The Transition Times

I told my gynecologic oncologist that I’m not strong enough to go through what Lew went through.  “If the ovarian cyst turns out to be cancer, just refer me to Hospice and we’re done.”

My regular gynecologist wanted to take it out.  Fortunately, the oncologist understood and said we could talk about surgery later.  The cyst is now about three inches.  We’ll rescan it in a couple of months to get an idea of about how fast its growing.  Since there isn’t an accurate test for early ovarian cancer and since I’ve got a bad history for colon cancer (they’re related) we’ll be doing genetic testing.  If I have the genetic marker for colon cancer . . .

I’m struggling with depression.  Having to force myself to go for drive-thru groceries or run errands.  I had to ask to be rescued three times last week — had to call a neighbor to dig me out of the mud hole I had dug myself into, called AAA to change the tire that had a screw in it, and, well . . . you get the picture.  I can’t take care of myself pity-party.  I turned 60 today.  I’m withdrawing from my friends — even making up reasons to be mad at them.  I’m not returning calls.

At times, I seem to go in the other direction.  I’ve started baking bread so I’ll have something to beat.  I highly recommend it.  I began thinking about going to a dog conference in NYC in a couple of weeks.  How’s that for brain dead?  Going north in February?!  And last minute plans?  And I haven’t flown since I’ve been full time in a wheelchair!

Social Security Disability finally called me after total silence for six months.  My paperwork is now too old to process, we have to start over.  But since my disability claim is pending, it complicates the process of completing the paperwork for widow’s benefits.

I’m angry.