I am going to Pittsburgh tomorrow to have some tests done. Anyone who has had cancer before understands 'scanxiety'. You just dread the scans. You are a little fearful of what they could tell you. The news was bad once, and so you live waiting for the other shoe to drop even as you hope that the shoe is not going to drop at all. It's a strange place to be at.
The Cancer Center tracked me down at work last night to tell me that the appointment was set up. (Me: "What?!! Wednesday? The day after tomorrow Wednesday? That one?) Still, it was nice of them to track me down. Otherwise, I'd have not been able to notify any of my instructors, or to call Tim at work to see if he would go.
I'm pissed because I will miss the orientation for clinicals at school and I don't know whether I can make that up. If I can't, I'm screwed. I keep telling myself that I am certain that this is not the first time the college has dealt with something like it, so even though I don't know what to do, I'll bet they know what to do. But I don't know. I surely cannot ask anyone. At this point, I'd look like an over reactive ninny.
Everything is aggravating me, I am ashamed to say. I had to miss a class this morning to go pick up records to take to Pittsburgh with us. I saw a lady there. She's a regular at the cancer center, and she will be a regular for as long as she lives. She is a nice person, sweet as she can be, but she loves medical stories. She wants to tell you hers. She wants to hear yours. She once asked me how chemo was going, and I said, "Good. Really good," and she looked at me, cocked her little head and said, "You're lying to me. I can tell..." and gave me a big smile. I never knew what to say to her after that. So when I walked in and saw her at the receptionist's desk, and inside, I thought words that I will not type. She looked at me in surprise. I said, "Hello." She said, "Hello." I asked how she were doing. She said, "Good." I started to say something about how winter sucks. She said, "I hope you're not here as a patient." Me, mind working furiously to avoid talking about something when I don't have a clue what's going on yet, said, "Well, once you're a patient here, they just hang on to you awhile, seems like..." and she said, "Well, they're so sweet here, you don't mind coming back..." I looked square at her. "No," I said. "I mind coming back. It doesn't matter how nice they are here, I'd just rather take a miss on the whole thing." And the receptionist laughed. It's true, though. I got my paperwork, and I went to the hospital for my imaging records. They were copied and waiting for me. Everything is not always that efficient, so that was very nice.
I drove to school in a virtual whiteout, and I thought grumpy thoughts about tomorrow. I thought grumpy thoughts about cancer. I thought grumpy thoughts about school and making classes up. I thought grumpy thoughts about the stinking weather. I thought grumpy thoughts about pain. I thought grumpy thoughts about carrying my own little container of pee around for the stupid urinalysis that we were doing in lab, and for stupid loudmouthed boys who can't shut up if their lives depend on it. ("I'll drink my pee for $20," he said, over and over again, and the fifth time I heard it, and about his thought that it would make a good audition for "The Jackass" movies, I was tempted to give him $20 just to shut him up.) The lab was confusing and chaotic and noisy, and I got so irritated that I simply walked out a half hour early. I left. I'll figure it out at home where it is quiet, and where I can think.
I've got a lot to be grateful for, I know it, but right now, I'm grumpy.