One month shy of being three years cancer free and I’m looking at another surgery to see if I have cancer. This is CRAZY! I had big plans in two years. I definitely don’t want to postpone a huge celebration for being 5-years cancer free. My fingers are crossed that five years is coming in two years, not five.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2012, I was prepared. I knew my family history. I knew what my outcome could be. I knew what treatment could entail and the life changes I might have to make. I had my whole schedule figured out, including what we had to do with our daughter while I was out of town having surgeries. I had it down.
This time is a little different. I don’t have a family history of ovarian cancer. The surgery and possible treatment plans I had to learn by talking to the doctor and researching online. This surgery date is coming quicker – in a months’ time – versus taking my time with my original breast cancer diagnosis. I have less time to plan, but planning must get done.
Our biggest concern is our daughter. Emma will just be at the beginning of the school year again. She needs to get back into a school routine, get to know her teacher and classmates, and dive into that thing called learning. My surgery is out of town again forcing us to leave her behind under the watchful eye of her grandparents. We wish we could take her with us, nevertheless we feel she needs as much “normalcy” as possible. Of course, she’ll be worried about what’s ahead, but we’re hoping while she’s at school she’ll be able to forget what’s going on at home.
My surgery is set; now it’s time to complete the last minute “must do” list. Pay the bills. Write my blog posts in advance. Make sure Emma has transportation home from school. Throw in a family photo shoot. Notify family and friends of the latest news. The list can keep on growing if I don’t stop writing. There are things that can wait until we come back home. There are things we need to do ASAP. There are things others can do instead. But, I still need to prepare.
I have this motto – one of many – that I keep referring to. Plan for the worst; hope for the best. Not everyone understands my need to thoroughly plan, but that’s okay. I just need to know I have everything taken care of when I come home to recover. That’s what I need to focus on – recovery, not all the other details.
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