Just hot flashing at 3:36 am.
I have insomnia, and the internet is boring, but I’m too lazy to fetch my Kindle from the other room. This is a recurring theme.
My husband woke up briefly, mumbled, “Hi you’re up,” and then immediately started snoring again. I envy his ability to sleep.
I, on the other hand, fell asleep around 2 am and woke around 4:15 am. Sigh.
I’ve never been a good sleeper, but it has definitely gotten worse post-menopause. Just another reason to miss my ovaries.
I was talking to a client last week who is also a fellow breast cancer survivor. We’ve had all the same surgeries. We commiserated for a while, but then she asked, “But doesn’t it feel good knowing we did everything we could?” And, yes, yes it does.
I’m going to ask my oncologist to prescribe some sleeping pills. I need some relief. This is ridiculous.
I FEEL LIKE I’M AWAKE ALL THE TIME. This is not good for one’s mental health, let me tell you.
It reminds me of my grandmother, actually. She always seemed to be awake too. See…I’m old. BUT I’M ONLY 40. *lol sob*
Speaking of old, the fans at the Blink concert had me feeling quite old. I kept thinking: these are not my people. (DMB has spoiled me). It was still a good show though, and it was fun watching my husband and daughter do their thing. ❤️
I miss Tom a lot. The band just isn’t the same without him. We’re seeing him next Sunday though, so yay! Oh and I can’t hear Matt Skiba without thinking about my favorite Alkaline Trio song. This has been stuck in my head all night:
This Could Be Love
I’ve got a book of matches
I’ve got a can of kerosene
I’ve got some bright ideas involving you and me
I don’t blame you for walking away
I touch myself at thoughts of flames
I shat the bed and laid there in it
Thinking of you wide awake for days
Wide awake for days
You get breast cancer so they cut your tits off and give you new ones that don’t look as good. Okay fine. But then these fake tits hurt all the time, like constant discomfort, and sometimes it’s significant fucking knock me on my ass sort of pain. That’s just fucking rude.
My tits hurt right now in case you didn’t pick up on that.
Just took the first pill after a 16 month break. Here’s hoping the next five years will be side effect free. Of course, in five years they’re going to say, “Studies have shown that five more years would be even more beneficial.” So really I’ll likely be taking this drug for the rest of my life. If this is what it takes, then so be it.
A relationship that I know can endure anything.
A much greater appreciation of how precious life really is.
A seize the day attitude.
An outgoing personality.
Several amazing friends.
I’m a different person now than I was before, and I like this version much better.
The new doc is very nice, and his nurse is amazing. I left there with a referral for a cancer psychologist (whom I think is free for Siteman patients), a referral for a new gyn who is a young breast cancer survivor that has cultivated a practice focused on the special needs of survivors, a referral to the LiveStrong program (which is also free!), and, unfortunately, a prescription for motherfucking Tamoxifen.
They sat down with me for over an hour getting to know me and making sure I understood exactly why they want me to go back on Tamoxifen. I didn’t feel rushed…not even once. In fact, the doctor ignored three pages to finish his discussion with me. I broke down into tears at one point, and he said, “I don’t know how you feel obviously, but I understand why it’s happening, and we are ready to help you through it.” He told me about his wife, who is a three time survivor, and who struggles with similar problems. It was a lot, but also exactly what I needed.
I follow up in about five weeks.
When I left, they hugged me.
I’m feeling very emotional, but also like I’m exactly where I need to be. I feel cared for.
And now I’m at a bar near my husband’s office, waiting on him to join me. I don’t usually sit at bars alone, because men (lol), but so far so good. Sometimes a bitch just needs a beer. You feel me?
My peace of mind.
I’m anxious about my appointment with the new oncologist today. It’s always bad enough by itself, but now I have to meet this new doctor. I’m worried I’m going to dislike him. I have to try to not judge him too harshly. I loved my previous oncologist, and it isn’t this guy’s fault that Naughton nearly killed his wife. I’m so disappointed and sickened by all of that.
Ugggghhhhh. People suck.
To be fair, I used to dislike my rheumatologist, but she has grown on me. This could end up like that. Or I could just like him immediately. That is possible, Jenn. I guess I’ll know soon.
Oh and I’m certain he’s going to try to get me back on tamoxifen or some similar drug, but I’m going to fight it. I gave up my ovaries so I didn’t have to take anymore meds. I GAVE UP MY OVARIES FOR THIS FUCKING DISEASE. And my breasts, of course. And my hair. And so much else that is hard to convey with words. I wish you could step inside of my body for a moment and just feel what I’ve given up. To say I’m exhausted by this, would be the understatement of the century. I’m not sure I can do much more. I’m at a breaking point with this shit.
I didn’t expect this post to turn into this crazed rant, but here we are. It’s always there; simmering near the surface, ready to explode.
Can’t stop thinking about KC. I sent her a text early this morning to let her know she’s on my mind. I wish I could do more.
Despite how cancery I look here, I will always love this pic. This was the night we made out on the couch at Itap, and gave zero fucks about who was watching.