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Thursday, August 6, 2015

Update: Back in the Saddle

Home, finally home. The lesson of this morning sinking in. Be aware of what I'm feeling and see how it affects me. If I do this, I can avoid making colossal ass errors that make an already difficult sitch exponentially worse. Easier said than done?  Oh yeah.

We'll see. Maturation is an on-gong deal
I suppose it was bound to happen, given how much I was rockin' the big nervous. I got TAB and I into an accident on the way into MGH. We're OK but Bix is not. The wonderful, calm, warm police guys took Bob into MGH while I waited for the tow. Awesome Oni drove me into MGH to meet Bob.

*sigh* I dread hearing the cost for repairs and the increase in my insurance.
The Amazing Bob and I will head back into Cancer Battle Central soon. NO, our hero’s lymphocytes aren’t misbehaving again. My man is still cancer free (YEA!!!). So why are we returning? To make damn sure TAB stays that way. He’ll have blood drawn, vitals taken, we’ll meet with Brianne, his awesome nurse practitioner, and then see Laurie Anne who’ll give him a Cancer-Be-Gone booster shot.
No biggie, just a long day. So why did I have nastyass bad dreams all night?

As usual, I’m a day late and a C note short in recognizing and understanding what’s going on in my head. I can see that my nerves are all jangled and frazzled. It panics me that I don’t know why. I wonder, have I forgotten to deal with a bunch of shit or fucked something up?
  • Did I give TAB his pills last night?
  • Have I forgotten to fill an important ‘script?
  • Did I proofread that last bcard order I laid out before I shipped the proof?
  • Did I change out the ink color designations from digital to offset printing specs on that brochure before sending?
  • Cats fed and litter boxes sifted?
Yes, no, yes, yes and yes. I’m fine. I’m on top of things. I gotta relax, breathe deep, do some stretching exercises and allow myself to recognize, to see what I’m clearly feeling—fear.  The way to head off an over-reaction melt down is to be aware.

So this is what I'm afraid of—we’ll get slammed with bad news when we get to Cancer Battle-ville this morning. Given how well he responded to chemo and his end-o-chemo diagnosis, that’s unlikely.

I can ask a zillion questions of his awesome nurses and I will. Real, solid info—FACTS—will bash down my ready-for-primetime-freak-out angst. Getting the honest to Bast skinny on a sitch, even if it’s not all unicorns, Blue Morphos and hummingbird wings will calm me down. After all, how can I prep for battle or kick back and chill if I don’t know what I’m up against or not.

Possibly poppies would help.


  1. Just read this, hope you're both ok

    1. Thank you. Physically we're both fine and Bob's actually doing better than me—unlike me, he's not castigating himself endlessly.