Here's a picture of me, the kiddins, and H when we went to Victoria in June. Chloe, being the girliest little girl, loves horses. So we took a carriage ride through Victoria, but I don't remember what the horse's name was. Let's just call her Creamsicle. Anyway, I kinda like horses too, and we were pretty happy (minus $50), so here's one moment in time:
Last week, to be quite honest, was the lowest of the low. I know I'm all kinda happy and upbeat and silly and a big freakin' goofball on the blog, but aside from the blog, a lot of times I feel like a big pile of poo. I actually made up a word at one point: muckpile. I told my friend Lisa that I felt like a big old muckpile. She didn't question the word, so I guess it sounded right. And it sooooo annoys me to feel like this. I wish I were one of those people who doesn't bat an eye at the word cancer and says, yeah, it's like a cold or the flu or something, I'll get over it, so who cares (not that I met anyone like this). I mean, it is *just* breast cancer (hopefully), and I'm young (even though I suddenly feel twice my age), so no big deal. But this week, Knowing and Feeling had been seriously at odds with each other. Feeling totally won out, and Knowing just sat by and said a quiet "get over it," and rolled her eyes.
So H and I went to one of the counsellors at the cancer agency on Friday. I've been in counselling before, like ten years ago when I was an angst-ridden university student. H says that history professors are already amateur therapists, so he never thinks that one is necessary. But I made him go. I was looking for coping strategies, but she didn't really give us any. I guess maybe since it was the first appointment, she just wanted to get a profile of us or something. She reassured me that all our feelings were normal. But you know what? I hate it when people say that. Because when you feel like crap, being told that what you're feeling is normal is really no consolation at all. It certainly is not helpful. Do I care that the majority of patients at the same stage of diagnosis and treatment have similar emotional reactions? No. And give me a break--I think I already knew that. I'm not an idiot. It would have been better if she was all like, "What you really need is to go smoke some weed. Here'a prescription." Cause really, what I'm waiting for out of all of this is the little slip of paper prescribing me medicinal marijuana.
Susan and perhaps CB are coming to watch the kids this afternoon while H and I catch a flick (and eat sushi). We haven't seen a movie since. . .I think the last movie we saw was the last Harry Potter movie that came out before this latest one. I'm not sure I want to see the latest Harry Potter movie. They've gotten to be too long. I can't last more than 90 minutes in a theatre. Anyway, I'm *trying* to look forward to it. Christ, I am so NOT FUN anymore!
So it's the last day before chemo starts. . .let's rock the casbah.
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