I’ve got less than 48 hours to go til showtime. Not enough time. I was sent a list of Dos and Don’ts in order to physically prepare for this. Where’s my list for the emotional part? You have cancer. They tell you what doctors to see and when. They tell you what tests to have done and where. Where do they send you to tell you that you’re not alone in your thoughts and feelings? My thoughts bounce all over the place like a demented ping pong ball on speed. It’s pure hell.
As a mother, I am so used to putting everyone ahead of me. Even with this stupid space invader of the boob. Cancer doesn’t give a shit. It strolls on in, sets up shop inside you and say’s, “heeeey, I’m here to wreck your life.” Maybe it’s the universe’s way of smacking me upside the head and reminding me that I need to take better care of me. Let me cut to the chase. I figured out, to get through this relatively unscathed, I need to put my well being first. Me. It’s got to be me. No one else is going to do it for me. I spent the past three weeks getting myself physically ready. I cleaned up my already clean diet, no alcohol, tons more green leafy shit and hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.. For real. I need to give myself a fighting chance to bounce back fast. I’ve got lives to run. Here’s the hard part. I have kids. Not just regular good old fashioned run of the mill kind. I’ve got two savvy, intelligent kids who can conquer anything. So what the problem? One needs a little extra because he’s a little extra. How do I put myself first to battle the ticking time boob when I need to put my kids first? It finally came to me. The answer is simple. Peace of mind. If I can keep things as calm and peaceful and steady for them, my stress lessens. I’m on a mission now.
I’ve got less than 48 hours til my forced beauty sleep with exorcism and a surprise boob job. Move out of the way Felicia. While you’ve temporarily got a small part of my body, I’ve got my own back. I’m in control now.
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