boobs on ice, or something like that

I’m a day or two shy, give or take, of finding out what all this weirdness is going to mean. It’s been a struggle to get my words on both paper and screen this time around…I think the thoughts hit too close to the heart so I’m almost afraid to think or feel them, let alone solidify them by writing them down. I want the unknown to become known; and, comma, I’m also scared shitless about what the almost known is going to feel like when it becomes the for real known.

I don’t really know how to talk about it much at all. Three biopsies down and two more to go because there is, apparently, a lot of hide-and-seek going on in the breasticular area of my body. And the seeking keeps producing more “gotcha” little pussy hiding mother fuckers who can’t just step up and be who they are. They seem to act like finding them is akin to scoring the golden easter egg or the winning lottery ticket when in actuality it’s more like getting a D- on that chemistry test you were sure you had aced.

I feel stupid for sitting here and crying because I don’t even know what I’m crying about yet. I don’t know how to be scared or how to worry – those things just aren’t really part of my blueprint – but something tells me I should be inviting them both in for a visit, extended or not, so I’m trying. Tears beget more tears and then I can neither stop nor decipher exactly which facet of the last 7 days I am even crying about. Most likely it’s the dog hair and dust bunnies that the new bossy people around here won’t let me clean up. If they would just do it to my standards then I probably would have nothing at all to fret about. Maybe they purposely leave those crazy-making things there for me so I can perseverate on something other than what stage of cancer I most likely have.

Everyone in this house is their own version of scared right now. None of us are really talking about being scared, but actions speak louder than words and I have intuited much from our family interactions.

I can count on one hand the number of times my baby girl has laid her head on my lap in the 17 years I have known her. In the past 7 days, however, there is some gravitational force that consistently pulls her as close to me as she can physically, possibly get. And although neither of us is able to find the words that loom deep inside each of us, we know what we are saying to each other as her head rests on some part of my body and I caress her multi-colored teenage hair while inhaling the beauty of every fucking second. It is there and it is not. More importantly, we are here.

And then there’s my first born. The lord-knows-where-you-even-came-from kid who has always always exuded confidence expressing his words, thoughts, and feelings with a kind of grace that is typically only earned by octogenarians. Lately, the cat has got his tongue a bit, so I know he is processing through all the unknowns in his own way. The telltale signs from my baby bear are him not asking me to whip up some culinary delight he loves; not asking me to help find his keys and wallet (again); checking in with me multiple times just to say hi and see how I’m feeling. He has always greeted me with a morning hug, but they linger a tad longer and tighter now. We hold hands in silence together and we kinesthetically emote all we cannot presently say.

The glue stick. My husband, my rock, safe place…talk about giving new meaning to quaint little descriptors that sound like platitudes prior to undergoing an actual litmus test. What the hell do I even say about him and the fear he is feeling? We fall asleep holding hands. We wake multiple times each night in search of the interlocked fingers that keep us both safe. We re-intertwine and somehow doze off again until one of us wakes and cannot feel the other. And we panic until we are again holding on to the most beautiful thing we know.

He remains this pillar of fucking amazingness and I don’t think he has taken a breath for himself since this whole party started. I worry he is going to self combust. I know there are moments here and there that I have actually somehow fallen asleep, but I’m not sure I can say the same for him. His heartbreak is palpable to me and it makes me weak in the knees. It hurts me more to see him hurting than it does to feel the pain myself. His loyalty runs so deep that he can’t see that he even exists as a human being inside this hurricane that is our present state of collective minds.

I have no way to end this with some sort of witty closure. Presently, I have nothing left inside of me. I know it’s gonna be ok. I’m just fucking tired…and when has that ever proven to be anyone’s best representation of themselves?

Tomorrow is a new day. Thanks for listening.

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