There's no stupid, idiotic, ridiculous anger in the pie chart of my mind because I already covered that topic in the only post I've been able to write since my family started living this nightmare.
Each slice of the pie either grows or decreases with how I'm feeling at any given moment. For example, during the first week, when we were all in shock from the news, this was the pie chart of my mind.
Turk can dance! I want to dance like that. I just love him. Like the man says, "He's so damn ... talented."
Scrubs has been a life saver for me and the only thing my mind's been able to absorb easily after long days of sitting in doctors' offices, with family members, taking notes.
Unfortunately, Cute, Smart Doctors has been taking up way more space in my mind than the pie chart implies. And so has The Language of Disease. I despise -- thoroughly despise -- every, single, solitary, stupid, idiotic, ridiculous word that's involved in this whole process.
Especially the word oncology.
And while I haven't been writing for my blog much, I've been doing a lot of writing in a notebook. Since I'm the note taker when we go to see the doctors, I not only have to hear these words, but I also have to understand them, absorb them, while those I love sit next to me and have to do the same thing. And I watch as they hear these horrible words and I watch how they respond to them. I don't want the doctors to say them, but they inevitably do. And I want to ignore them and I want the people I love to ignore them because if we all just ignore them, they won't exist. They won't be real. And they'll have to go away. And my parents can go back to the May 12th of their minds.
But, that won't happen, so I write them down, giving them permanence in our lives.
In the past, whenever I heard or saw the word oncology, the pie chart of my mind looked like this:
The day I was forced (by the grownup inside of me who can be a huge baby!) to sit directly across from an actual Oncologist, the pie chart of my mind looked like this:
He made a mistake at our first meeting and said Plan A was "Cure." And while that is the word that I most love over all other words that exist right now, the grownup inside of me knew that he had made a mistake by saying it.
A week later, my gut instinct was confirmed and "cure" will not be written down in my notebook again.
We're moving to Plan B.
The grownup inside of me who can be a big baby forgave the three year old Oncologist, though, because as we were leaving our last appointment, he spoke true words of wisdom.
He was asked, "Does he have any restrictions?"
And the Oncologist said, "No, no restrictions at all. We all want him to live his life. And we are treating him so that he can live it to the fullest."
Out of the mouths of babes.
I haven't known how to write about this on my blog. But, I figured if a man who I have always considered indestructible can choose to rely on me, then I can, in turn, rely on all of you and write about what I'm going through. (Also see: I Miss Writing above.) As the song says...
I can't do this all on my own. No, I know, I'm no Superman. I'm no Superman.
And I don't plan on writing about just the bad stuff either. You'll notice there's lots of good stuff up there in that pie chart of my mind. There's The Kindness of Strangers and there's I Love My Friends and there's Laughing and there's Hope and there's Love. And there might be, in the future -- or right now! -- a whole pie chart of its own that says...
...because I believe that and I also really believe that slice of the pie that says, Thank God for The Beatles.
Over this way, we're working on putting the thought of Plan A behind us and focusing on living life to the fullest and most importantly, helping someone we love do the same.
Join us, okay? Like the man says...
Give me the music
Give me the music...