Broken Doll

It felt like the PET scan was the only thing still standing between me and the edge of the cliff. There is this monster snapping at my heels and the choices I have left are jump or die. And I look over this precipice and have no way of knowing what obstacles I’ll hit on the way down or how badly damaged I’ll be once I hit bottom.

On the way down it robs me of my strength, my physical fitness, my hair, my sexuality and goddess I wonder what’s left that still even makes me human anymore. What will be left of me when all this is over? I’m losing myself.

Jump or die. What choice is there?

So I jump and fall and the world is dark and the mirror is dark and I cannot see, cannot see what lies ahead. The drugs sap my energy and I sleep for hours on end. My brain is foggy. I lose fine motor control in my hands. My eyes are tired. My mouth stings every time I eat. I panic daily that today will be the day when my hair starts to fall out in clumps and I’m not ready for that. I am afraid I will not be able to keep up. I’m afraid.

I’ve jumped. I’m falling.

I cried when they found the tumor. I held it in until I left but then fell apart.

Falling apart.

It’s already desexualizing me. Desire is buried under distraction, worry, fear, pain, exhaustion. Tests and more tests. I feel broken. I feel like it’s robbing me of so many parts of who I am.

Every night I stand in front of the mirror. I pull my hair back and try to visualize what it will look like when it’s all gone. Not feminine. Not female. Not human. I can’t quite see it. Can’t quite imagine it. And there’s fear and pain buried there in the not-seeing.

I cried to David: “This is supposed to be my body, not my enemy.“

It’s like this thing with limbs and skin and a thoroughly fucked-up lymphatic system doesn’t even belong to me anymore. It took itself away from me, saying it will do with itself as it likes and the hell with me.

The morning after the oncology exam I sat on my bed staring at my feet and didn’t recognize them as mine. They looked like someone else’s. My legs felt heavy and I walked without feeling the floor.

This is supposed to be my body, not my enemy.

I don’t want to be sick. I don’t want to lose my hair. I don’t want to be stared at. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to be not-human.

And it’ll get worse before it gets better.

I have so many worst-case-scenarios running through my head. The pain was really severe yesterday so between that and the worry I was practically useless all day. Maybe if I write this down I can purge some of it so I’m not totally useless today.

Sarah’s Fantastic Doctor really is. She was attentive, friendly, made eye-contact, listened without interrupting, asked intelligent questions, and overall seemed genuinely concerned. My last doctor acted like I was just one more thing to get through in his day. This doc acted like she really wanted to help me.

We did a variety of blood work. Scheduled a CT scan for Monday. Doc tells me to try not to worry — I’m young and it’s unlikely that there’s something seriously wrong. I know she’s right and worry anyway. Fighting off random bouts of panic. The process of the CT scan doesn’t scare me, and rationally I know that all this is only confirming what I already knew: this will probably be difficult to track down, and will get expensive. But at this point I don’t know if it would be worse for the CT scan to find something, or for it to find nothing.

Last night I went over to David’s to watch The West Wing. Ended up crying out of fear. He tells me that it’s good that we’ve started the process of finding out what’s wrong, it’s not my job to worry, I just need to let the docs and techs do their jobs. My only job is to be strong and let them work. Comforting words. Very sane and rational.

I’m not feeling very rational.

Phone call this morning. Labs came back. Everything’s normal except for a high white count. No respiratory symptoms, so Doc is somewhat puzzled, but is phoning in a prescription for antibiotics to my pharmacy, and is ordering a chest Xray for this afternoon. The Xray is to serve as a “pre-screen” for the CT scan, which is still on for Monday. Doc thinks maybe some sort of tissue infection. We’ll know more after the Xray and scan.

So, good, to the extent that an infection should be easy enough to get rid of. Maybe bad, too, if it’s possibly some sort of necrotic thing, and it’s already done permanent damage. I can’t regenerate damaged nerves.

I pray. I ask just to be provided for, to be able to get whatever I need to become healthy again. So far the goddess has done right by me — the insurance, the fantastic doctor, understanding co-workers, David, my mom. I’m grateful for that. I just ask that she keeps providing, for whatever I need and however long it takes.

I tell myself: one step at a time.

I am so scared.

Yes, I’m a couple days early. We had ritual last night and I am unaccountably cheery. Still processing — can’t figure out if I was or wasn’t on both sides of the veil at certain points. No startling revelations yet, although I feel that I have, in part, managed to discard some of the all-pervasive negativity that I’ve been dragged into (repeatedly, kicking and screaming, ad nauseum) over the past couple years. Will have to see how this plays out.

Brought the ritual spirit gift home and plan to light the tea-candle nightly until Samhain to encourage the spirits to follow me here and visit and perhaps bring some answers with them. Things remain opaque; perhaps clarity is too much to hope for, but again, that unaccountable cheeriness. Can’t explain it.

Merry Celtic New Year. Perhaps now things can change for the better.