Keeping Abreast 4 – Not-so-Dead Girl Walking

    Just to keep my mind sane, and to keep on track, I’ve been tracking to the gym, about 20-minutes, I guess about a mile, away, as much as I can. Being that I’m not working and actually don’t have to be anywhere, I go to this hot, noisy, crowded place to push myself into keeping in as much shape as possible during this awful experience of cancer.

    I get there already warmed up, righteous in the knowledge that my stomach fat has taken a hint, telling my body (all of it) to get it and keep it together. And it does. This is what my mantra is:

WAITING WAITING WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

WAITING

AND WAITING AGAIN.

Waiting and absolutely convinced that the radiology tech, the helpful receptionist, the smiling radiation giver at my MRI yesterday have already forgotten to take my giant folder of previous films to the radiologist upstairs. So near, yet so far. Absolutely and irrevocably convinced and you can’t tell me otherwise that that nice young lady at the surgeon’s office who handed me the prescription that needed to be re-written has already gone on her weekend and is having just a grand old time. After all, she’s young and still untouched by the wrinkles that life can bring.

    I’m not good at waiting. I get in a tizzy. I get on the internet and send crazy links to my best friends. I get annoyed at Mom for asking how it’s going. I hug; it makes me cry. I get mad because I’m not getting a barrage of calls. I get mad because Jimmy doesn’t ask me out to dinner, and then mad when he does because I feel like I’m overeating.

    Which brings me back to the fact that I’m WALKING WALKING WALKING my heart out, trying to get somewhere.

    And it will bring me back home to myself.

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