Out Sorted

It's been an out-of-sorts day. Not so much more than any other day recently, but I guess I'm feeling a bit like my legs are not going to be there supporting me. I understand the reasons and have been expecting this but it's feeling rough.

I listened to the whole 20-minutes or so from the doctor's visit on Tuesday. It was interesting hearing it again with some perspective... time passing... getting a bit of the emotion out of the way. I was struck by how weary and drained I sounded. It's probably not as bad as it sounded to me, but it seemed pathetic.

Don't me get wrong - I was a rockstar patient. I didn't let the doctor go until I was done with him and I got several "very good questions", so I know I was doing my job. Lori and I both made sure we were satisfied that he'd told us everything he could. We asked him several questions for which I was pretty sure he'd be referring us to the Onks (our neologism for "oncology doctors") for answers, and he did. But even so, we managed to pry from him more info than we would have otherwise received.

Connie, the surgeon's right-hand person, was very good with taking out the staples and talking about recovering from surgery. She had to remind me on more than one occasion that I had just experienced a serious trauma to my brain and body - that it's not something I am going to get over quickly. She talked about taking care to not rush myself into trying to return to "normal" too quickly. I know all this stuff intellectually, but it was good to hear it again from her.

I guess it's settling in for real that these next several days are not going to be much fun. The doc said that when I come off the steroids, there's a good chance I'll have some "not so good" days. I can smell what he's cookin' and I'm not diggin' it.

I am allowing myself to indulge in just a spot of self-pity or something. I'm feeling relatively shitty. I barely recognize myself when I really look at myself in the mirror, and of course what I see looks like shit. My voice sounds like shit since surgery - sounds like somebody else coming out of my head.

After lunch today I was chatting with a handful of co-workers before leaving. I accidentally knocked something over and clumsily picked it up and put it back. Nothing really, but it didn't feel like me doing it. I am cool, calm and collected. If I knock something over accidentally, I replace it with panache or at least purposeful action. This just felt helpless and pathetic.

I am very capable of taking these observations and analyzing them for what they are. What normal person in this situation wouldn't experience a bit of self-doubt and generic "what-hell-is-happening-to-me"? And I do that analysis... can't help it. But for now, I'm also indulging in a brief interlude of feeling sad and sorry for myself.

On another note, I received a welcome message from a former employer of mine who has personal experience with the cancer thing. We're planning on hooking up next week to visit, but just for today his email was life-affirming and empowering. It was also long and exquisitely communicated. He's on the team for sure.

Yesterday I took advantage of one of the multitude of gracious offers of help all you kind folks have been bestowing upon me. One of my co-workers sent out an email to several dozen folks asking if someone could drive me to an appointment next week so my hard-working wife doesn't have to run off to the big city and miss work every time someone needs another picture of my brain. The co-worker's email was sent at 2:22 pm and at 2:24 pm somebody piped up that they'd be delighted to drive me. That's what I'm talkin' about. It's not good enough that people are so willing to help - it's that they have to go and be all eager and everything.

So much for feeling sorry for oneself.