Breathing

Yes, I'm back to breathing exercises.

Today is my annual appointment with my oncologist.  Walking in the building makes me shake slightly - and I don't mean that as a metaphor.  My heart races, and when they take my blood pressure they will say "WHAT?!" and I will have them check my chart, because the chart will show that my blood pressure is high every time I go there, but not when I go to the endocrinologist to get my thyroid checked, or to my G.P. to have my annual exam or whatnot.  The building where I had chemo and radiation puts a pit in my stomach.

Today it's a bit harder than usual because after my appointment I'm going to sit in the chemo area with a friend of mine who was diagnosed recently.  Today is her second chemo treatment.  It makes me ill to think of what she's going through, and as I typed that sentence my stomach lurched. 

Deep breaths.

Work is a bit crazy right now and it's up to me to rein it in. All is well ,but a lot of balls in the air, a lot of decisions to be made, a lot of work to be done.

Deep breaths.

This weekend I'm going skiing for the first time in more than a decade, and introducing Katherine to the sport.  I'm excited - this is what I want for us, physical activity outside, gaining skills, having fun, being with friends - but frankly I'm so worn out that the idea of just packing the car for the trip makes me want to cry!  I'll get there, and I'll figure it out....but it's wearing.

Deep breaths.

And I'm taking a little break from dating.  I went on three dates in just over a week, but I cancelled the next one, because it's all taking too much energy.  I was right and Mr. Chocolate sent me the let-down message, and in his message he confessed that he'd sent me mixed signals and that he was "really crappy at communication and stuff" and I felt a huge sense of relief because I'd dodged that bullet.  I don't want an man who needs to be taught how to communicate with the world, and he was right, mixed signals galore and terrible communication.  A good guy, but proof that he's not my guy.

Deep breaths.

So, off I am, going about my day.  Tired.  Worried.  Busy.  I did my morning run.  I got my girl out the door.  I wore my new dress, that feels so good when I put it on, so that when I walk into that chemo ward I will be tap tapping in my high heels, and it will be clear that I DO NOT BELONG THERE.  My long hair brushes my brastrap, and my outfit declares I AM A WOMAN WITH CONFIDENCE AND STYLE, and not I'm sick and hurting.

Deep breaths.  Off I go.