At 5 in the a.m. tomorrow I get up and go to my second to the last surgery/radiation ordeal. Howard, my love, will be my escort to and mama, my rock, will keep me company for the duration. My radiological oncologist, Dr. Flynn, asked me at our last appointment to influence a woman who was scheduled to have brachytherapy which is what I've been undergoing, but was scared and thinking about backing out. I told Dr. Flynn I would talk to her if she wanted, but it would be a "qualified" endorsement. This procedure, as much as I'd like to sugar coat it, is pretty gruesome. One of the main reasons is I don't like anesthesia or its groggy aftermath, but, also, because it just plain hurts and floors me for days. I have to just keep that faith in God and know that he won't give me anything I can't handle.
So, I told Dr. Flynn I could definitely speak to the progress I've benefited from and which correlates to the treatment AND I had to tell this woman who was considering it that it was very unpleasant. I wondered if telling her the details of brachytherapy as I experienced them would give her some peace or totally send her running for the relative safety of NYC at 2 a.m., but I certainly didn't want to perpetrate a lie on a woman already pretty down.
Well, I got lucky... or maybe she did... or Dr.Flynn did... I don't know, but she decided on her own and I didn't have to speak to her at all. What's the point of this posting? I'm just typing to avoid going to bed. I dread tomorrow and, at the same time, know it'll all be a memory, soon. And, of course, God is taking care of me. I forget His Grace. When I remember it I feel so much better.