Well if that’s true, then I’m apparently made out of sugar, carbs and a bottomless hole for a stomach.
My surgery is on Thursday. As in the day after tomorrow.
I’ve been doing pretty good up until last night. Last night was when the bottomless hole opened up. I ate a larger than normal serving of one of my favorite, very Paleo dinners. And 40 minutes later felt like I’d never eaten at all.
This morning I woke up with a generalized feeling of anxiety and after confirming I hadn’t forgotten anything, wasn’t avoiding anything, and I didn’t have any unpleasant confrontations looming, I deduced that it was nerves related to my impending surgery.
I’ve been in a bad mood all day.
Like a look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-kick-you-twice- in-the-knee-and-then-spit-on-you mood. Actually, you don’t even have to look at me wrong.
But you know what helps? Food. Specifically sugary carby food. Food I haven’t eaten in this quantity since my last visit to Twig’s house.
Except then it made me go all diabeticy and cranky, and had no real advantage in my life.
This time it makes me human.
I can’t explain it, but this is what I know:
Exhibit A: Raging bitch all morning. Went to grocery store, and spent whole time imagining committing acts of unspeakable violence against every person I encountered. Bought GF cookies, chocolate muffins, bagels and cream cheese. Got in the car and ate a cookie. Before I’d even finished the cookie I’d transitioned back into a nearly human state. I even smiled at one point on the drive back to work.
Came back to the office, heated up GF chicken tenders and my favorite veggies for lunch. Veggies were gross, chicken tenders heavenly. Ditched veggies, ate chicken fingers with my fingers.
Exhibit B: Two hours pass and I feel the monster coming back. Consume entire GF chocolate muffin. I’m almost cheerful.
Which is not SO remarkable, because who isn’t happier after eating a chocolate muffin, right? The thing is, on a normal day, if I’d eaten an entire chocolate muffin, I’d have a stomach-ache, and likely a headache from the sugar. But instead, I start to resemble a human again, and then 45 minutes later, I’m hungry AGAIN, so I make a bagel and cream cheese and I retain my human form for a little while longer.
Clearly my body has decided that I’m about to enter a concentration camp and must stock up for the lean times ahead.
Also, the junk food feels like a treat to compensate for the pain and stress of the impending surgery. And thinking about everything I’m going to eat in the next few days helps to offset the anxiety.
I’ve tried to keep things in perspective by reminding myself that Chris’s surgery was a way bigger deal. That doesn’t work at all. Because even though my surgery will be about 1/10th as serious and traumatizing, and my recovery about 1/100th as taxing or long, I plan to behave as if it’s exactly the opposite.
Because I’m a gigantic baby. Seriously, when the hives started from the steri-stips after my last biopsy, I had to leave work. Because sitting at a desk with two dime sized hives on my boob was too taxing. I have no ability to judge pain on a scale of severity. You know those charts they show you to judge your pain level, where there’s a smiley face at 1 and an angry crying face at 10? Its like I have autism when I look at those charts: all the facial expressions seem to signal the exact same thing: PAIN.
Chris has no idea what he’s in for.
But there is one saving grace. Once thing that might stop me from wallowing in a puddle of cream cheese, self-pity and percocet, and that is that I have a new project.
Remember back in June when I announced that my dad and I had published a book? Well, shortly after that my Uncle Vic asked me to publish a book he’d written. And somewhere in there I realized that I really enjoyed the work. But I also realized that there was only much I could do in terms of helping them market their books as an individual. There are still a lot of doors closed to self-published authors. So I decided to set up a company so that they can say they have a publisher and have more access to reviewers and bloggers and marketing outlets. And the main way that you become a company is to have a name (Possibilities Publishing Company) a logo and a website. So I devoted several evenings and weekends (and several of Chris’s evenings and weekends) to creating those things (and filing some paperwork, but that part’s boring), and now I have a company!
Then, a friend heard what I was doing and asked if I would help her publish the digital version of her book. Then she told one of her friends who also needed a new publisher for her e-book, and suddenly everyone has a book they want published.
So for the last month or so, this has been my all-consuming project. And at some point it became Chris’s all-consuming project too. One minute he was offering some web design advice, the next he was named Director of Technology and Design and was handed a task list. One of his main job responsibilities is to identify ways for me to work smarter instead of harder, which most of the time blows my mind. There’s a program or an app for EVERYTHING. Every night after dinner we sit down at his dinning room table, him on his lap top and me on mine, and we work on the company. And no matter how many times I try to convince him we should take a night off to watch TV, he never falls for it, just pulls out his computer and asks me what the “must do” project is for that night.
I know, right?
The work is interesting, challenging, satisfying and energizing. And it couldn’t have come along at a better time.
One of the side effects of these lumps and the diagnostic process is feeling endlessly out of control of my life and of my body. It’s a constant balancing act between what to tell people and what to keep to myself, between trust and skepticism, compliance and self-advocacy. Plus, I don’t know for sure how this story is going to end – the post excision biopsies could be benign, or they could be…not. Without something to occupy my mind I’d spend all my free time trying to guess what will happen based on made up clues.
But instead I think about publishing. And marketing. And mailing lists. When I can’t sleep I ponder the statistics related to book sales for Kindle versus Nook, instead of statistics related to how often my type of lump turns out to be cancer. In the shower, instead of feeling my glands to see if they are swollen, I think of marketing campaigns.
And maybe most important of all, instead of wondering how long I can drag out my recovery so I can watch marathons of bad reality TV while Chris brings me gluten free brownies, I wonder how quickly I’ll be able to get on my laptop and get back to publishing.
As far as profitability goes, it’s probably going to be years before its net worth equates to provides me with a living, but for now its making me feel like I have a life worth living, so I’ll take it.