Got good news.

More later. More good, more news, later.

(PS I have no idea who this photo is of. If it’s someone evil please tell me.)

I saw my surgical oncologist yesterday, after my scan. It was a routine visit that happened to coincide with my scan. Dr S thought he was being nice, pulling off my scan results early for me. In reality, it was only one page, which generally had reassuring news (although there are masses and things I’d rather not know about), but the page with news about my lungs was missing. So, sum total? Useless info. I’m sure Dr S was being nice, but it wasn’t nice enough. After some lame attempts at searching the various unfamiliar terms, I decided to forget all about it.

I went home and slept. That’s pretty much my state these days, everything is either before or after sleep. The during isn’t even worth mentioning. Even if I get good news tomorrow – which I’ll be happy about – I’ll still be in the dark about this constant fatigue. Which is why, after my appointment with Dr P, I’ll head to Brooklyn to see my primary doctor. Perhaps she will have some wisdom for me. Maybe this is mono, or chronic fatigue, or something with an actual diagnosis and a plan of action. I am definitely in need of a plan of action.

Everything is taking place in record time this morning. I have been here 20 minutes tops and am already gowned, IV’d, and draining my last glass of Nasty. Since I hope everything is a sign these days, I hope the swiftness of this is, too.

Tonight I went to a party. I wouldn’t say I deserved to go. The fact is, since I got home from work yesterday I have been an impossible bitch to my partner, notwithstanding my current mental and physical state and notwithstanding the very great and magnanimous patience I enjoy from J. I gave him hell last night, and again today. The only possible reason he was okay with me going to a party tonight, even though it meant putting the kids to bed solo on a night when he also had to work, was that he was probably glad to see me go for a while. If I’d had to live with myself the past couple days – no, let’s say the past two weeks or so – I’d also love a break.

In fact, I do live with myself. And this was no more evident than when I needed to dress up to go to this party (fancy/fanciful dress was mentioned but certainly not a requirement) and kept striking out. My first choice, a silk Halston number I bought about 25 years ago and have never found an occasion for, was great, except that the one time I did wear it out of the house  (if I recall, it was a Purim party three years ago), I got chocolate on it, and never bothered to launder it. The next dress looked great on me… 25 pounds ago. Ah, memories. I finally stuck with the third outfit, safe black, with a decorative camisole on top meant to camouflage everything else. Young A pronounced me beautiful, and that was good enough.

The party was at my gym, celebrating its fifth anniversary. This is not a regular place, and definitely the only gym party in the universe I would consider attending. It’s where you get to say hello to your gym friends, who may be pretty famous writers, or struggling artists, or any combination in between. You may have seen them a few times, or several times a week for years. Personally, I haven’t been to the gym for weeks now. And yet I was welcomed as warmly tonight as the regulars. I enjoyed my conversations with those who have been as sick or sicker than me, and I enjoyed my conversations with people who have no clue about my illness. I really needed this time tonight, to transcend my situation, drink wine in the space where I usually drink water, relax in the space where I usually work so hard. I’m grateful for the people who have made this space possible.

But first and foremost, I’m grateful for the one person who couldn’t have been more angry with, annoyed by, and exhausted from dealing with me these days (with cause, I might add), and yet let me go anyway. I’ll try harder to be more worthy of your love.

I guess I get some illness to distract me from my illness? Is that how this works? I was sick two weeks ago and now it’s back again. I was not only supposed to be at work today, I was supposed to be team teaching a class with my new friend. I woke up this morning feeling the worst I’d felt in at least a couple weeks. My mouth dry and phlegmy and just generally deathlike.

After waking, and deciding not to work, things got easier. I emailed my new friend, and she agreed to take over the whole class without any hesitation. I emailed everyone I needed to. (I was glad, at least, that I finished the online research guide last week, so it could be used without me.) I slept.

I got up. I slept some more. I went to see the nurse practitioner (my doc wasn’t around today), and as is typical of the practice, I wasn’t given antibiotics, because it wasn’t clear I needed them. Instead I’m meant to do steam inhalations, drink lots of tea, and sleep. This is a lot more work than popping a pill, but perhaps more satisfying because it gives you something to do while you’re waiting to get well. Boil water! Boil more water! Isn’t that just like the old days? Like, a baby would be on its way, and someone who was not needed on the scene would be told to go boil water, and they’d rush off, happy to be doing something of perceived importance. Except this time the person boiling the water is me. And it’s the means to my own getting well. Or is it? Perhaps this is simply the modern, holistic, crunchy equivalent to “Boil more water!”

Which reminds me. I need to go boil more water.

Things don’t seem super rosy right now. Just admitting this in the interest of full disclosure. I wish I could hit fast-forward on the entire week between me and the scan. Not helping: general exhaustion, lack of exercise, bad eating, extreme dissatisfaction with my body type, and getting annoyed by the kids, due mostly to my own monthly hormonal fluctuations. My dad is getting a pacemaker immimently, and I wish I could be more present for him right now.

(Ironically, work seems like the best place for me to be right now. I’ll be happy to retreat there tomorrow. I have a class to team teach with a new person I might even become friends with. Making new friends at this age – a rare and welcome treat.)

Things will be fine but I wish they could be finer, sooner.

It’s April 1. I want to approach this date with the levity required, but I never manage. I began the day with the tired old “I’m pregnant!” gag – J saw right through it. I tried pranking the kids this morning, speaking only in Italian. Their typical response to any sort of prank is anger, and today was no exception. J made pancakes for breakfast, but that was hardly a prank, more of a special feature, since on our usual pancake day (Saturday) we’ll be prohibited from having them due to Passover.

I’m thinking fondly of Passover this year. Yom Kippur was not on my radar last year, since during my treatment I desperately avoided anything that might make me feel worse. But I’m thinking Passover offers lots of good opportunities. A chance to ponder freedom – from bondage (both ancient and modern), from drudgery (just got my first full month’s paycheck, which felt great), from disease (let’s hope). I’m trying very hard to correct my stress-driven lifestyle, by exercising much more, and eating better.

I’m also grateful to Pesach as a distraction from the endless wait. My next scan is on the 13th (13 has long been my lucky number). I’ll get results on the 15th – fittingly, the day that many people in the U.S. deal with a very different kind of reckoning (involving pain not in the body but in the wallet).

But in the meantime, I have a couple days off work, time with my family, time to do some exploration with the kids, and time to forget all about the leavening of daily life. I think that regardless of what comes later, this little interval is a win-win.