Monday, August 15, 2011

The non-update update

Sigh. It's pouring. It's my last week of child-free-ness 'til September 7th. I have buckets of new clothes to go through - gotta decide what stays, what goes back. And all I really feel like doing is curling up with a good book . . . or, maybe, having a double mastectomy.

You read that right. I feel like having a BMX (not a bike, people, that's a bilateral mastectomy). I've gotten to the stage where I'm READY and RARING TO GO for this thing. I have 5 weeks left to wait, but if they called me this afternoon and said "you know, Mrs. Isenberg, we'd like to bring you in on Friday" I'd say "let me check my itinerary . . . um . . . alright!" 'cause I'm over anticipating, planning and preparing. I'm over worrying about any little thing that might go wrong. I just need to live this thing and see what happens for me, you know?

It happened during Cancer Round I, too. It's an official stage in the cancer game. Then it was chemo that I was really dreaded. I had the B-movie chemo experience in my head, and had read too much on the 'net. I was getting the "red devil" pumped into my veins and I envisioned myself on the bathroom floor, the whole in-front-of-the-toilet kinda thing. For hours. Puking guts out. I was so nervous about it that I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it. But I had a start date, December 12, 2001, and as the day drew near I got more and more anxious to play ball . . . just hook me up to that IV, dammit! And you know what? I never, ever puked. Zofran is my friend. I could feel bad things going on in my gut, and I was wiped, but I never, ever puked.

So let's play, Mr. Cancer. Let's rendezvous at my home-away-from-home, ye olde MGH. Let's see what you've done this time. Let's implant those sacks of water and rebuild the machine. Let's lay low, take precautions, play by the rules for a while. 'Cause you know what? Once I'm done with all this mishigas I'm going back to kickin' ass and takin' names. You've held me back for far too long, already, you bastard.




  1. Thinking of you! Waiting, worrying and rain together aren't a fun combo. And five weeks does seem far away when you are all planned out and ready to go. Hang in there! Maybe the wait will be easier when the sun comes out, and school starts. The last few weeks of summer kind of drag every year.

  2. Hey lady, just checking in to say I am thinking of you! Also, as for the button-down conundrum, methinks that this wardrobe dilemma might present the perfect opportunity to get a DVF wrap dress. I mean, you really NEED it. :)

  3. @Jaye, it's dragging, alright! Love the crisp air today, though, I'll admit. @Lindsay - THAT is a good idea! : )

  4. AHhhh...Zofran!! A name I will never forget - a dose I always took!! Seemed too much to name my first born Zofran, but thought of it!! :-)

    I feel for you - swinging in that zone between preparing and doing! I'm thinking of you, as always. Did the sun help?

    I've found that planning a few fun things on the calendar with the kiddo makes each week unique and special and goes by more quickly. (like say a road trip to Maryland??!)

    Keep that fighting spirit, Sarah!! This cancer has no idea what it is messing with! :-)


  5. So true, Heidi...the first cancer didn't live long enough to get the word out -- so this new one has NO idea who it's messing with!

    Anticipating things is really hard for me, too. Ironically, when I've got my ducks in a row, my mind starts working against me...too many possibilities, too much time to mull them over.

    One thing that works for me is picking a "switch-gears" activity -- but only one. What I mean; if you catch yourself going into the anticipation/worry/ugh zone, you automatically DO the thing you've designated. I've tried to do this with springing into any activity, but I've really noticed it works if I have one pre-set. The no-brainer factor seems to do it!

    We're thinking of you and plan to take lots of funny pictures of your niece to make you laugh.