Trying To Listen To Monty Python

I woke up this morning and realized that I could either be a total grump and annoyed, or I could try to listen to Monty Python and look on the bright side. I’m sure any of you who know me can guess what my brain insisted on attempting. It hasn’t been a total success, but I’ve at least had laughter and joy today rather than just crabbiness, so I’ll call it a win for now.

The reason for the grumpiness is uncertainty. I’m an impatient person who is really bad with uncertainty. I like itineraries and knowing exactly where to be and when, as well as what exactly to expect. I can handle having zero plans, but I am awful at “well, it should be A, but we won’t really know so you’ll just have to wait for the Go/No Go” (yes, we saw Hidden Figures yesterday. It was amazing. If you haven’t seen it, you should go see it as soon as you possibly can, like today).

I’m supposed to start inpatient chemo today. However, Monday, at 4am before my surgery, we saw an email from my oncologist in response to our Sunday email asking for details about Wednesday. It said that we should get a call Tuesday night about Wednesday bed availability and then we’d get a call some time Wednesday confirming availability and telling us to go in. Also, they couldn’t guarantee availability in advance of Wednesday, so I might get pushed back a day. That was frustrating and weird and I tried not to panic about it before my port surgery.

Last night at 8 we got a call from a nurse telling us that three patients didn’t check out, but it was still likely we’d get an available bed on Wednesday, but just to wait for the call. We pushed for a time and were told that the nurse on Wednesday would review discharges around 1pm and call us sometime after 2pm. I’m writing this at about quarter to 3pm. I asked for a number to call if we hadn’t heard anything by 3pm because I am really bad at waiting, especially for something like this.

I’d like to just get to Hopkins, get settled into my room, and start the darn chemo so that I know that if the sarcomas are going to be reduced in size or paused, that will happen as soon as possible. However, I’m trying to not be grumpy. Toby at least was really happy that I wasn’t leaving immediately this morning.

gray cat asleep on a suitcase

I tried to see this morning as reprieve rather than a test of my patience. I shouldn’t have sushi once I’m immunocompromised so we did lunch at Sushi Jin — our favorite sushi place with some nontraditional rolls that we in our American fusion sort of way love (my favorite is one they call a lobster lasagna with cooked lobster in a sweet sauce topped with scallions on top of an avocado roll — it’s decadent and nontraditional, but I love it).

Of course, I’m still me, so even as determined as I am to see it as a reprieve, I’m still frustrated and annoyed at having to wait to even find out if I’m definitely heading to Hopkins. It doesn’t help that I’m still sore from Monday’s port surgery. It was a success, but it looks like I got hit with a baseball and raising my right arm to shoulder height causes me to whimper in pain.

Honestly, what’s helping the most is seeing the incredible response to Third Space Wellness and Jonna‘s Community Wellness Fund to collect funds to cover acupuncture, massage, yoga, and other self care for Jarrod and me over the course of my treatment. My doctors have strongly urged it for our health because cancer treatment is awful and hard both for the patient and her partner/caretaker. I honestly am not sure if I would handle taking care of Jarrod with as much grace as he’s handled taking care of me.

Even more than the money that’s been raised, I’ve been genuinely moved by what people have written. I’ll probably explore it more thoroughly in another post. However, the short summary is that reading what people have written has made me start to consider (and maybe even believe) that I might be what it is that I’ve been trying to be. Apologies if that doesn’t make sense, I’ll explore it more thoroughly in another post. I’ll also write one about why I’m seriously thinking of sending a thank you letter to the team behind The Flash (actors, writers, etc) because one character’s storyline this season is not only hitting close to home for me, but helping me to process and cope.

Edit: Less than 30 minutes after posting this, we learned that a bed will open up for me this evening a little after 5. So, I will definitely be starting my inpatient chemo at Hopkins this evening! It feels so weird to cheer for pumping my veins full of toxins, but the sooner we start, the sooner we have a chance at making me healthy.

4 thoughts on “Trying To Listen To Monty Python

  1. So glad that a bed opened up for you. Sending you two ALL of the good vibes, and looking forward to sending you some healthy, delicious food when you are back at home.

  2. Dear Beth,

    I am so very sorry about all you are going through! I am also relieved to see that the spunk you had when you were a Daisy Scout still shows through in your writing, and maybe even in the picture — those eyes are still gleaming with something both warm and mischievous.

    There is nothing I can do to help given the distance of our homes, but I can, and will, pray. My prayer today was inspired by my current daily devotional titled “Praying Through Cancer” (Sorensen/Geist) from Daniel 6:27, “God rescues and saves people and does mighty miracles in heaven and on earth. He is the one who saved Daniel from the power of the lions.” Continue to believe in miracles because they do exist.

    You are blessed with great talent – keep writing; you are blessed with a great husband – hold him close; you are blessed with a close family – hug them whenever possible; you are blessed with a great medical team (even with those durn scheduling and other bureaucratic issues that are so irritating) – work with them. And know that you are also blessed with a network of people like me, who you haven’t seen in a very long time, but who also care and are offering you their collective prayers and healing thoughts.

    As for the disease, I have a candle a friend gave me when I was going through chemo that says it best: “F*ck Cancer.”

    Love,
    Kathy Needham
    (Your old Girl Scout Leader)

    1. *hug* thank you for this. I hope you know what a huge impact you made on those of us lucky enough to be in your troop.
      I deeply appreciate your kind words and prayers. I think other people’s strength carries me through the bad days when my own wavers. Thank you so, so much.

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