The one thing that I should have learned by now is that things never happen as you predict, no matter how many times you run it through your mind.
I wasn't really obsessed about today's appointment, except for last night when sleep eluded me and there was enough silly family drama to distract. I arrived promptly at 1:15pm for my pre-arranged post-operative appointment. Those who know me know that I have two options for arriving at appointments or meetings, on time or on 'Lisa time'. Early happens just a few times a year, and only really to daze and confuse those who've come to expect my 'just on time' approach. So, today like all others, I was running a smidge late, and to make it there exactly at 1:15pm, I had to leave hubby to park the car and dash up to my appointment.
Once there, I found myself surrounded by... what looked like a group of very well seasoned, very old boozers. Seriously old and seriously rummy looking crowd. Suddenly I felt... youthful. Good Lord, between the watery eyes, faint whiff of beer and canes and crutches, I felt kinda healthy. While I'm waiting, an old fellow just saunters right into the line in front of me. Eyes big, I figure that even though my shoulder is aching and I did just have surgery - meh, he's probably not super steady on his feet, so have at it, take my space in the line. After what seemed like hours, finally the nurse tells me that I was supposed to meet the Doctor at 9:15am. This is now the 'liver' doctors time. Oops, thanks to the hospital that gave me the wrong time. But, at least, this crowd in this waiting room makes more sense!
Luckily, they were able to squeeze me in to the cancer clinic and down there I waited, expecting the worst and hoping for the best. I had mentally prepared myself for the news that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes and that I would need radiation. I also prepped questions in case I heard that we were all clear, it was all good. But, best laid plans were out the window and yet again I ended up in a world of unexpected events when first I heard that they were worried that the cancer was already coming back because of the small red spot on the underside of my tongue. Huh? Of course, I still can't see it but then the overall grossness of the whitish yellowish 'tissue' and sutures might be blinding me when I look into my mouth. Next, and for a final kick in the shins is the detailed explanation (only partially retained) about margins around the tumour on my tongue, pre-cancerous tissue, percentages of recurrence, and their recommendation for radiation. Oh, and we'd also recommend that you do a clinical trial of chemo.
My radiation doctor seems very kind - says that the first strike against cancer is most often the most successful. Your choice, he says. Radiation of the mouth is very difficult, he says. Towards the end you'll think I'm trying to kill you, he says. And, words that I've feared since I first read about oral cancer, do you have good teeth, he asks?
WTF? Again, I'm kinda stunned. Again, I'm trying to shake some meaning into any of this. But perhaps there is no meaning and that's what I'm supposed to get. People get cancer, heart disease, strokes and die of tragic accidents all the time. Superman falls off his horse and is paralyzed, tricks of fate are as plentiful as the stars in the sky.
So if shit happens, we just need to get on. Maybe forcing yourself to eat a side effect laden apple will make the good apples taste all the better.
My guess is that there is no real recipe for strength, for courage or for life other than to say that we will choose to move forward, live, or die trying.