Sundaes and cigarettes

Why am I crying during my Cat Scan? I felt fine. FINE. I had a busy but great day with my fur family, a nice drive into the hospital, made it to my scan on time but the minute I walked through those rotating doors I felt it rising up from my stomach, into my throat. Mortality strikes again. The “real world” is full of distractions, crutches and candy. The “hospital world” stares you straight in the face and makes itself known. Yellowed, shriveled patients line the halls in wheelchairs and stretchers. Old, young, moms, dads. We make eye contact and nod acknowledging our dual membership to the sick club. 

Back to my breakdown…

IV contrast is required to image my insides and mark the progression of my tumors. They access my port and the IV contrast begins to course through my body. It feels hot, burning almost. I follow it’s path through my chest, down my arms. When it reaches my hands it feels like fire. Each finger sparks. I feel like wolverine but I know I’ll leave with nausea and exhaustion instead of retractable claws. 

And that’s it. That’s the nail in the coffin. The final straw. My cupeth run over (yes I know the saying is “cup runneth over” but THAT saying has a more positive undertone whereas my saying has an emotional upheaval vibe). The water works start. Not sobbing, but the tears stream without control. One after another. My eyes fill and spill. Left then right. Well at least I’m inside a tube and no one can see me have “my moment.”  The machine hums, cracks and slowly pulls me out. I wipe my tears and discover that alas my magnetic eyeliner is not waterproof and my eyelashes have become unglued causing them to fall halfway down my eyeball. The machine stops. “You ok?” I hear as I exit the tube. Two attendants are waiting for me on either side of my bed. FUCKING PERFECT. If a bitch can’t have a mild breakdown inside a CT machine when can she?? 

“Is it him?” One of the nurses asks referring to the other male attendant. “Because if it is I’ll kick his ass.” She says with a wink and a smile. As I laugh one of my lashes fall in my mouth. I. Can’t. Make. This. Shit. Up. “No,” I respond, “I’m just having a moment. And my fucking eyelashes aren’t waterproof and all I want is a cigarette (No, I don’t smoke) and a sundae. ” She laughs and says, “That’s ok, you’ll fit in great around here. Almost everyone is bald and we all have our moments.”

The road to self isn’t always paved. Sometimes it’s a dirt path lined with horse shit and you need to decide what/how/if you want to change. Who am I? Who are you? Should we be designated to certain designs? Should we be forever transforming like caterpillars into butterflies? 

The hospital staff looks forward to seeing me every Friday. As I walk into treatment one nurse calls to another, “She’s here!” I look behind me to see who they are talking about. The nurse giggles, “We look forward to you coming in every Friday so we can see who you will be today.” 

Who I will be today? Which wig will I wear? Which persona will I encompass? I started this journey wanting to learn more about who I truly am. WhO ArE YOuu? But what I’m learning is, I’m a lot of things. Not only am I a mom, daughter, wife, business owner. But someone who makes people look forward to things. Someone who likes to make people happy. Someone who gets knocked down but gets back up again. 

We are all made of stars. And you don’t get to be a star by staying put. You shed. Rebuild. Grow. Glitter. Grab onto energies that surround you. Submerge yourself with love and light. Let that shit in. And then let it out.