Depression

I thinks I haz it.

I'm sure the weather has a lot to do with it. I'm so ready for spring. But I know that most of it is because of the cancer.

It's kinda funny. I suppose I'm getting used to the idea that I have breast cancer. The first week, that was the very first thought that popped into my head when I woke up.

I have breast cancer.

Now, it's like...the third or fourth thought....after Damn...I hafta pee. or Whaaaaat? It's 6 am...already? or I need coffee!

I had an MRI last week. It was, quite possibly, the most painfully uncomfortable thing I've ever had to do/had done to me. Imagine, if you will.....lying flat on your face on a 16 inch-wide, concrete table with your head slightly elevated, which, in turn, bends your back...well...backwards. Your face is resting on a lightly padded concrete block. Your boobs (if you have them) are hanging down through two holes in the table, the edge of said table hitting you right under said boobs...right at the diaphragm. Your arms are extended in front of you....as far as you can stretch them...with one arm turned at an unusual angle to keep the IV line open for the radioactive contrast. Oh, and they're slightly elevated. Picture Superman flying with one arm hinky.

Now, in this comfortable position, imagine someone poking ear plugs deeply into your ears. You're instructed NOT to take deep breaths (as if) or the machine will shut off and you'll have to do the whole thing over again. A "panic" button is placed in your hands and you are instructed to push it ONLY if you absolutely cannot stand it one. more. second. BUT....if you do push it, the whole thing will have to...you guessed it....be done all over again.

A large tube-thing slides over you. If you're claustrophobic, too bad. The only thing that makes this somewhat bearable is the fact the you're face-down...you can't see said tube. A fan is turned on because it WILL get hotter than the fires of hell in there. The scan begins with a series of deafening (even with ear plugs) series of clicks, whirs, chunka-chunka-chunka chunks, more clicks, thumps and bangs.

And you lay like this....all your muscles tensed, holding the position, because gawd-help-you, you're NOT going to do this shit again.....for 56 hours. Not really. It was only thirty five minutes. But it felt like 56 hours.

By the time it was done, all my flabby, unused muscles were shaking like a big bowl of Jello during an earthquake. And I was SORE...for THREE days after.

The good news is that were no surprises on the MRI. Which could've been better. It could have said...we don't know what you're talking about...you've obviously got patients mixed up. This gal does NOT have breast cancer. Her boobs are pristine.

But it didn't.

So, on I plod on this journey.

I'd rather take a journey to the Bahamas. Or Costa Rica. Hell...Florida. Anywhere but here.