Blowing into town after a cross country drive, having your surgeon call and move up your appointment so that all the prep work can get done in time.
Meeting your surgeon and being glad that she seems so smart and so kind.
Realizing that you really are going to have surgery the day after Labor Day, that they are going to cut a piece of your breast out, and that there are no guarantees and that they won’t really know what going on until the operation, and not really until the pathology work comes back afterward.
Having trouble sleeping once the reality sets in. Worrying that your husband is worrying. Feeling bone tired, but not being able to rest.
Spending almost an entire day doing prep appointments: giving blood so that they can test my liver function, how fast my blood clots and those sorts of things.
Going to three different offices at UCSF and each time filling out the same “litany of misery” form, i.e. checking “no” on the boxes next to an endless number of other ailments that could afflict me. It almost makes me grateful to “only” have cancer.
Having a chest x-ray, and another mammogram. Apparently those marker clips they placed after all those biopsies can shift. Really, there are no guarantees. Nothing stays the same. We’re all settled on shifting sands.
Marveling at how good a 9-year-old can be as she accompanies you to all these appointments (we couldn’t find a babysitter), really good, until the last 45 minutes.
Being tired, tired to my bones. You know you’re tired when you look forward to surgery as a rest.
Getting up early to write this blog post. Being conscious without coffee. Show up for surgery in two hours. Fingers crossed.