I’m five days out from my surgery. All of my arrangements have been made, Mars has made his also. I’m not worried about the surgery itself but I do have two concerns. What am I going to look like afterward? Am I going to be horribly deformed? No one has yet mentioned reconstruction to me. I wonder if it’s even an option. My diagnosis has been difficult enough without worrying about how I’m going to feel getting dressed and undressed every day. I’m only 41 and I still value my physical appearance. Yes, my health and recovery are the most important things, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was scared about the scarring. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I look mutilated.

Then there’s the treatment after the surgery. Seven weeks of radiation. How am I going to juggle that with my work schedule. My house is not far from the cancer center, less than 10 miles. However, I commute 80 miles a day to and from work. That puts my work about 30 miles away from the cancer center. I guess I’m going to have to figure out how to schedule my treatments on the way to work or on the way home. Leaving work in the middle of the day and coming back just doesn’t seem like an option. Medical leave will help me out but I want to try to make this as seamless as possible.

Doctor Brother has agreed to be with Mars and I for the surgery. I’ve already discussed it with Brother Number Two. We’re not particularly close anymore. We used to be, but not so much now. And then there’s Mom. Mom and I have a difficult relationship. She experienced a downward spiral around my senior year of high school from which she has never recovered from. Her family has a history of psychiatric issues. But it wasn’t really that which dragged her down. For her it was drinking. I suppose addiction is a psychiatric condition but in my eyes, her drinking was a choice. She’s spent the last 25 years at the bottom of a bottle and I was the unfortunate recipient of many of the effects of the booze. The biggest effect was on her her short term memory. She doesn’t have one. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking all at the same time. And it’s because of our strained relationship that I have little patience or empathy for her. My choice.

I’ve decided not to tell Mom about the surgery. She doesn’t need that kind of stress in her life. And I certainly don’t need that kind of stress in my life. Choices.

Up to this point, I haven’t really considered my mortality. I don’t feel sick, I don’t look sick. Dying has never crossed my mind. Maybe I’m not bright enough to realize that a lot can still go wrong from here. I’m stubborn and tenacious, especially stubborn. Mars and I have too much planned for the future. I’m just looking forward to putting this leg of the journey behind me.