Shit Gets Real

It was naive of me to think I could just have this golf ball sized tumor removed and call it a day. The 'chemo' word came as quite a shock to me. It really takes the wind out of your sails. And I get it, it's ridiculously superficial, but all I can think about is MY HAIR. I love my hair. And up until this point, I think I was handling the meeting with the surgeon pretty well. Even the embarrassing moments. Like the MRI of my breasts hanging down that clearly shows my left side is larger then the right, being inspected by the surgeon, the resident, my boyfriend, his mother and my mother. Like an art show of my messed up ta-ta's. But everything else seemed like a walk in the park until now. But I can only deal with one thing at a time and the surgery is scheduled for next week. They explained to me that I would get an injection and then be transported by ambulance...20 yards to the hospital. Apparently I will be some form of radioactive (cue Imagine Dragons song). But I think it's a silly waste of resources. Instead of the ambulance, I asked if I could just borrow a HAZMAT suit so I can go running and screaming into the hospital to freak everyone out. Oddly enough, they told me no. What a disappointment. Then they up an appointment for me with reproductive endocrinology...wtf. Look, if I can barely say it, I shouldn't be going. And I definitely never thought I would be seeing a fertility specialist to freeze my eggs at 29...I mean, COME ON. But that's not even the disturbing part. That was walking into a room with a doctor who looks like Newman from Seinfeld who is asking your boyfriend about his sperm. My life is just filled with awkward moments. But now I'm exactly 2 weeks into this journey and I'm already so amazed and thankful for the insane amount of support I've received from friends and family! And I know I'll need it. Hell, I'm going to need to pick out a bad-ass wig...