Al was with me because no one can pick out frames when his/her eyes are dilated.  I get to my appointment, and the doctor comes in to take a look.  One look.  The doctor immediately stands up and leaves the room.  No words for me.  He comes back in and says I have an appointment with an eye surgeon that same day.  What the hell?  He tells me there is a large mass in my left eye and that's all he knows at this point.

I got to the surgeon, and I am poked and prodded.  Hours and hours later I get to go home but with no information.  I have no idea what is wrong with me.  I wish my biggest problem was finding some vintage frames.  A few days later I get a call.  I have cancer.  I will have surgery immediately to remove the mass.  My vision should be fine after surgery, but there are no guarantees.  No guarantees...

You would think that this is when I would find myself falling down the rabbit hole, but I wasn't.  I handled it fairly well.  In fact, sometimes I could forget that I was sick.  I would go for my "chemo days" on Fridays.  Great way to start my weekend, right?  I would listen to music.  Most of the time I listened to The Avett Brothers.  Probably not the best choice because these guys can write songs that mainline right to your emotions.  During my last battle in 2013, "Winter in My Heart" became my theme song.  I never wanted to talk.  I never took anyone with me.  Al was always waiting on me when I was finished.  I guess I didn't want anyone to see me be vulnerable.  I shed a few tears while sitting in that stupid recliner, but mostly I just snapped at people.  Cancer made me angry.  I wasn't a warrior.  I wasn't a survivor.  I was just pissed off.  

Four years later and the impact of what I went through is hitting me.  I think I stomped on my feelings and buried them deep inside my gut.  They've started to bubble up in the last few months.  I didn't die.  I could have.  I still might.  It's not like you hear very many stories of people fighting cancer, winning, and moving on to a life that doesn't involve cancer.  It's always there.  I always have to be checked out.  I will always have a tiny scar on my left eye.  You can see it when the light is shining a certain way.  I make fun of it to my friends.  It's a battle scar!  It's not.  It bothers me. 

I can still remember people saying some of the most horrible things.  I don't know if they realized it or not.  Does it matter?  I was told that since all of my hair didn't fall out then I must be feeling great.  Yeah, that's exactly how this works.  I have chemo gushing through my veins, but I have hair!  Hair=health.  I was having lunch with one of my bosses at the time, and she said that people who have cancer know that's what will eventually kill them.  Any energy I had left just drained right out of me in that moment.  I wasn't hurt.  Her words hit me and exploded. Would I eventually die from this?  What if it doesn't go away? 

My first short haircut.  I guess I did look healthy.  I wasn't.

It wasn't all bad.  Al and I realized that we actually did want to be married to each other.  So, after 7 years together, we had a private ceremony in our backyard.  He never wavered on anything.  Anything.  He still doesn't.  I also realized just how much my sister loves me.  She sent me a photo of her after I texted her to tell her that my chemo had worked.  I was doing well.  The photo was her bursting into happy tears.  I didn't know until that moment that she was terrified.  I lost some friends during this process.  I do think that they were my friends, but they couldn't be the friend I needed.  They moved on, and so did I. 

Last week, I had to go in for a check-up.  I do have one benign tumor that continues to grow.  It will need to be taken out at some point.  No cancer, though--for now.  I left that appointment and just sobbed on the sidewalk.  People continued to walk by and act like I wasn't sitting there.  Probably for the best.  I collected myself and went home.  In some ways, I'm more scared today than I was when I was wheeled into surgery.  There isn't anything a doctor or surgeon can do for me now.  I wait. 

I'm just starting to peek down the rabbit hole, and it is scary.  I see all the outcomes swirling around down there.  What will mine be?  I don't think anyone can answer that question.  I try to March Fourth.  In fact, I thought I was Marching Fourth.  It looks like I'm just going to sit and peek down the rabbit hole for a bit.  I wait.