Trying to prepare

Tomorrow afternoon, I go in to have a chunk taken out of my leg and sent off to the lab in hopes it shows clear margins all around without any sign of melanoma outside that range.  The odds are pretty good in my favor but it does not mean I'm looking forward to the procedure and process.

Ironically, it's not the pain that I'm worried about. I'm one of the lucky few who has an amazing pain tolerance.  If you add into that what my grandfather (crudely) called "big brass ones," I know I'll tough it out without any pain meds and no complaining.  The most frustrating physical limitation for me is having to give up my running.  That's my daily therapy.  I'm hoping the fact this site is on my upper leg won't change the forced rest time any more than my back sites did.  We shall see in the next week.  I've run with so many stitches in me, that I know I can do it but I can't rush my bodies ability to make my skin stretch. It has its own schedule and I have to be patient. Not my strong suit some days.

So, the mental part.....  I figure someone will find my blog and wonder how to prepare.  The short answer is, "I don't know yet."  Three years into this battle, I haven't figured it out yet. I keep expecting it to get easier or that I'll find the answers somewhere but I haven't.  My mind races with worries of: what if there aren't clear margins, what if the muscle is involved, what if this isn't the only spot the monster is hiding in, and so on and on and on.  Quieting my mind is the part of the preparation I wish I could nail.  I made sure my work was caught up enough to leave work early tomorrow. Someone else is making dinner for me (and pouring me wine) to take it easy on a fresh wound. The hubster will put the boys to bed.  My beautiful boys know to "treat mom gentle" like before and to not crowd the bed during the night.  It's my stinking brain that I can't prepare for tomorrow.

My attempt to prepare is to keep reminding myself of the logical side of this fight. Survival statistics, pro-active care, aggressive monitoring, etc.  It helps turn down the volume in my brain if I'm lucky but that isn't often.  At least not as often as I need to feel prepared to walk in tomorrow. But I'll walk in that door, head held high, big brass ones in place (love ya Grandpa, miss ya) and donate a chunk of my leg to keep my survivor status.  Because I'm always prepared for the fight and refuse to give up.