STEP ONE - RAGE

"We can rebuild them. We have the technology. They can be stronger, faster... more fire resistant." 

Encouragement courtesy of my dear friend, Jesse Fowler

As a heads up, I will begin each catstir post with a picture of a cat.  I understand if you don't want to read it. I don't want to read it.

For those of you that are ridiculously late to the party, catstir is my code word for that other "C" word. The C word that rhymes with pancer, or fancer, or wancer. If I type the "C" word, google gobbles it up and bombards me with empty promising of cures and expert advice.

This new adventure of mine starts with a post called Chaos. You can follow along from there.  Today's story begins here...

STEP ONE - RAGE

It's really cold out today. The waterfall outside my window is beginning to freeze.  Soon it will be one giant icicle. I don't feel the cold the way I used to. It's still bitter, but it does not cause me to shake.

I took a long look in the mirror today and realized I am no longer focused on my facial flaws. My crows feet, brow furrows, laugh lines, broken capillaries and brown spots, have vanished.

My left knee doesn't ache the way it used to and I now think my curling toes, the same toes I once thought were too hideous to expose in sandals or flip-flops, are adorable.  To me, they look like monkey toes and they will make climbing much easier.

Now that I have my pathology reports in my hand, I know that my catstir is high grade and aggressive - terms that fit my personality.

I now have appointments at Sloan Kettering (the catstir experts) and at Greenwich Hospital (my local area hospital). My first appointment is on the 23rd and then again on the 26th. This is the waiting week.

The day before my diagnosis my husbands was informed that his last day at work would be January 27th. I couldn't tell you that before. I tried but I couldn't type the words.

Our insurance is through his company.

My husbands was employed by Etrade. I don't find that cantankerous kid cute anymore and I'm going to actively campaign to get Etrade on the Occupy Wallstreet blacklist.

I'm trying really hard not to take my stress out on other people - strangers you encounter on a normal day. I did however, lose my temper when my zipper got stuck in the lining of my jacket for the third time in one day.

I pulled my coat up, over my head, flung it to the ground, stomped on it and screamed, "Don't fuck with me zipper!!!"

Unfortunately, I was in the vegetable department of the grocery store when the incident occurred and my frustration caused the produce man to miscalculate the placement of a perfectly ripe tomato, sending a steady stream of red crashing to the ground.

I am angry at my husband and I don't want to stay with him anymore. I need a plan but I don't have one just yet other than tossing water at him while he sleeps. I'm not ready to tell you why I'm angry at him. For now, lets assume that I am in a state of panic and not thinking rationally.  Even so, if you know of any single men who might be interested in dating a recently separated woman who was recently diagnosed with catstir, please let me know.

To raise money, I'm thinking of offering adult nursing (aka breast feeding) for a limited time only.  Do you think that's illegal?  And how much do you think I should charge?  Do I charge more for the breast that has the catstir?

I knew it was only a matter of time before people would say something that would upset me.

Things people have said to me in the last 5 days that have pissed me off:

1.  "Keep the faith"
Keep the faith?  REally?  I had faith that I would live a healthy life and faith fucked me in the ass!

2.  "I know a women who thrived on chemo"
Thrived on chemo?  REALLY?  Give me her name and number. I'd like to speak to her directly. And if I don't THRIVE on chemo does that make me less of a woman?

3.  "At least it's only in one breast"
At least it's only in one breast?  Really, REALLY??? Let's give you cancer in one lung, ovary, leg, arm.  Lets give you catstir in one fucking finger and see what you think about that!

4.  "Now you get to have your boobs redone!"
What the fuck!!! really???  REALLY??? Did you REALLY just say that to me!!!??? That one takes the prize.  I've got nothing to say to that. That is the sort of thing that makes me want to punch you in the balls.

I know that each of you did not mean to hurt me by saying those dumb-ass things and I appreciate your concern, but my job now is to educate the masses. Going forward, if you know someone who has breast catstir please do not say any of those things.

And if you're wondering...

Yes, I went for annual mammograms.
No, I didn't have a lump.
No, I have no family history of catstir.
NO, I don't smoke. Haven't had a cigarette in almost 20 years.
Yes, I use natural deodorant.
Yes, I exercise regularly, I am not considered overweight, I take vitamin D and fish oils, I maintain a healthy diet.

I do however drink chardonnay and wear an underwire bra.

Word to the wise ladies... chardonnay and underwire bra's cause CATSTIR!!!

And are you ready for this... are you sitting down?

Being a woman, especially an aging woman, puts you at risk for getting breast catstir.

So if you are an aging woman and you think you don't need to concern yourself with catstir, well... you are wrong.

All fights are fueled with rage and as you can see, I am preparing myself for a long hard fight.

In closing... if you are wondering how I am doing (and yes, it's okay to ask)...

The nights are the worst. The darkness makes it hard to focus on the moment. The unknown scares the crap out of me.

***

saying something dumb-ass is better than saying nothing at all.
this is the new and improved version of "love means never having to say you're sorry"