A bit of an emotionally overwrought day. I spent half the day with Dr. Roommate at UCLA surgical waiting room and things were as normal as could be. There were no tears, just us casually discussing my case, how her husband handled telling people about his tumor(badly), us walking down to her Westwood with her FIL to get a bite to eat… I’m happy that we got to spend the day together even if we didn’t get as much privacy from her in-laws as we would have liked.
The neurosurgeon who handled her husband’s surgery was amazingly warm, friendly, patient and young. So atypical of everything I’ve heard and seen on TV about surgeons being clinical and cold. Dude, I want her as a doctor. But maybe not so much for neurosurgery.
At home, the bf had cleaned the whole place and it was amazing. Aaaahhhh…
Dr. Roommate had advised that I should tell a couple of close friends I trusted to ease the burden. And she also guessed that it would be Stage 2A since it’s spread to my armpit lymph nodes and didn’t have too many symptoms. The worst part is that she did confirm my fears that I probably wouldn’t be able to have kids normally after chemo and that I’d have to harvest my eggs if in vitro was an option I wanted to keep open later. Man that is heavy shit to deal with all at once. And more invasive procedures. Ugh.
I revealed the news to my second friend Homey. I was driving her to the airport and decided that the alone time would work. She didn’t seem too shocked and said she noticed that I had seemed off on Saturday. She handled it perfectly, not all emotional at all, and offered to help for anything except cooking. She also said good luck keeping our friend Hungry Monster away once she finds out since she’s so devoted to taking care of people.
Unfortunately, the bf and I had a bit of a breakdown at night before going to bed. I’m sure this is common with other patients, but he’s afraid of hurting me more with any physical intimacy. He’s can’t see me as a sexual object right now though I am the “love of his life.” It’s incredibly frustrating because even when we’re both healthy, the frequency of intimacy has always been an issue. With him working long hours for weeks until beginning of October and me being tired and achy, this is the longest stretch we’ve ever gone. Now, with the C word looming over our heads like a giant unsexy bat, it’s even worse.
All I can think of is, dude I’m still fine right now and the drive is there, but soon it won’t and it’s going to be a long stretch where either I won’t be up for it, or he’ll be even more mentally and emotionally distraught to try anything. I could only weep at the frustration and unfairness of it all. It’s beyond my control if he’s not feeling it. I know he loves me and all he wants is for me to get better. That is his priority. He’s plentiful with the hugs, kisses, declarations of love and any other woman out there would be overjoyed with having just that. He doesn’t mind if we can’t have kids and said we could adopt. I’m appreciative and love him dearly but in the meantime, I have to live like a nun until he finds that passion again. Or I could dress like a ho everyday and prance about until that works.
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