Too mixed-up to think of a title

"They" say, "Be careful what you wish for." But I think right now I would like to wish for a life that isn't so full of challenges; a life that is calm with time to just enjoy it; a life wherein I can just breathe without "something" surrounding us; a life that doesn't have some siren going off every other day. I am so very, very tired of these sirens.

My mom starts her series of scans today, to make sure the cancer hasn't spread. Three today, one Friday, and two on Monday. This is the hardest part. The fear of spreading.

She saw a plastic surgeon on Tuesday, to talk about reconstruction. It's far more complicated and difficult than we imagined. Now she's not sure she even wants to deal with it. It's going to be a huge thing. I think I have been so preoccupied with my fear and panic about the "what if ..." that I haven't given much thought to the grief and pain involved with a mastectomy. I have been blowing it off, perhaps too fearful of what it really entails, thinking that if it saves her life, than it's a no-brainer. But it's more than that. Much, much more.

She talked to her aunt, who had a mastectomy a few years ago and opted for a prosthetic rather than reconstruction. She's going to talk to a friend who did elect for reconstruction, trying to get both sides of the situation and see what option would better suit her. It's going to be a grief-stricken process regardless of the choice.

My mom feels great, though. A little worried, tearful at times, but overall in good health. I've been feeling a little better, especially after a loving cyber-slap from a trusted friend of mine, knocking some sense into me like some old black-and-white movie where the hysterical heroine is smacked by the dashing hero. Suddenly there's a bit of clarity. A bit.

I found that I like to shop when I'm stressed. I also found that I like to cook. I really love cooking; it's just rather difficult trying to pull off a beautiful meal with two kids under foot. I've been perusing my mafia cookbooks and enjoying their offerings immensely (Thanks, Artie Bucco, for the phenomenal chicken francese!). Now I have turned to a newly acquired cookbook, which is all about grilling. We saw it on my mother-in-law's coffee table when we visited a few weeks ago, and we knew that she has no idea how to grill, so therefore the book was calling out to us for a new home. Our home, to be specific. The other night I stuck little slips of paper in just a few tantalizing pages and drew up my shopping list for yesterday's weekly trip to the grocery store. Last night our menu was fabulous:

- a whole chicken marinated in a fresh cilantro pesto paste
- mashed potatoes
- sweet corn
- a fantastic glass of Saint-Veran, Bourgogne Blanc

A delicious distraction from life. My life. And what's more, it was actually very easy. A bit involved, but I was able to whip up the cilantro paste while the kids were napping. I was free ... free to think. But that can be dangerous. Unfortunately I'm back to the difficulty of praying (why is that?). Lately little thoughts pop up, "Why bother to pray? What's going to happen is going to happen. Why fall on my knees, pleading for what might not happen? Do I really want to get my hopes up again, just to have my hopes get dashed again?" I know ... bad stuff. Really bad. That's why such a delicious distraction was in order.

These are long days. Heavy, weighty days. We laugh, we're happy, we play ... but underneath there's that undercurrent of sadness, of anxiety, of distress, of just not wanting to go through this again. I get tired of these relentless undercurrents. "IT" is always there, always in the back of our minds, always in our thoughts, always present. What an odd, rambling post ... I guess what flies out of my fingertips is indicative of what's going on in my head. Lots of swirling, lots of unrest. I'm sad. I'm tired.