Tomorrow I have to start the first steps for getting ready for surgery--they make you drink this Ensure-type drink called ImmunoBoost or something, three cartons a day for five days before the procedure. I guess it's supposed to help your body recover faster or something. Then by end of weekend I have to start a small diet change, and then take antibiotics, before I have to do the insane ritual special soap shower, which I bought today, and take the vile liquid they make you drink to clean out your colon (it's like drinking gatorade-flavored cooking oil). I'm confused about why you take antibiotics when you're just going to shit them out, but whatever. I also have to get a very specific carbohydrate drink for the day of the procedure. Just the laundering everything/special shower stuff is going to drive me crazy alone. (Also, I can't find any of the Popsicle flavors I want/am allowed to have, anywhere, and you can't eat these modern fancy pops because they're not clear liquids, they have pieces of stuff in them.)
I'm feeling really depressed, and as I was telling minim calibre last night, I'm having this constant erratic beating or pounding of my heart, and it's freaking me out because sometimes I'm so stressed I feel like I'm having a heart attack, and I worry this could be very bad for the anesthesia. Some of this is worry about my situation, but it's compounded by trying to help people I know who are in bad straits. I feel really alone, and a lot of the people who were there at the beginning are noticeably absent now, I guess it's no longer glamorous two months on--not to mention many of the people who do want to see me or talk to me aren't doing it because I want to, but because it's about making themselves feel good, like if I die they'll have done their duty of being a pal or something and mostly I just would be fine with them going away.
The times when I'm loneliest and most scared are late at night, and there's no one to talk to at that hour. The past few days, my lower abdomen has felt kind of bad, and it's making me worry that maybe the tumor has gotten bigger, that all this waiting's made the situation a lot worse. That's not helping.
Plus I get either the victim blaming or concern trolling (my diet, my weight, my lifestyle, my whatever) or the helpful information version of victim blaming: it's dairy (because it's not like people across many cultures have eaten other types of dairy like sheep or goat or horse milk for centuries, or even cow dairy, and didn't get cancer), it's carbs (ignoring the fact that carbs are actually an important part of diet and for some of us high protein/fat is actually dangerous, and there's a reason they make you drink carbohydrate drinks before and after surgery, and also, millions of people eat carbs without getting cancer), it's refined sugar (which, I admit, I use too much of probably, but since sweet is one of the few things I enjoy taste-wise, and millions of people eat way, way more sugar than I do and don't get cancer, I'm not buying it), it's gluten (which many people enjoy without getting cancer, and if you don't actually have physical conditions or problems with gluten, it's not going to give you colon cancer anyway), it's blah blah whatever thing you are currently believing all the bad press about.
Everyone seems to think I have some kind of team behind me, despite telling them repeatedly that I don't--no oncologist, no therapist, no nothing. I learned really fast that people don't listen to most of what I say, because I have to keep repeating myself. I'm kind of dreading going to the hospital because my ex wants to take me and it makes sense--he lives basically about ten blocks away, but he drives me bug-shagging crazy because he never listens and I have to tell him the same damn shit over and over, and he gets really fluttery and panicky. He texted me last night with "where do I drop you [at the hospital]? Address??" and I was like, okay, I've told you three times that it's Swedish on Broadway and James and you could look up the damn address yourself, and also, just because I said you didn't have to stay does not mean I want to be dumped on the fucking doorstep. If you don't have time or want to come in to the hospital with me till they walk me through reg, then let me know because I want to find someone else." I well remember his selfish, childish hatred of hospitals when I needed him, when we were together and my mom was sick. It was one of many things that led to us splitting.
Anyways. Tomorrow is also the day my fic and the accompanying podfic for the
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pod_together goes live. I started this thing before the diagnosis, and to say it's been a wild ride is putting it mildly. I absolutely did not want to write the story I ended up writing, but it seemed like my original teammate didn't like the idea I loved, so somehow I ended up writing 6k of metal hand fisting, I don't even know. I never wanted to write a sequel to Man With a Plan, but here we are. The good news is that, because it was such a rollercoaster experience, and lifestuff happened with me and my teammate,
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reena_jenkins, who has created some wonderful podfics of my stuff before, came in as a pinch hitter a couple weeks ago and she did an amazing job. She suggested we turn Bucky's sexy playlist into a fanmix, so that'll go live with the story--she had some great song ideas to fill in the gaps of my '90s and early aughts knowledge, and it turned out pretty cool, I think.
She also, as a runup to our challenge pieces going live, recorded a podfic of Man With a Plan, the "you're keeping the outfit, right?" porn I wrote a few years ago. Which is so above and beyond the call of duty. If you ever wished you could hear a podfic of Man With a Plan, well,
you can now, thanks to Reena's amazing powers!
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