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  • ChrisCutler

Overload

It's the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. It's the first thing I think of when I wake up. I don't like that. I hate that. I want this monster out of my body.


Even though I suspected my diagnosis two months ago, when my surgeon told me the mass was malignant last Thursday, life changed. I cannot stop counting the days and hours until tomorrow (surgery day). I suddenly arrange my life around medical appointments. Surgeon. Nurse. Radiation oncologist. Blood draws. X-rays. EKG. Nurse.



Each one of them has information for me. Some written. Some spoken. All confusing. Do this. Don't do that. You can choose this. You can decide later. It depends on the pathology. The pathology may show this. The pathology may show that. You're something-something positive. This is good. This is bad. The positive results are within one percent of each other.


Make. It. Stop.



The pressure got to me today, and I cried a little in the hospital waiting room. Mike could not come in with me, and I felt so alone and lost and overwhelmed.


The good news is that tomorrow is another day. Dr. El-Eid will cut the demon from my chest tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love you, Tomorrow.

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