Medical limbo and birthdays

I have really, really been looking forward to my birthday. Forty is a big milestone for me - for anyone - that seems even bigger given the cancer business.

I was just so sure that this nasty business would be over by now, instead it seems worse than ever.

I am four years, three months, and fifteen days out from my diagnosis. Those are four years, three months, and fifteen days that I am SO grateful for. Every day is precious to me, even the days that suck.

And let's face it, today has sucked.

Tomorrow morning I will meet with a neck surgeon to do a pre-op visit - number eleven, here I come. It will be a day surgery, but general anesthesia. My current understanding is that the surgery will be Monday, and I pray that I will have results soon after.

This is all pretty surreal.

I've done just a little bit of Googling, and it seems like many kinds of lymphoma are highly treatable with long life expectancies. Frankly, it sounds preferable to breast cancer right now, but I very well could regret saying that. "Nothing" sounds best of all, of course.

But back to the surreal part.

I am supposed to be celebrating my birthday, preparing for parties, laughing with friends. Instead, I am wearing the same sweatpants and t-shirt that I wore to my PET and CT scans yesterday, and I'm freaking out. I've been hibernatinig with the TV (and Susan) all day, trying to avoid thinking too much. Friends have sent notes, flowers, and chocolates; Sarah brought lunch.

But it's surreal. I think that I'm reliving my first diagnosis. I can taste the fear - still cold, still metallic. I can start to plan how the next few months will go. Will I be bald at Christmas, or am I just being overly dramatic?

I have lots of questions for my new surgeon tomorrow. Are the nodes in a chain? How big are they?

Tomorrow, aside from the appointment with the surgeon, I will attempt to have a good day. It's Tessa's first soccer practice. My parents are taking Ryan, Tessa, and I to dinner.

Damn, this sucks.