I slept in a fit of indecision and worry last night, which is to say, not much at all. I think second thoughts are beginning to creep into my sense of resolute calm, making me feel overwhelmed and physically ill. I received a call this morning from Dr. Specht's office; her secretary, Katie, is very sweet and upbeat, and I am always grateful to hear her voice. She told me that the surgery had been confirmed for Monday, March 17th, an early morning start, which is preferred, given that I won't be eating or drinking anything after midnight Sunday, and I get a little bit loopy if I go for too long without, so early morning sounds best. I also have to get into Boston at 8 am the Friday morning before for pre-tests at the Newton-Wellesely hosptial, where the surgery will take place. And I'm slated to meet with Dr. Eleanor Pitts, the onco plastic surgeon, at Faulkner Hospital, in Jamaica Plain, later that morning. My Dad and Mimi are getting married that Saturday, and I'll have to spend the night somewhere close to N-W Sunday night so I can get to the hospital for my early morning start. My head began to swim. Logistics, sometimes, kill me. But it's do-able. I let Katie know that I am leaning toward a mastectomy at this point--she suggests having a breast party, take pictures, keep it positive, but give it the attention it deserves.
A few minutes later, the phone rings again. This time, it is Dr. Pitts' office calling, letting me know that next Friday is far too late in the game for me to be meeting for the first time with Dr. Pitts and could I please come in today. Today? Does she know where I live? I let her know it's impossible--I live two hours away, and sorry, but there's no way in hell I'm giving up my other appointments today (first I see my chiropractor Elizabeth for a much-needed adjustment, then to my friend Nancy for a much-needed massage, then to Penny at A New Face for well, a new face, in the form of a long overdue facial, which I am hoping will restore some luster to my complexion and help me to stop looking like Charlie Bucket's most excellent, but Tired mother). Of course, I don't use those exact words, but let her know that I could come in Monday afternoon but not today and not tomorrow (I see an anthroposophic doctor in Hadley tomorrow; more on that later). She is not too pleased, but relents. "OK, Monday at 2. But we can't go any later than that."
My head is still swimming. Logistically, this is feeling nightmarish. Maybe that's just anxiety talking, but it's making my already sore throat feel worse, and giving me the jitters. Trying to sort it all out, now. And maybe it'll be easier once I've experienced the fabulous trio of appointments I lined up for myself today, after taking my cousin Susan's advice--"get a facial or massage even if they’re not really your type of thing. You deserve some treats." Treats, indeed.
I'll check in later. To end, let me say I am grateful for the warm sun today. I hope to "breathe in the outdoors" a bit later and be like a "tree with my xylem and phloem flowing up and down my core with healthy powerful cells." Thanks again, cuz.
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