Yesterday I turned 50. I’ve got to say it’s an ugly number – a very ugly number. Who wants to tell the world they’re a half century old? I had trouble telling the world I was 30. Imagine how I choke on 50.
Yesterday, I had a good day. The boys behaved – mostly. My B-man youngest did his normal stubborn routine with math and didn’t like my choice for dinner (Max & Erma’s). We had sundaes at Culver’s. There’s nothing like thick and gooey hot fudge over smooth vanilla custard with a sprinkling of Andes mints on top (grasshopper anyone?). I got lots of birthday wishes on Facebook and wrapped up planning my elementary World History class. My oldest gave me the best birthday present ever! He gave me a hug and told me he loved me. Sweet words to this momma’s ears coming from her mostly stoic 11 year old (stoic only when there’s no sporting event involved).
Today, life returned to normal. B-man and I fought and I’m faced with sending him to school (I threatened, so I’ve at least got to attempt to follow through). The boys broke a CFL. B-man hated dinner and refused to eat and the Ultimate Bengals Fan is tired (he’s always tired) and is whining because his lamp doesn’t have a light bulb (the aforementioned CFL bulb). I hear the shower and I’m waiting for something to go wrong. We’re due. Everything else has gone wrong. I can hear the gnomes rustling in the landscaping, chomping at the bit to wreak havoc.
Despite the bad day, I really know what’s causing my bummer mood. I had my labs drawn at the cancer institute today. Despite having a “clean” CT scan last week, I still feel like crap. While I’m waiting to get weighed (no stress there, right?), the alarm goes off indicating there’s “an event” with a patient. Event is such a euphemism. Event can mean anything from throwing up to full cardiac arrest. I had a couple of “events” while in chemo. Mine involved sweating profusely, itching and being lightheaded. Never needed the rapid response team, but I did get to meet several of the other nurses at the Center. They’re all very nice. I discovered it’s a great way to get individualize attention from your nurse. But I wouldn’t recommend it. They like it so much better when you fly under the radar.
Right now I’m waiting for that dreaded number – the CA125. I can’t decide which is worse. Weighing yourself after strictly following Weight Watchers and exercising your butt off only to find out that your body had the audacity to gain weight or having your CA125 bump up from 6.7 to 8.3. Keep in mind that anything below 34 is a normal CA125 reading and it fluctuates depending on stress, inflammation, the wind direction and a whole host of other factors. “It’s a tool.” “It’s a measure.” “It’s a guide.” Take your pick. I’ve heard them all from my oncologist (aka Dr. Downer) and his staff. Here’s what it is – it’s a number. And as I’ve said before, it’s the only thing I can use to track my disease unless it’s active. Oh wait, they use the CA125 to track it when it’s active too.
I am in full throttle, pissed off mode right now (excuse my language). Anyone who’s had cancer can relate. It’s one of those days when you want to hurl obscenities at the universe for the crappy hand you’ve been dealt. And it’s not just the cancer hand we’re talking about. It’s the infertility, the obesity, the debt, the male mind, menopause, your own deranged mind, the government and anyone or anything else you can remotely tie to your insanity. No one gets it. Your kids think you have morphed into the most psychotic and meanest mom on Earth (I have proudly worn the mantle of Meanest Mom for years. Just means I love them enough to make their lives miserable). They gladly go to bed on time, even early, to escape your insanity. Your husband will wash dishes, anything to avoid dealing with the deranged woman who told her child he could play with his buddies until dark despite not having had dinner then proceeded to feed him the free chocolate chip cookies she got for her birthday dessert for dinner (true story. I just did that), so she doesn’t binge on them the night before weigh in (how do those stupid cookies even know my name?).
So now it’s quiet. Everyone has gone to bed to escape the maniac at the keyboard. I have prayed quite a bit today. I think God likes it when I wallow in my insanity. It makes me appreciate the normal life He’s given me. Tomorrow I will get up, weigh myself, drink my coffee while doing my devotions, then read the paper. The boys will get up, school will start and I will once again explain to the Ultimate Bengals Fan why good grammar is so important and why Mr. B must work on finishing 2nd grade math now that he’s in 3rd grade. Laundry will be washed, bathrooms will be cleaned, floors will be mopped and meals will be planned. Life will follow its predictable pattern. All will be right with the world even if the number goes up.
That’s the flip side of 50.