People think that when you live in New York City, everything happens fast; most of the time that is true. You have to work fast, think fast, and move fast. Except if you are in a restaurant or ordering fast food—then you will wait F. O. R. E. V. E. R. But I digress.
It’s a good place to live when you don’t like to wait. And I definitely had a NYC-speed cancer experience. The first 72 hours of my diagnosis was a rapid-fire series of events that left me spinning, exhausted, and dazed. Everything was happening so fast I barely had time to digest what was happening to me. It was excellent. Everywhere I went the doctor would pick up the phone and I’d have an appointment somewhere else in an hour. Reckless. Dreamlike. No time to grasp it all. And that is precisely why I like things to happen rapidly—you do it and you don’t have a chance to think about it.
I take problems by the balls and take charge. I zero in like a laser and I become obsessed. I eat it, sleep it, and walk it. 24/7/365. For the most part I am in so much control that things happen when I want them to happen. Stop when I want them to stop. The process complete when I say it is complete.
At this stage of the game, control is out of my hands. Oh, sure, I can get informed—it will never be enough information. Already I’ve had it with lay descriptions and I’m going in for the technical. I will never know which the correct decision is. I have to trust that the information I have accumulated dovetails with that which the medical professionals give me and hope that I’ve made the right decision. And even then there are always questions: Will I beat this? Will it come back?
I just want the Death Star out of me. Every time you put on or take off the bra, there it is. If you have an itch on the underside of the boob, there it is. You roll over the wrong way, there it is. I look in the mirror and say, “That is no moon.”
Waiting for the final HER2/neu test results is maddening. I know that every single time I click on a link I expect it to give me finality. Answers. But that doesn’t happen and I’m starting to feel quite anxious and stressful. There is no choice but to wait three more days and each hour seems like an eternity.
Out, damn’d spot! Out, I say!
I hear you, girlfriend. I hear you.