Yesterday was a terrible day.
We had been hearing-what we thought were-mouse noises. Gross but we got murderous turbo traps and oh yeah, we had bigger worries, right? We went to sleep and oh yeah, here's another chunk of cancer knowledge: You don't sleep the same way.
It was in the department of 4:00 AM. I shuffled to the fridge to get some water and what did I feel on the top of my foot, but the not tiny foot of some sort of furry creature that was not Grantley.
Flew back into bed and we laid there listening to the private conversations of vermin. They have a lot to say.
P got up and went out with his gigantic flashlight and a spray bottle of Tilex. And thus began the morning of advanced terriblitude.
Because now, we are as wide awake as any two exhausted people can be. And in my frustration, I decided to make the situation better by throwing a shoe. (I dunno. It seemed like the right thing to do.) Guess what happened after that? Grantley went after it.
Here's me: No no no. Come back.
Here's P: The F Word.
I have NEVER heard that man curse.
This was bad.
We stayed awake from 4:30 with all the lights on because P says rats don't like light. They also don't like movement. He stayed up in the kitchen and walked around squirting under the sink smelly stuff all over the place. My eyes were like saucers and then at some point, I felt myself coming out of a tiny sleep. All this nonsense before the Big Meeting with the Cancer Guy. And oh yeah. I woke up furious.
Was this the life I had in mind for myself? Living in a place where rats ran through the walls and hey yeah, while I do have 2 and 1/15th of a job, none of them come with any sick leave(a nice to have item), so while each employer has been exceptionally kind to me in terms of good wishes and time off? I've earned nothing since September 12th. I woke up yesterday and I. was. pissed.
11:00 was the appointment. We were not too early-a state which I intend to continue to celebrate. We had been making sure to arrive with plenty of time but now, waiting rooms were becoming impossible.(See yesterday's excellent use of anger.).
Someone insisted I make a list of questions including his GENIUS question ("What kind of questions can I ask you?") which I wrote on top of my Talking With Your Doctor booklet, because we weren't 100% sure about anything really.
The doctor was a sort of an odds maker. Like, he asked a lotta questions: parents living? What diseases did they have. Family histories. Siblings? Healthy? My favorite question was something like: how do you feel emotionally?
He read notes. He asked questions. And you would think, that when he said: No further treatment is required. I bet you think there was some jubilation going on.
Nope. Not even a little.
Here's why: I don't you can enter a cancer center and come out the same way.
I'll save the rest of the day for tomorrow. Stay tuned.