Behind the 8 ball

It's 10:30pm and I think I recognize what denial might be. I have to meet the surgeon in less than 12 hours tomorrow and I have NOT:

-Filled out my "New Patient" paperwork
-Read Chapter 17 on surgery options in Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book that my sister Julie assigned to me. (She's driving up from Portland after work tonight to go to the 9:30am appointment with me. She is going to be so annoyed with me.... she also told me to:)
-Make a list of the supplements I'm taking and
-Print out the list she forwarded me of "10 Questions to Ask the Breast Cancer Surgeon" and
-Make a list of questions of my own

And that would be: no, no, nope, nope, and...not yet. Ok. yes, clearly this is big time denial. But I will get right on it after I finish this post, I promise! For reals.

Anyway, FARRRRRRR more interesting to me is this envelope I received from the Breast Cancer Center with my thick wad of New Patient paperwork to fill out:

Have you EVER seen anyone use this handwriting device before???

Instead of doing the above boring lists of stuff, I have been sitting here mulling over this envelope address for a good long time. Who writes like this? And carefully spells out "Washington" like it's 1943? I'm fascinated with this person. (Doris, can I get an analysis here?) I imagine her neatly writing this out, adding the little devil tails as a final touch, and her saying in her day-dreamy head,

"Dear Jenny Joyce... so sorry to hear about your lump. I wonder what you look like? I think you look like this (see below photo). Love, The Swedish Breast Care Center Admin.
ps. Can we be pen-pals?"

ripped off the web from sticker giant.com

And you know what? I think I'm going to start imagining I do look like this. In fact, I may want to come back from surgery looking like her. You people won't even recognize me! I'm starting over! Or maybe I'll get this tattoo. Except without the "Bad Luck." Maybe "Marginally Ok Luck" or "Good Luck Overall, Just Some Big 8-Ball Problems Right Now".

I haven't done the above list because I'm nervous. Dr. Claire Buchanan is going to be the first person who really gives me some big straight poop on this deal. And it's also like an interview, the whole time I'll be wondering, "Of all the people in this whole wide world, are you the one I'm going to trust with my life?" Ugh. I'm looking up other doctors for second opinions because that is what you are supposed to do. Dr. Claire is who Swedish Health System assigned me. Tomorrow she'll do some tests (not sure what) and will look at my films from the mammogram, ultrasounds, and biopsy and we'll discuss surgery options. And dates I presume.

So far I've just been absorbing. One minute someone tells me I'll probably get a lumpectomy and some radiation and I'll be fine. Yesterday our friend's wife who's a pathologist said it could be a double-mastectomy because of my age. I don't let myself get excited when I hear potentially great scenarios... and I don't freak out when I hear the bad ones either. Because right now I just don't know, so freaking out isn't going to do me much good. But tomorrow I will be getting my first real-deal opinion. Yikes. It does make me nervous. Suddenly this lump is getting serious with me. (But it doesn't know that I'm about to get serious with IT. Uh huh, that's right.)

Ok. Out of denial, into the paperwork. But a part of me can't stop thinking about the "Bad Luck" tattoo. Both my breasts may be behind 8-balls, but I'm going to think about the protective, powerful black cat watching over her instead.