Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Final 24 Hours of My Face
Cancer, shmancer; all I care about is what a freak I'm going to look like for the next week. I am vanity's bitch, for sure.
For those who haven't memorized the details of my life (and why not, may I ask?), tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. Eastern time I'm having Mohs surgery, during which at least one dime-sized layer of skin will be removed from my nose. My excellent surgeon will continue to remove layers until my cancer is completely eradicated. It could take two hours, it could take five hours.
I'm preparing. I just picked up a new library book (The Tell, recommended by Book Club Girl) and have a stack of magazines to read, and I also grabbed some healing videos for after (including Buck, recommended by Bride Boy — and I meant to name three other movies he recommended, Adam, City Island, and Win-Win, all of which I thoroughly enjoyed. Check 'em out!), and I will ask, nay, demand to know when I can have wine again (I'm hoping so hard that I can have at least a small glass tomorrow night) . . . and what else can I do. I'm ready for the siege.
(My face! My face!)
In two weeks (on Valentine's Day) I will have reconstructive surgery, in which a piece of my cheek packs its bags and relocates, forever, to my nose. I'm not even thinking about this one yet — one horror show at a time.
Please send healing thoughts, wishes, vibes, and prayers my way. I will take all that I can get.
I know that I'm being ridiculous. I know what a minor setback this is in the overall scheme of things.
I don't care. I'm a big freaking baby and a drama queen, and they are cutting open my face!!!!!!!
Time to go breathe into a paper bag. And lament the fact that it doesn't contain a bottle, ha ha.
(Will it be over the top if I suggest that my children kiss Mummy's face goodbye before they leave for school? Let me know what you think.)
Lady C, big chicken