Recovery in 3 Acts: Act 1 Hope

I have avoided this blog for weeks--- and it hasn't gone unnoticed.  At first, I kept telling myself I was very busy but that was my usual denial.  I didn't want to face my fears and discuss all the emotion and noise in my head.  When you begin to write it, you really feel it and I've spent the better part of my life (or at least the last 13 years) trying not to feel anything.  I numb myself in anyway I know how.

November 15.  It came, we saw, she conquered.  My mom bravely fought what will hopefully be her last battle with Cancer.  She had a successful surgery in which Dr. N declared her to be Cancer-free.  CANCER FREE.  We heard that term once before from Dr. S the oncologist but his came with the disclaimer that we won't know for sure until they open her up.  When they did, there was nothing there and most importantly her lymph nodes looked good.  We still patiently await the biopsy results but Dr. N and Dr. S are confident about her health and her long future.

Where was I on November 15?  Home in bed.  The Italian guilt did kick in....  as usual but not much could have been done.By an act of what I believe was divine intervention, I contracted some mutant alien version of strep throat which had me on anti-biotics, steroids and percocet.  I slept through the surgery-- and mostly the day for that matter.  I was completely knocked out by the pain killers which was good because looking back, I don't know who I was fooling but I wouldn't have been strong enough to survive the day. Even though I wasn't there, I was scared.  I was scared for days leading up to the surgery.  No longer in fear of the Cancer but in fear of the unknown.  Surgery is risky and this was big. My psychosis is my worst enemy...

I didn't get to see my mom for nearly 8 days because I was sick.  The last think I wanted to do was be responsible for spreading germs.  Let's face it-- hospitals are the breeding grounds for disease as it is, no need to make it worse.  She couldn't talk to me either which was hard.  She was heavily medicated and in a great deal of pain.  Two weeks later and she still is in a great deal of pain.

Trying to take care of her is an odd feeling-- not bad or good, just odd.  I can't really verbalize all that I am going through right now.  Being an only child she did(and still does to an extent) take care of me.  I am happy to do it, but it gives me anxiety.  I wonder if she is ever going to be the same after this surgery.  Will she ever be the same mom she was.  These are my real concerns. 

I miss my mom. I am beyond words thankful that she is still here and fought this battle as hard as she did.  Yet, at the same time, she's not here.  I suppose all of this could be normal-- but nothing I feel is ever normal so who knows. One day at a time is all I can do.  It's all we can do.