I saw the oncologist today and we chatted a good bit about my Dairy Queens and my uterus. I don’t have a funny name for my uterus. I should come up with one so it’s not such a hard pill for me to swallow once it’s time for it to go. Surgeries will come soon. My decision unless the dreaded cancer beast comes quicker, which lets all pray it does not. I just know I’m going to kick myself if I wait “too long” and I end up getting the “c” word in either place, when I could have has surgery to prevent it. Curse you Cowden’s. Curse you and the steamroll you came into my life with. I knew that being 40 and no children was going to be a tough pill to swallow but NOW…there’s no chance in hell I will be able to. I cannot risk it. Yet why is it so hard for me to say goodbye to my uterus? What is it doing for me?
I mean…it’s just SO. FINAL.
And I fear utterly that no guy will ever want to be with me once he knows that part of me is gone. Plus, knowing that I have a genetic condition? Yikes. That’s a double zinger. AND…brain tumors? Man, you can’t make this stuff up.
So, it’s late and I’m feeling like crap. That means I need to go to bed and sleep and then I’ll feel better tomorrow. I didn’t exercise today because I was so busy trying to water and I still haven’t unpacked yet. I’m probably paying catch up for a few days.
Then there’s the other whole deal with my Dairy Queens. And when they need to go. And not looking over my shoulder every 6 months. But yet I have no family history of breast cancer. But I don’t want to be freaking out every 6 months for the mammogram and MRI…because I am already freaking out about the breast MRI in December.