Support Droop

My stomach has been bothering me ever since last week's CT scan. This bother isn't just that sexy droop that my belly has a tendency toward. I had to drink that kack stuff for the scan and my stomach grumbled right into the evening.

I would describe the action down there as noises that the Titanic made right before it sank. When I say 'noise' I am not referring to external noise. This noise is all taking place internally. Huge wooden planks smashing into the hull, thunderous in their heaving, twisting motion. Metal scraping upon metal, making horrible, screeching sounds, while people run in panic towards the lifeboats. Fat ladies raiding the dessert cart one final time before their lives flash in front of their eyes. I'm just sitting here, listening to all the commotion.

I went to a support group meeting for people who counsel, help, and or listen to other people who are newly diagnosed. There were four of us at this meeting and a facilitator whom I really enjoy. This was the first time I'd gone to one of these meetings. I had a great time. These women were all inspirational. It's still one of those "what goes on here, stays here" meetings though I have to whisper a few things because they were too funny to keep to myself. Sorry!

One woman has had numerous cancers, not just her body, but her head too -- as if the head is not part of the body already. She's been through the jungle and lived to tell the tale. About twenty years older than I, into yoga, and multiple activities keeping her busy throughout her usual week. On top of surviving, she helps others with cancer. She was even talking about getting hospice training. I was in awe.

Another woman - ten years post-treatment talked about how on her 5th anniversary, she had climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. I thought, you've got to be kidding me! I'm the kind of person who thought that climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro would *cause* cancer. Then I thought to myself, "Would I rather be dead from cancer than climb Mt. Kilimanjaro? I have to be honest.

Yes. I'd rather be dead.

Then the woman went on to say that for her tenth anniversary, she was going to trek Mont Blanc. With Mont Blanc - I was not so impressed. I mean how hard is it to walk around a pen?!

During our meeting we talked about whether we ever worried about our cancer returning. I explained my process whereby I don't worry. I figure if cancer ever shows up again, I'll worry then but not until that time. I don't fret until it's fretting time.

Another woman made a good point or good point in so far as I resonated with her point which is what made it good. Even though she was nearly ten years post-treatment, she sometimes worries that if she has an ache, that ache *could* be cancer-related. Then I brought up my gut issues. (I can relay this stuff because the content came out of my brain.) I told them I was having gut issues, and that over the holidays, I had eaten pounds of eggnog fudge after making three separate batches (under the guise of perfecting the recipe, mind you). Each time I'd make some fudge, I'd eat fudge (I was totally out of control at this point). I felt bloated and awful; my gut having that adorable little tendency to pooch. I'd rub my belly and think, "I hope this is not the cancer returning." Then I'd eat more fudge because I was "using" food to soothe the anxiety (and also to replace Chris which meant I had to eat a lot more fudge than I normally would eat - which would be none). So I had this vicious circle of eggnog-fudge-eating causing stomach uproar, which then caused stress and anxiety because I was (ever so slightly going against my normal no-worry policy) worrying about my self-induced eggnog fudge bulge possibly being an enormous tumor. Those women were in hysterics but yeah, it's real easy to laugh when it's not your eggnog tumor.

It's a waste of precious time worrying about cancer especially when you could be worrying about being forced to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. There are so many things we *could* freak out about if we allow ourselves the opportunity but then is that how you want to spend your time? Especially if -- when you think about it, the majority of our worries (or eggnog fudge) are self-induced.

On that note, I gotta go call the doctor and find out the results of my scan.