Surgery on Monday and general blather

I found out that surgery was on Monday for sure, when they called on Thursday to ask me to come in for an EKG that same day. That turned into a 1.5 hour interview/sign off/pay the copay at three parts of the building, one of which was smack in the middle of their Christmas party, complete with caroling that was too loud for how good it was.

Friday I sat in my office thinking about how, since before Thanksgiving, I thought Friday was “surgery day”. Also I skipped the office Christmas party in spite of a whole lot of kids being waved as bait. It’s just too uncomfortable for me to do the dance of avoiding the people I mutually avoid. I don’t like parties anyway.

I had two real life conversations in the office, with two of the three people I still speak to. They both told me about people they know with really bad stage 4 cancer. In detail. Oh well I seek these stories out on the internet anyway. I probably filled in more details with my imagination than these people actually told me.

This morning, I’m a little apprehensive about surgery. I have not been under anesthesia since I was 4. They tell me that people hardly ever die from anesthesia allergy anymore, but when I was in high school one of my friends lost her mother that way.

The most annoying thing is that I’m sitting here being depressed about the things I’m usually depressed about when I “don’t have cancer”… Winter, work, friends and how I hardly see any in person.

Lately I try to think of work as just another sucky place of employment, but every now and then I think about how I’ve known some of these people half my life. They made this place out to be one big happy family when I came back. Now they are just assholes who don’t want their cushy boats rocked. The ones I was friends with outside of work ALL got transferred out, too. The ones that seemed to have a work ethic. So now I don’t even feel guilty about my workload because no one who is left works any harder, and some much less.

Every job I’ve had has sucked so why should this one be any different?

Anyway I don’t have to go back there til January 5.

So I guess I better find something else to obsess on besides work and surgery.

I’m reading yet another Augusten Burroughs book, “Dry”. I’m pleased that when my husband was talking to my mother and he was clearly about to give me the phone, I was reading the words “It’s weird that no matter how drunk I get, I can always remember my Adult Check password.”

This was the second time I’ve talked to my mother since we got married. It still did not come up.

I think she may actually have forgotten we were going to get married. She is pretty freaked about my cancer. (Oh, did I mention? I don’t know. She told me a few weeks ago that god was punishing HER by giving ME cancer.) She said “you’re not freaked out about the surgery, that’s good” and I said “well I am a *bit* freaked out!” and she said “oh anyone would be before surgery” and changed the subject slightly. Later she said “I’m glad you’re not freaked out about surgery” and I said “only for a few minutes at a time and <my husband> is great”. Her voice raised up in pitch and she told me the story (for the 5th time in 7 months) of how she knew all of these breast cancer survivors and so she always knew it would be okay.

Thanks mom. I’m glad you feel better.

This reminds me of when Jerry Garcia died. She told me later that she didn’t call me because she knew I would be upset. My husband is so forgiving or some crap, that he manages to find a way to make that seem caring. I can never remember what it is when he’s not speaking it.