WARNING: Sharp curve ahead

Funny story. (Or could be a Freudian slip.) Our alarm didn’t go off for port surgery. After a largely sleepless night due to communal anxiety in the marital bed about not waking up on time, we didn’t wake up on time. My alarm clock was, “OH SHIT!” yelled very loudly by my dearest. It was five ‘til surgery, we were still in bed and the hospital is a full 30 minutes away. Shit-damn.

We flew about of bed and I showered and dressed in lightning speed. The hubby called the hospital and they said, “Just get here as fast as you can. But be careful.” They don’t want you dyin’ on the way to get cut.

They all got a big guffaw about our lame excuse. (The dog ate my discharge papers too.) I find it to be quite amusing that on one of the rare occasions that we have the house to ourselves, it’s because we have to be up by 5:30am to get a port put in. [Cue laughter track.] And we oversleep. Yee-haw.

We made it. He slipped into something more comfortable like his favorite gown with the built in ass breeze. They slipped something into him that made him more comfortable (Versed anyone?) And the room was filled-to-over-flowing with a crowd of nurses who had been launched into high gear by our fashionably late arrival. It was like a party without the cocktails (at least for me, mister-mister was feelin’ fine.)

I was sent packing to the coffee cart and got my caffeine infusion. Watched Matt and Meredith put icing on each other’s faces with Martha Stewart and then saw the surgeon heading my way. It had been like twenty minutes. “Seriously? You’re here for me? This is quite the change from last round, eh?” He laughed and said, “Yes, yes. Quite!” All went well and then I sat there for another hour wondering what in the hell could possibly be taking so long when the surgery itself took less time than it took me to finish my latte. So I went to check, noting the collective eye roll from the desk volunteers. And within 5 minutes I was taken back to the private room where the hubby was all ensconced and lookin’ good.

They were already in ‘get ‘em outta here’ mode by then. So it was all a flurry. I had the nerve to put my recliner back and got shooed away because I was blocking the bathroom door.

But, seriously. Those nurses are like angels. We bonded and hugged and cried. And they said, “You are just too young to be dealing with this crap.” And don’t I know it. When we left, one of them said, “I’m putting you in my prayer pocket. I always forget names before my evening prayers, so I put you in my pocket and the big man knows.” I looked at the guy pushing the hubby’s wheelchair and said, “It’s too bad there are so many mean people who work here.”

They wheeled us straight out to our car (curb service) and we pulled away. Bye-bye stupid hospital with the awesome staff.

We got about two feet and the hubby says, “Pull over! I’m gonna puke!” I panic. Almost wreck. Look for grass. Prepare to go off-road. And he says, “Take me back!” So I circle the whole hospital as fast as possible (trying to go easy on the curves), hoping against hope that he doesn’t puke in the new car. I finally get back to the door and he says, “I’m fine. Let’s just go.” Awwferchrissakes.

I took him home, got him all set with a puke bucket, water, pain meds, fresh ice. Then took off to meet TRPL TRBL for some lunch at StrEat Chefs who was parked at the hubby’s office. It was fantastic.

I get back home and give in when the hubby insists that I go lie down. My head hit the pillow and I was out (and drooling) in negative two seconds. He woke me up in time to fetch the girls (but not in time to get rid of the pillowface marks).

The Rock-es delivered dinner and the Drunkel girls decided to stay since there was plenty. Purse Girl has been through hell and back lately between all of her BFFs having their medical crises and such...so we needed some wine and chatter.

It lasted a bit until the girls decided to try to kill each other. (As if the Drunkel girls weren’t traumatized enough by watching their like-a-brother-best-bud get crushed by a tree.) I was going to leave them to it. But Purse Girl had a better view through the window, saw miss-miss trying to flip bean off the bed by her arm and jumped up. I was just going to sit on my ass and hope for the best I guess.

So they left as fast as their feet would carry them and I picked through the carnage. Got bean calmed down. Explained why violence is not the answer and got her off to bed. Then it was time to deal with the bigger one. Who was sobbing so hard she couldn’t breath. Assumed I was now going to kill her. And the world stopped.

I realized instantly in that moment that her feet were dangling off the edge of the precipice. And she was slipping fast. So I sat on the floor and held her as she cried her heart out and told me how ANGRY she was. And I could feel how out of control she felt. And I saw myself.

It ended up being an all-important/life-changing moment in our cancer war. I just hadn’t noticed all of the shrapnel that was poking all out of her body. Because, she’s just like her daddy. “I don’t think about it. I just have fun with my friends.” Yes, yes - you’re a KID. You should be having fun with your friends. But, your daddy has cancer and it sucks and it’s scary and we all just want it to go away...And that’s when the dam broke and she cried so hard I feared the floor would flood.

By the time I got her off to bed, I was starting to look for the mop. It was her night to hit the wall. And she nearly knocked herself out (and broke her sister’s neck in the process).

So I went to bed and said, “Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.” What a stupid cliché. But it’s true. And the hubby woke me up at 6:45 (before any girls were even stirring) and said, “Wake up, punkers. It’s the first day of the rest of your liiiife.” And I jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth and went for a run.

Take that you stupid cancer. We’re going to be just fine.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Jenny Lewis. Acid Tongue. I went to a cobbler to fix a hole in my shoe. He took one look at my face and said, "I can fix that hole in you."