Table Seven

I must feel really lousy - I made an appointment with the doctor.  I actually really like my doctor, I simply don’t like going to see him in his office when I am riddled with an ailment.  But I went.  Because I feel that bad.  And I explained stuffy nose, runny eyes, night sweats, coughing, and the pressure.  The pressure is the worst.

I was on an airplane on Monday, Dr Groff.  And I thought my face was going to fly off, no really.  FLY OFF.  I was in the aisle seat, this couple was all coudly and asleep in the window and middle and I was convinced this was it. I sat there and wept.  At first the weeping was involuntary, like it was maybe my body’s last great hope to relieve some pressure. And then it was for real, real tears and no one to feel for me.  Sucked.  And to just make matters a little worse, my flight from Dallas went around the weather, so I was stuck there for two and a half hours.  Do you have any idea how long that is when you think your face is going to blow off.  The only fun thing I thought of was that maybe I would get to be on Discovery channel or something as the girl who flew with a sinus infection and her face blew off on a Southwest Airlines flight. Like people could learn a lesson, Don’t fly with a sinus infection. I obviously don’t have a lot going on in my life, when I am pondering becoming famous at death with a face blow off, eh?

 Sweet Dr Groff laughed.  Better than rolling his eyes, which easily could have been appropriate.  Since I had caught a quick nap while I was waiting (and waiting), he can humor me.  I suppose knowing Maria and Paki (really just my dear mother) so well makes it easier to understand why I am like this…

 As he was telling me about my clear lungs, and about what kind of drugs he was going to perscribe and how I just need some rest and fluids, nasal spray and the drugs and I should be back to normal soon enough.  I thought it was comical he used normal - especially after my dramatic interlude.

And then at the end of his writing my perscription and what appeared to be when he was about to open the door and we walk out together, which is when I imagine all the big guns, larger issues and more of the truth is told… I said,

DK: Dr Groff, I think I have anxiety issues.

Groff: Like panic attacks? 

DK:   No, just anxious.  I have anxiety about most aspects of my life and when I start to think about them, I get flustered and anxious, I guess.  I don’t really know much about anxiety, but I don’t like it.  I don’t really feel like myself, or maybe the person that I want to be.  I cannot relax.  At all.  Sit still, lay there, makes me feel like I should be out doing something.  Like I am wasting time by just sitting.  Anxious.  I think that is what it is. 

Groff: ……. 

DK: But you know, Dr, I dont like drugs.  I am not asking you to give me something, hell, I don’t even know if you can based on my own thought process of my issues, but I just wanted to know if you have any advice?

Groff: I think you should try the Barnes & Noble rememdy -

DK: Like go to Barnes & Noble and sit in the corner and try to relax and read something?

Groff (grinning, totally entertained): Um, no, Dana, like going to Barnes & Noble and heading down the self-help section, searching for a book on anxiety and really reading it.  Follow it.  Try to not be anxious.  Follow the books direction. See if that helps, if not, come back and we can figure something out.

I am sick.
Sinus infection. Cough. Snots. Cold.
My mom dropped off some chicken soup. From Niko-Niko’s - I was lacking an appetite, but one bite and I was all for it. Delicious - I highly recommend it.
And I am watching the Biggest Loser
A couple just got engaged.
I am crying.

I sat them down and kindly informed them that I was going to need somewhere in the neighborhood of 10grand to save my eggs. It wasn’t the actual freezing that is so expensive, it is the extraction.
It might seem dramatic, but I am thirty and if Oprah and those old people in Greece are indeed correct, my dear eggs are already beginning in dwindle.
After this biopsy, I had a really terrible feeling. Sweet cousin Kelli kept saying that it would just be a cruel joke if cancer hit our family twice in the same year, but stranger things have happened to other families.
It really was the radiologist that knocked me into next week, imaginary phone calls to MDAnderson, having to brace myself for what might be. “…you have abnormal blood flow through this area, the biopsy will determine exactly what might be wrong… you need to be prepared…” And then it was from the looks of it, if something is wrong, the spot is small, I wouldn’t anticipate anything more than radiation… He rattled off percentages, details, how long this particular procedure would be. When he spoke, it was as though time stood still and seemed like an eternity, but I think in actuality it was no more than five minutes. Do you have any questions? At that time, I could really rattle it right back to you, I followed, concentrated on every word, but then, when I went to explain it to my parents, the percentages got confused, the details jumbled, all that really came out was something about radiation and a five-year drug to help me along.
This was an MRI guided biopsy, which was quite different from what I knew. This spot was found on an MRI that had been suggested after an irregularity in an ultrasound, which came about after a mammogram and other biopsy. It’s been a long few months. MRI guided means that you go back in the tube, you go back in the breast cups, you go back to sitting very, very still.
Someone was thinking. You climb onto the MRI table, and on your knees, open your robe and drop your body, breasts first into plastic cups. Square plastic cups. And your forehead rests on a little mat. Your eyes are looking down, but they have this mirror contraption that at least lets you see out. So even though you are about to be slid into a tube, face down, and aren’t supposed to move at all, you can open your eyes and see out into the room. Really, someone was thinking.
But I digress, because the thought of death, dying young can make you crazy. Make me crazy. And really, death wasn’t even where my brain went. I focused on the fact that radiation might kill my eggs. And I might not have children. Forget the fact that I don’t have anyone with whom to procreate.
Then through sleepless nights, I thought about other ways to better me. I have to worry less. I have to follow my heart. I have to sleep - more, all throughout the night. I have to put myself first. I have to relax. Seriously, relax. I have to enjoy my days. Exercise. Play. I have to take random time to smell the roses. Don’t be so anxious. Laugh. Be. Calm down.

Non-dating, is just plain rude. Who knew that the girl he left me alone for, wouldn’t be worth it… and so he is back. Kinda. And sometimes, he doesnt even plan his own non-dates.
Think about non-dating for a second. They do it because they aren’t sure that you are worthy of full on dating. Really bad on the self esteem. Really.

So I never really heard anything back from the non-date. And I was, frankly, surprised. It had all appeared to go so well. I convinced myself that he just washed away with the rain and the floods and those one or two funnel clouds that touched down around Houston over the last few weeks. Blaming natural disasters is simply an easier pill to swallow.

Heard tonight that he met someone. In fact, heard tonight via text that he was into me and then this new chick came along… Kind of them to say, even if it is all BS. No one ever wants to think that someone isn’t into them. No one ever wants to think that whatever they did or how they acted or what they said wasn’t enough to make the connection.

It stung. Reading those words on a text. This sting that I speak of, that everyone has felt once, twice or countless times, is notso much because he has found a new lady to court, non-date or maybe even real date and she is not me. At the end of the day, I think dating is truly awful. The awkwardness that comes along; the way you want to be but really are; the fear that someone might not be into you and the weird rejection that trails it. The question being more of why you want to be someone else than you really are for a person that you barely know. The even scarier thought that they might really be into you and you might not have a clue how to tell them that you don’t really feel the same way.

The sting is there because for the first time since The-Sweetest-Boy-In-The-World, I was honest and myself with someone. I didn’t put up a front, I wasn’t fake with my words, actions or deeds. I was more me than I had been with anyone in over a year. I personally peeled away at myself. I made a point to throw my truest person out there. And evidently the she that is really me wasn’t right for him. And that is absolutely ok.

I am resilient, I can probably thank the men in my life for that. Not only that, but I kinda like this real me. Truthfully, she is way more fun than the girl that I thought I should be and sometimes tried to be. I am just glad that she found her way back. Non-dating might have just have been the perfect activity to bring her out.