My little hairs are starting to sprout again, albeit reluctantly, which means my cells are getting back to the business of dividing.
This freaks me out.
On one paw, I've been complaining about my squeaky face, my sinuses that release all over everything when I bend over, a patchy hairdo, and a noggin with stagnant capacity and the inability to shout "look out for that flying ax!" when my beloveds are in harm's way. On the other paw, cell division means an opportunity for the mean girls in there to start bullying again.
It's been safe up to this point. I've escaped without debilitating side effects. The axes hurtling our way have been minimal since the Middle Ages. Remember Madonna in her Dita days? Screw the haters, I think she looked pretty wicked with no brows, and I've gotten adolescent-level good at drawing mine in so I get pitying stares from only 93% of strangers instead of 100%. I've learned to cope.
Now it gets real, real fast.
My PET scan is tomorrow and I'm trying not to succumb to a bundle a stress, biting the heads off baby turtles and selling my children to gypsies. I'm actively trying to be an awesome mom, a decent friend, and a person who returns phone messages and emails. All the things I've sucked hard at in the past when life gets me by the balls.
I waver between feeling like I need to dissolve in a hedonistic existence of beer and nachos at 10 am, pedicures with happy endings at 1 pm and endless karaoke and cocaine at 3 pm, or submit to the life of a martyr, eating kale while I self-flagellate. If I had a therapist, she'd likely say that whatever I do, I need to do with joy. I know it. Eating chocolate cake at midnight is only half the problem. The other half is the big oily stress mess you put on yourself for eating it.
It's not all food-related, and truth is, I'm golden with what I need to put in my body. It's getting the whole mind/body/spirit package in place so I can do my job of quickly multiplying my natural killer cells and lengthening the time between the division of the mean girl cells scattered hither and thither. I'm about 75% there with that whole package dealio and trying hard not to be all "good" and "bad" about it all like a Cosmo girl.
By the end of this week I'll know whether chemo-sabe has really been my friend or if I have go more martyr than hedonist to stretch this life out as long as possible. It's okay. I can be a bitch about this stuff. I've had a ton of inspiration from the bitches in my life, Madge included.