To Go or Not to Go and July 9th

July 9^th

I have kept two running journals. One on my computer because I can type a lot faster than writing by hand and then another journal in a spiral bound notebook. Sometimes the dates backtrack because I would alternate back and forth depending on what I felt like doing at the time.  

For a few months prior to my diagnosis my family had a trip planned to South Carolina to visit my aunt, uncle and see my grandma for her birthday. She’s turning 90 something. The reason why I don’t know her exact age is because I don’t ever see my extended family. Plus, once you hit 90 I feel like anything after that could be called at any point so why keep track? I just say that because I feel bad that I don’t know how old my grandma is. But, I do know that her name is Ellen and that she used to be good at baking pies, so take that you judgers!

Anyhow, this trip was planned and just happened to land on the week before my surgery. My surgeon said that she wanted me to go on my trip and enjoy myself. One last boobie hoorah before I was getting rid of that piece of junk. That is not a direct quote from my surgeon. Pretty soon, my entries will be much more light hearted and not so dark and intense because an unbelievable turning point happened in South Carolina, but for the time leading up to my surgery things were crummy. Without further ado…

I was up until 3:00AM this morning worrying. I can’t sleep. I’m afraid of the nightmares I keep having so I am going on strike against rest. I’ll show you, stupid sleep! I haven’t had any in 2 years anyway, so just watch me go another few weeks! Plus, I am feeling overwhelmed with my own worries and taking care of everyone else and worrying about how my friends and family are handling everything, especially Darin. Marco wakes up at 4 AM so I stay awake the rest of the day.

Today was really hard. I’m not sure if being exhausted sparked everything but I’ve cried most of the day. I think things are settling in and the enormity of the situation is becoming clear. I have fucking cancer and I can’t believe it. I am pregnant with cancer and that to me just seems so unfair. I am young and healthy. I don’t have any family history of breast cancer except for one aunt. I am a hardworking, honest, kind person. Why the hell is this happening? I feel like I can barely function. I try to hold it together in front of Darin and Marco. I go the laundry room to “steam clothes” and I just close the door and cry. I start steaming clothes that don’t need it, just so I can hide in the laundry room and cry. The upside is, our clothes look brand new. Tears keep coming and I feel exhausted. When I try to talk I start crying, so I just say that I have more clothes to steam.

I’m supposed to leave for South Carolina tomorrow (with newly steamed nice looking clothes mind you) and the thought of entertaining Marco for hours on end on the plane and in the airport, getting up at 4 AM, trying to be patient and nice to everyone and being in a very loud and busy environment for the next 4 days sounds miserable to me.

My parents come over and they can tell something is wrong. We are sitting outside and I just sit and stare off into the yard like a zombie. My dad asks if I still want to go and I can’t lie. I say, “no”, but I feel obligated because he’s already bought me a ticket and there isn’t a way Marco would understand why we aren’t going. My parents sit quietly and tell me that I don’t have to go. I tell them that I’ll think about it and decide later, even though I know that I’m going to have to suck it up and go…