Worry about what you can control

Or, slightly more helpfully, don't worry about what you can't control. My friend Eric keeps reminding me of this oldie-but-goodie.

So I shall try. I can control making sure all the financial and social ducks are in a row for the toddler, in case The Thing comes. So this week I am reviewing all of that with the financial and legal folk, plus retirement (i.e., health care) funding, and how to protect her inheritance from being consumed by The Thing, if it comes.

Oh, and let's be clear on "mouth sores" for a moment: They're not canker sores. It (not "they") is a state in which all the soft tissue in your mouth aches, and eating the slightest bit of crunchy thing will tear up your cheek and gums... like you've been chewing glass.

I anxiously await the arrival of a box of perfect fruit, sent by my sister. And then another one next month. And then another, and another, and another!!  Mad love, yo!!

The mind game

When I'm through with treatment, I won't be a "survivor." I won't join a support group or wear pink ribbons or raise money for breast cancer research. This thing will not infringe on my identity or time any more than is necessary.

But I do need to figure out how to live with the hovering black cloud of metastasis. My chances are 15% (from what I can figure). But they feel more like 85%. The answer is probably to figure out the chances of other horrible things... speeding busses, etc. If they're over 15%, I can forget about cancer, I guess. Until then, I feel like the walking dead, waiting for the next set of symptoms to start. Regardless of my tendency toward depression and downright moping, that state does the toddler no good. I don't want her to show up in therapy someday talking about her mopey, walking-dead mom who sat on the couch for 10 years waiting to die.

In other news, the hair has started to go, right on schedule. Am especially excited about losing my eyebrows.

Nanny!

Found a lively Polish nanny to start on Monday and continue through Christmas, perhaps til the end of radiation if I need it. The toddler took to her immediately and enthusiastically, which she does not do with everyone.

I was hoping for a Russian, in the bilingual department, but Polish is ok too.

What a relief!

Round Two

Two down, six to go. After-school babysitting provided by a young neighbor was helpful, if not strictly necessary. Other than that, hot flashes and arrhythmia. Whoo hoo.

Thank you

I've had several reports, lately, that I've been added to people's prayer lists. Some of these people have never met me. I've also had a report today from the catering service, which informed me that I've a healthy balance in place, ready to be used whenever I can't stomach the idea of cooking a meal for the toddler. Or myself, I suppose.

I am grateful for every thumbs-up, every postcard with good wishes, every offer to do "whatever you need," every sounding board that doesn't flinch at my rage and misplaced blame and mis-spent energy in trying to wrestle with this situation. And every child who likes my mohawk. And there are several, I'll have you know. I'm a huge hit with kids, with this thing. Go know.

"Breaking Bad"

Been re-watching this series on Netflix. (For those who've not seen it, the series is about a straight-laced high school chemistry teacher who, when diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, decides that the best way to try and provide for his pregnant wife and disabled teenager with what little time he has left is to use his chem knowledge to cook methamphetamine.)

Cancer plays an interesting role in the show. It's not the melody or the harmony, not even a dramatic horn solo. It's the drone note. The low and persistent hum. And yet it is the premise of the show. And it's a brilliant premise, really ... exploring the limits of what reasonable people are capable of when facing terminal illness, when nothing matters to them anymore except trying to ensure the health, safety, and happiness of the children they're going to leave behind.

I don't believe I'll go shopping for beakers and chemicals any time soon. But I can relate to the desperation of it.

Buy lots of life insurance while you're still healthy, people. I know -- it feels like throwing money away. Just do it.

Mouth sores

Several. On top of that gross omnipresent taste in my mouth. I've read it tastes like metal, but mine doesn't. It just makes me want to brush my teeth every five minutes.