In the meantime...

Friday a nurse from the anesthesia clinic called to go over my medical history and pre-op instructions. We played phone tag until Saturday, and finally managed to connect in the late morning. The call only took about 15-20 minutes but it seemed like forever. I think this is because it made me actually have to THINK about the surgery when I'd actually been working up a good case of total denial. Dang.

Had to go through: don't eat or drink after X time, call the day before to find out your surgery time, don't wear any jewelry (I hate this one because it means I have to take off my wedding rings), don't use any lotions or perfumes the day of, etc. A new one for me was to shower with a good antibacterial soap. Do some people arrive for surgery really stinky or something? What is that all about? Personally, I think surgery is like that old "wear your best underwear in case you get in accident" saying. Definitely shower because even though the doctors and nurses all see you butt-naked, you want to be clean, right? I'm getting my hair cut, I'll shave my legs (don't want the surgeon to be distracted by scary leg hair), and be otherwise squeaky clean. Look your best for surgery...that's the ticket! Of course, the other interpretation is that they want you to shower specifically with antibacterial soap because the risk of infection is so high that a little Dial in the shower is an essential component of staving off germs. Yikes!

Other than this, I've been trying to keep on top of all the things at work and home that need to get done before surgery this Friday. I'm trying really hard not to drop the ball on anything but I suppose it's inevitable that I'll forget something. I hope not. Or if I do, that's it's nothing really horribly important. Mike knows me so well that on our dog-walk yesterday he said, "Forget about what you want to get done, tell me what has to be done before your surgery." Assuming I'm not forgetting anything, it's definitely a much smaller list now. Yay, Mike!

I have to confess that Mike did remind me that this is probably my last weekend for a little while at least that I'll feel like or be able to go out and about. A good excuse to see friends and to spoil myself completely - and to ignore certain household chores. Friday during the day, I got a massage from the best massage therapist in Tucson (can you tell that I've been with her a long time?). I find out later that she came in just for me and otherwise had the day off. See how lucky I am? Friday night, we went to Ra with our friends Adam and Andy. For me this was like getting back on the horse that threw you, since this is the restaurant where I learned about my new cancer. I think we even sat in the same booth. I must say that these passing thoughts were nearly obliterated by the serious business of sushi-eating, drinking sake (Mike, Andy, Adam) and one chocolate martini (me) and talking with good friends. There was just one moment in the evening when I felt like I was on the outside looking in. Could I really be sitting here having such a good time and have cancer? Why can't everyone else tell? I feel fine, I look fine. Can this be real? Why do I have the total misconception that if a person has cancer, they'll look like they do? I don't think I look like I do, ergo I don't have cancer, right?

Of course, I should know better because I learned this lesson last time. People with cancer look just like anyone else, particularly if they're fortunate enough to have early-stage disease. You probably couldn't pick them out of a crowd if someone gave you a million dollars. People that look like your spouse or partner, your mom, your dad, your siblings, your in-laws, your children, your neighbors and friends. I remember Joyce, whom I met in cancer support group the first time. She didn't look sick to me. Yes, she had a wig, but it looked great. She was wonderfully supportive, fantastically upbeat and had lymphoma; underneath her shirt, she had intravenous chemo attached to her like a fanny pack. She didn't make it through the year but I hope if I'm ever in that situation I can be as giving as she was.

One thing I think Mike and I have both learned: you just never know. The trick is to live each day like you mean it, good or bad. Plenty of famous people have said that and I'm not sure I succeed with it but I think it's a decent goal. Which is why I'm going to go make myself some cocoa on this chilly (!) Tucson day. I'm pretty sure part of the secret is to have cocoa, cuddle up with your little weiner dog, your book and a blankie. Can life get better than that?