So many questions so few answers

I have been inundated with emails, texts, phone calls, pms over the past few days. I thank you for those who have made me laugh and those who expressed your concern and love. To answer a surprisingly popular question, no i do not have prostate cancer... i'm not THAT butch. (yet, give me time) I have endometrial cancer, it has not been staged yet, it is graded 1 which measures aggression and is the lowest classification. My OB told me if I had to get cancer this is the one to get. I was waiting for the jazz hands to finish off the punch line. I see an oncologist, who will be doing the surgery, 11/13 in MA for a prelim meeting. Rusty and I just got into TN and are going to be spoiled for a couple of weeks before I head back to MA. Mom will follow when I have a surgery date. That is pretty much all I've got.

I am doing great, more nervous about the surgery than the cancer. Anesthesia is not my friend...

hugs and mushy stuff to everyone

Psychological leaps

It is odd to me... the psychological leap that happens between certain statements. Naturally, one event is jumping out at the moment... the leap from a dr saying there are cancerous cells along with precancerous to actually saying the words "i have cancer." it has barely been 24 hrs. a dear friend and mentor was speaking with me last night, trying his best to offer words of comfort and hope. my focus at the moment was the 90% cure rate with surgery if caught early. he went on to talk about the pain i must feel of knowing something that could kill me is inside of me. i hadn't made it there yet. i do not do well with anesthesia, so my current fears began and ended with a major surgery. now death is on the table. i have gotten messages of prayers, love, telling me i will kick cancer's ass. i appreciate all sentiments. truly. is it childish to say i don't want to kick cancer's ass... i just want the surgery to work and it be done? i can see a protective hand pushing me through each step of this and i find extreme comfort in that. it has been 24 hours... i still don't know what i feel... i do know that telling me how i am supposed to feel is not helping. part of me feels blessed beyond words that it was caught so early, another very real part is still stuck in that transition of understanding that i have hyperplasia with atypia meaning i have cancer. maybe this hesitation makes me weak, maybe it makes me human, i don't know... but i do know i am not ready for cheerleaders. one minute i am very upbeat about the whole thing then my friend/mentor's words come back to haunt me. the best of intentions are doing more harm than good. i have no idea why i am writing. thoughts seems to jumble in my head so getting even a few out here helps. to those of you who know and have reached out, please do not think me ungrateful. For those of you just learning, i am so sorry you found out in a blog. how do you share this information in today's world of social media?

lesli

Fourth of July

Admittedly, listening to Sufjan Stevens is not the most uplifting sound tract for this particular entry. I woke up at 7am to a knock at the front door. No one uses the front door, and certainly not at 7am. My roommate came in, with a note scrawled in barely legible script with a name and phone number. Lani was hurt by a neighbors dog... the owner is taking lani to the emergency vet. I jump in the shower and the final haze of early morning ambien washes down the drain. My cat is hurt. Not my cat, my baby, the one who saw Sue though scary nights when I was gone on the road, the one who would lick Sue's face after a seizure, the little angel who would plop herself on Sue's lap whenever a seizure was imminent. After Sue's death she wandered in a haze. Finally with a new kitten in the house, she had something else to protect, and I was a mess, so I became her lap project. She cuddled with me at night, slept on my back the many days I refused to get out of bed. So, no, Lani is not just my cat. I don't remember the drive to the vet, save one phone call from the vet, if she fails, should we use extreme measures? Dear God, not this conversation again. I flash back to a panicked drive to Boston after the fire. Conversations with Sue's burn drs at Mass General... After talking about Lani's quality of life it was decided that no extreme measures should be used, even before I got there.

I arrived and the dog's owner is horrified. She apologizes ad nauseum. I want to give her the relief she is begging for, but all I can think about is my tortured little angel. I walk back into icu and see the saddest/scariest sight I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. She sees me, lifts her head, mews, and buries her head in my hand. I never noticed that my hand envelops her entire head before. She rests comfortably. I begin to sob, thinking that I could not keep her mom safe and now I have failed her too. The dr advises euthanasia, but wants one more set of x-rays to be sure.

The dog's owner and i make small talk for what seems like hours as I wait my angel's prognosis. The x-rays are ready and I am finally called back... my worst fears are confirmed. She is paralyzed and it will take thousands of dollars of surgery to correct the joint damage... which was not guaranteed nor recommended. The dr agreed that the most humane thing was to let her go. How could I say no? The only other creature who lived day to day with Sue and I is gone. And just like Sue she is gone because I did not protect her.

I stumbled into lifegroup tonight in a haze. I think I yelled at one point. I don't remember much. I walked out at some point.


I just know my lil girl would normally be curled up, snoring in the small of my back, but now it is cold and empty. I am holding Rusty a little closer tonight.