Positively Phoebe

I’ve been meaning to update everything that was going on when I posted last week, and then I go this morning to look at what I’d written, and I see Ryan’s amazing “The Fear” post and now all the little nuggets that were bouncing around in my head feel like the incoherent grunts of Frankenstein’s monster in comparison. But I suppose I still feel inclined to give the more in-depth follow-up regardless, as I know people do want to know… So, yeah.  Let me start with my dad, because I know at least one person left a comment wondering if there was any update on his condition.  My last post was on Wednesday.  By Thursday, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was nervous about talking to him, but I had to call.  I was surprised that the hospital managed to put me straight through to his room.   And when I heard him on the other end of the line, I was just devastated.  He sounded awful and even worse he said several times that he FELT awful.  Hear...

Just FYI for anyone following: the follow-up mammogram was all clear, she was told by the radiologist that older tattoo ink can sometimes show up as a spot in a lymph node, that is what they were seeing... No more specific news about Phoebe's dad, it is apparently a "wait and see" sort of situation... she has talked to him a couple times and he is improving, and is apparently ravenously hungry. These are very good things. ______________ Hunter S. Thompson often wrote about "the fear". Like "THE" fear. Some of it, in his case clearly, was drug-induced; but this is something we all have. Not a specific fear... like "oh man, am I afraid of skydiving and turtles and circus peanuts", but an overall fear. A non-specific panic over the state and pace of life itself. THE fear. The fear is personified in all sorts of evil characters, from children's stories to religious texts. Tolkien of course makes it into an object. A ring. THE ring.....

Is it me, or has this been one of those weeks, again, where everything seems to be going wrong for everyone I know?  Starting at home. A week ago, something really amazing that Ryan had been working really hard toward fell completely apart.  It was devastating and, honestly, is STILL devastating – it’s just that so much other CRAP has happened since then that I feel like it fell apart a year ago, not 6 days ago.  A few days after that, our house refinance ALSO fell through.  And then that same day, my aunt called from Florida to tell me that my father (Tattoo Dad) was back in the hospital.  For me, this has been the most difficult of the bad news.  The details all seem very hazy still.  The bits of the conversations I’ve had with my aunt that stick out in my head are “found in a ditch” “on his bike” “collapsed” “doesn’t remember anything” “brain bleed” “transferred to neuro hospital” “too out of it to give HIPPA release consent” “CICU”… ...

So, I'm feeling completely destroyed right now.  And it makes absolutely no sense at all.  And I am so mad at myself because of it. At lunch today, one of the shop guys says to me, right as I sit down, "So, when are you going to have some kids?" I was stunned, and just sort of curtly responded, "I can't."  He clearly felt terrible.  Apologized.  Mumbled something about adoption always being an option.  Then *I* felt bad for making him uncomfortable and explained that I never really wanted kids anyhow. But as ABSOLUTELY true as that statement was, is, and continues to be, it seems to somehow be completely separate from this pain in my gut that makes my eyes water and my heart catch in my throat. I fucking HATE that that decision was made for me.  Despite the fact that I never wanted kids.  Never.  Not once in my life do I ever remember feeling differently - not even for a moment.  I have zero interest, and moreso, I have zero res...

When I was walking through the shop this morning on my way to my desk, I passed one of the guys who works out on the floor.  We exchanged the standard morning pleasantries, and when I asked how he was this morning and he responded, “Pretty awesome.” Wow… I was immediately ashamed of my mopey “Okay” response.  I should be the one who is “pretty awesome” today.  But instead I’m filled with the stupid asshole-y nervousness that goes along with today being not only my quarterly oncology follow-up, but also exactly a year and a half since my diagnosis.  I should be feeling pretty awesome.  First off, because instead of this being 3 months since my last visit, it’s 4 since Dr. Kebria felt so good about my last exam.  And secondly because it’s only been a year and a half and I don’t have cancer.  And I HAVEN’T had cancer in over a year. I should be feeling pretty awesome.  My life?  It’s pretty fucking awesome.  Why on earth am I lettin...