While I wait until Monday afternoon to see the oncologist, life goes on. Last Tuesday, the day after having my mammogram and ultrasound, I couldn’t stop talking about the possibilities of what it could be. Matt, in all his 24 years of wisdom, gave the best advice. He said, “Mom, you have six days ’til Monday. Do you want to go to the doctor on Monday and find out you have cancer, then realize you spent your last six cancer free days worrying that you have cancer? You should be living for the next six day.”
Although it’s impossible to stop thinking about what is going to happen (or not happen), I know that Matt is right. So I’ve been spending time with my family, doing all the normal things. Of course, normal with fibromyalgia is a different sort of normal. I still have to take it easy, and I still have to deal with exhaustion. But in the moments in between, I’ve helped Matt start painting his apartment. I’ve kissed my husband goodnight every night. I’ve watched movies with my daughter, helped her deal with her disappointment at not being able to go to MHC this fall, and looked online for apartments for her and her potential roommate. I’ve hugged my dog, talked to my mom, and told friends how much I love them.
I can deal with any medical stuff that comes my way. Fibro has made me a stronger self-advocate, and taught me how to cope with discomfort. I have no fear of needles, x-ray machines, or anesthesia. I know that my family and friends are here for me no matter what.
The stuff that’s harder to deal with is all the stuff that research sites don’t tell you. While the CTRC spits out the facts in concise, easy to understand bullet points, there’s nothing on their page that says what to do to prepare your children and life partner. There are guidelines for eating right, but nothing to help me figure out how to make my mother understand that for the first time in my life, this HAS to be about ME, not her. Support groups tell you not to be afraid to ask for help, but they don’t tell you who you should ask when your friends live on either side of the country while you’re in the middle. There is no page that explains how to give your children a lifetime of love, when your lifetime may only last two more years. There’s nothing to prepare you for the disappointment of never seeing your grandchildren, for not being there on your daughter’s wedding day, for not seeing your son win his first grammy, for having a marriage cut short by that last bit of vows, “’till death do us part.”
That’s the stuff I have trouble with.
Today is the last of my six days. What will I do with it? Spend time with my husband. Help my son paint. Talk with my daughter. Bake her a birthday cake (tomorrow she will be 20!). Today, I will be here, in the present. Tomorrow…will bring what it will bring.
*** I always use song titles or lyrics as the titles for my posts. When Matt said, “six days ’till Monday,” we all agreed that he should write a song about it. I said I’d use it as a title, but only if he promised to write the song. I’m holding him to that.