Pre Chemo Hysteria

"The treadmill is going to have to be, uh. Relocated," I told him.

No immediate reaction came from Bob. He was laying on the couch, and seemed calm, so I went on to tell him all the design and aesthetic reasons why it would need to be moved from its current spot in the basement. No reaction at all.

"Oh, and I'm sorry you dropped it on your foot trying to get it in the house so fast because I was on a crying jag."

This stuff really happens. Crying jags, laughing fits, and rants are pretty common right now.

I had a moment on Sunday while Bob was golfing that I thought I'd go ahead and try the false eyelash thing. I don't know what kind of witchcraft those women use in the videos I watched, but when I tried it the result was really, really terrifying looking. Glue everywhere. Weird bits sticking out at angles. I ripped them off and threw them down like they were spiders. Can't do it. At the time it was borderline crying jag, but every time I think about it now it makes me laugh hysterically. What. Was. I. Thinking.

Another good example from a lunch one day this week. "I feel completely unprepared for chemo," I whined. "I feel like we need the fridge and pantry stocked with things we don't have." Bob just patiently listened to the rest of the rant: What if I suddenly have a taste for butterscotch pudding? We're out of sugar free Jello! What if I need a bowl of Cream of Wheat? We have none of these things! He was glazing over.

I went on to tell him that I downloaded a guide from some cancer place or another (it seemed credible enough) that gave suggestions for what to eat during chemo. This led to another rant: You're either constipated or you have diarrhea. You either gain weight or you lose it. And pages of suggestions for each of these and other eating problems you might have during chemo. It's like one page says eat bananas, the next page says whatever you do don't eat bananas. "So this wasn't helpful at all! It's maddening!" I told him.

"We'll just have to see what happens," Bob said.

Dang. He's right. I'm not going to "chemo prison." I will still be able get out and get food based on what happens.

But that's just it: I'm not good at whatever happens. I like to make lists, plan ahead, have it figured out, and stick to the plan. (Camping menus are figured out down to the 3 pm snack.) So, I'm not the target demo for chemo because, by definition, doctors and nurses cannot with any certainty say what my reaction is going to be. There are certain "givens" like the hair loss, and probably nausea, but the rest is an unknown. It can go any which way.

Tomorrow a lot will be revealed. I'm nervous about it, but it can't happen soon enough so some of these mysteries are solved and I can move on through all the rest of what's coming.

I'm prepared to be totally unprepared.