on others’ blogs. I try to read and respond, but it’s so very hard right now.
Fucking cancer, one more thing it’s done to me is made me a bit more self-aware, less other-aware . . . for now, anyways.
I skim my reader, and I see that there’s hurt and pain and I want to read whole posts and I can’t seem to, it’s hard to focus on whole paragraphs of much of anything, I’m sorry, I’ll be more myself when this guessing game is over, I think and treatment has at least started. I think. Maybe then I can go back to being Judy or some version of Judy. Post-cancer-diagnosis Judy.
That makes me sad.
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I had such a fantastic time in Orlando with Nikki; I felt like myself, I told stories and talked, and laughed, and Nikki told stories, and talked and laughed. We were already internet friends and we became very fast IRL friends. It was easy being with her, very easy. And yes, we did talk about cancer, but it was OK, I was able to talk about it reasonably and rationally and without this great weight of sadness that I feel now, but since meeting with Dr. Funky Glasses, I just feel this incredible weight. Frank sees the appointment differently; he always hears her more positively than I do.
But Orlando. What a treat that was. Nikki is a wonderful, laid-back host and makes her home your home right away. We had a ball. We went to Magic Kingdom and had a marathon day there. I’ll have to post pictures one of these days soon. I loved it. Then on Sunday we had a Moms’ Night Out without the kids which was fantastic.
We were silly together too. Very early on, I told her that my husband believes that I have a GPS installed in my uterus to find everything in the world.
Great fun.
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I stifled a sob as I was packing on Monday morning simply because I knew that leaving meant going Back To Reality, and boy did it, Bigtime. Appointment with Dr. FG on Tues. and liver biopsy today. And I don’t feel like The Old Me, the Fun Me, the Silly Me, the usual me. I’m the Depressed Me, the Sad Me, the me that has a hard time reaching out to other people and offering words of encouragement and that’s not the typical me.
I want to apologize for that. I am sorry for any pain that others are going through and I know that normally I would at least offer words of “wow, I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” but I seem to have no words.
And it sucks.
Cancer sucks.
I know this isn’t permanent, that there has to be some fight left in there and I hope to get it back but right now I’m feeling really battered. Just battered.
I know there’s nothing the oncologist can say, I know she can’t make promises when I say to her plaintively:
I have a 6-year-old son.
As if that matters. As if cancer differentiates. Not that I want anyone to get this horrid disease.
So . . . . just know that even if I don’t comment, I do care.
I really do care.
