Turbulence

If you want to make me cry, talk about babies.

The predominant emotion I'm feeling right now is bewilderment tempered with exhaustion. The best metaphor I can think of is what happens when they land a fighter jet on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Did you know there isn't actually enough room to land an airplane on an aircraft carrier? They manage it with old-fashioned brute force. The plane is equipped with a hook that comes down at landing time. The pilot has to position the plane so that the hook catches on a metal cable stretched across the deck of the aircraft carrier. This hook and cable system is what stops the plane from falling off the end of the deck and crashing into the ocean.

The most fascinating thing about this system is that, at the instant the pilot touches down, he also hits the throttle full-force. That's because, if he misses the hook, he needs every bit of power to successfully take off again. If he waits until he knows he's missed the cable, he'll crash. So the cable has to work against, not only his velocity as he glides in for a landing, but also the full force of an attempted take-off.

This is exactly how I feel. Everything I'm doing right now is full throttle, until it isn't. And just like the pilot, I'm at the mercy of all these forces: the cable, the hook, the ship, the plane, the thrusters. It's hell on the pilot, and it's hell on the guys on deck who help catch him.

Yesterday morning, I went to see the reproductive endocrinologist. He said, "I think we can freeze some embryos before you start treatment." I saw the nurse and the finance lady. I requested test results to be sent to the fertility place. I made an appointment for an ultrasound this morning. I was ready to go...until the hook caught me.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to see the oncologist. He said it would be a very bad idea to introduce all those hormones when I've got estrogen receptor positive cancer. He frowned when he said it. The breast surgeon said, "It would be best if you left this behind you for now. You are young. There's a good chance your ovaries will come back."

Why don't they ever shut up? Just tell me no, then move on. Because you know the more you talk about it, the more I'm going to cry, right? How can you not know that? So finally I wave my hands in the air and cry out, "Please stop talking about babies now, because you guys are making me cry!" And that was it.

There are more stories from yesterday. I have stories about incompetant surgeons and useless oncologists, but I'll have to leave those for another day. One jerky landing at a time, please.