Skip to main content

The day I don't want .... or do I?

Tomorrow is a paradox. A day I don't want to happen. I day I do want to happen. A day I wish never had to happen. A day that has to happen.

To say I have been anxiety ridden would be an understatement. I had a couple good weeks there. Work and life kept me busy and the doctor appointments had trailed off as we prepared. Then, they ramped back up. Then, work came to an end.

That day was harder than I imagined; actually, I didn't imagine it and perhaps that's what made it so hard. I decided not to keep it from the staff I supervise and people I work with regularly. I decided that HIPPA may prevent folks from asking, but in the end, why would women not share this? Why would I not want someone else to hear this story? Why would I not want the opportunity to say, yeah, it's happening and you know what, it's all because I got a mammogram. I will forever advocate for that test, for as long as I live, for as long as I can share. My livelihood is telling stories, having people share their stories. So many say, "I'm doing this to help someone else." I get it now. I know the feeling. I emailed the staff that I would be out, and included the fact I didn't mind sharing with them why, and I ended the email with a reminder that they should get a mammogram, have their mothers, sisters, wives, friends, get a mammogram.

Then, late in the afternoon, I headed to a doctor's appointment. I stood up at my desk, people were waiting to hug me, send me off, tell me they're thinking about me, praying for me. A middle aged married man offered me strength, a young girl in her 20's show shared her mother's story of survival, a man in his 30's who barely comes out from behind his computer wanted to say good luck, a grumpy old Navy veteran who's bark is worse than his bite insisted on a hug,  reporters who've all told this story before gave me their well wishes.

I logged off, straightened up, collected my lunchbox and purse, and headed down the tiled hall. I passed the control room, the employees nodded; I passed the studio, the anchor waved; I passed Master Control, they waved me off. Then I turned the corner, and it was just me and the hallway and by the time I hit the second set of double doors, the tears were falling. The love and support were overwhelming. The reason I was leaving was overwhelming. The panic set in.

The panic has stayed with me for days. The anxiety of surgery, the nervousness of what's about to happen, the fear of why.

But then, a calm (helped somewhat by Xanax, I admit); a calm that the cancer will be gone; a calm that the "other side" I so desperately try to see is finally where I'll be.

Tomorrow is a paradox. A day I don't want to happen. A day I do want to happen. A day that has to happen. A day that gets me to the other side. And the other side is freedom, is life, is the future.

Yes, I do want tomorrow to happen. I want to get to that other side, and this, this day that I don't want to happen is all I have to get me there.

Comments

  1. Can't wait to read your post after you kick cancer's ass for good! You, your family and your doctor are in our prayers. Dave Price

    ReplyDelete
  2. Your are in my prayers too. Like my cousin Erin said, you'll kick its butt! Don't mess with Missouri girls.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Praying for you Richelle. You got this. Can't wait to read how you're recovery is on the other side. Loves from home.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Really looking forward to reading your triumphant story of reaching the other side! You've been such an inspiration throughout this difficult process!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Tears a'roll'in. You did it! You made it thru!!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Head is Spinning

It's easy to explain a cancer diagnosis. It's NOT easy to explain what happens after it. The physical part is the easy part. Doctors tell you what to expect, survivors tell you what to expect, everyone seems to have a good handle on that (although, trust me, there are still things people leave out - like how cavernous your armpit will be once those lymph nodes and all that tissue is removed! I'm still struggling to find a way to shave. Can someone invent a razor with a spherical head please?).

It's not over when surgery is over, though. There's more to come. For some, it's chemo, radiation, infusions and drug therapy. For others, like me, it's reconstruction and more surgeries, recovery and rehab.


But the thing is, in between those surgeries there's this sort of
"down time." You're going on with life, trying hard not to look too long in the mirror, trying hard not to dwell on the still long road ahead, trying hard not to sink into the …

The Burden of Strength, the Blessing of Home

Being strong, both physically and mentally, is not always a blessing. When you're strong, people expect you to always be strong. They expect you to be able to do it all yourself, and they expect you to be okay with whatever is happening.

In 5th grade, my dad redid a bedroom for me and my sister and I was the one designated to help hang drywall. My nickname as a kid was "Moose" because I was bigger than my petite little brothers and sisters, and I was strong. So I held the drywall while dad nailed away and as much satisfaction as it gave me to be part of that, and learn what it takes to remodel a room, I did come out with a whack on the head from a sledgehammer due to a little mishap.

As a young woman, I did my own moving every time I packed up and hit a new city for a new job. Nothing's off limits. I've moved a piano, bedroom furniture, TV's, even a concrete tabletop. I've moved those things up and down stairs! My husband knows he can ask me to lift the…

Cancer's Highs and Lows

It has been forever since I've blogged... and that has been by choice. I'm not too busy. I'm not overwhelmed. I'm not lacking in things to say. But the last eight months have been wrought with difficult, unexpected, depressing emotions.


The cancer diagnosis was a rollercoaster ride from the start, but by the time I made it to surgery #3 last July, a surgery that by all accounts was the "good" one, the one that would put me back together, I all of a sudden felt anything but positive feelings about it. Two weeks before the operation I was as depressed and full of angst as I was the week I was diagnosed. What the heck? Where was that coming from? Things were going well! This was going to be good!


I never really got to the root of why those thoughts came back, I decided I simply hadn't dealt with them as fully as I thought, and I moved on. I decided I didn't know what to say or how to say it when it came to feeling so low, so "better left unsaid&qu…