It's been less than a week since I've been off work and without all the medical hoo-ha, I'd be a basket case. Not necessarily because of the diagnosis, which is generally too frightening to get too maudlin about, but because I'm at home and not getting ready to give birth.
I feel like some soap opera diva, faking a pregnancy and pretending to nest. Cleaning, sorting papers, hoisting 80 lb bookcases on my pre-maternal back to arrange them somewhere else in the house. I have no onesies to wash, so have to busy myself with other obsessions and they're now fully random and hyper-speed.
Want to read every book I've never read (heard Vida Vendela's a great author... have to buy all her books and read them now!), watch every TV show I've been missing out on (why haven't I been clued into True Blood? What's wrong with me?!) and bake every dessert in my collection of cookbooks (where does one get peanut-free almond flour to make French macarons?). And because I'm not working in the evenings anymore, I'm eating ketchup chips and Googling Justin Bieber to figure out who the hell he is.
My real fear? That when I'm going through chemo and feeling like shite that I'll regress to my early uni years and get hooked on soaps or start wandering the streets of Cadboro Bay chatting up the local shopkeepers.
So I'm doing something very unlike me and building a little meditation corner in my living room where I can take a moment to calm all this ledge-grabbing going on in my brain. At the very least, it will give me something else to focus on (meditation wear! Who knew there were such specific clothes to buy?).