Scared To Be Normal

Tomorrow I will have to act like a real person.  I say act, because I don't see the oncologist until Friday and the urologist a week from Monday, so they will have to be the ones to officially call me a person again.  But tomorrow, I go through a lot of the motions a person goes through.  For the first time since I was initially diagnosed with cancer (8/31/10, you never forget the date you were diagnosed) I will be out on my own, all day.  I have thus far only been out for short periods of time or with a chaperon.  You know someone to drive when I feel tired (which has been most of the past three weeks), someone to tell me that is too heavy and I shouldn't try to lift it, someone to say they told me so when I am holding myself in pain after lifting it, and someone generally to provide physical and moral support.  That also means I won't have my wife around tomorrow to persuade that McDonald's sausage biscuits and hashbrowns are full of protein and that the oncologist suggest that we get some on the way to the blood test.  She also won't be there later in the morning when I claim that the oncologist said I was in dire need of Dunkin' Donuts to keep my strength up.

On one hand I am actually excited about tomorrow.  I get to meet with a volunteer group I strongly believe in.  I will hopefully hear something on one of the jobs I applied for.  I get to meet a friend for lunch.  And I get to go to my cancer group.  The problem is, each of those things are spaced just far enough apart in time and distance, that it won't make any sense for me to come home in between.  So, I will leave the house at 8:30am and won't get home until about 7pm.  That's almost like having a job...except that I won't be getting paid, I will actually be enjoying what I am doing, and if anyone starts yelling at me or treating me like crap, I can get up and walk away with no repercussions.

The downside is, I should probably try to stay awake for the whole day.  That is a giant step in my life right now.  It probably wouldn't look good napping during lunch or while talking about volunteer leadership.  However, the good thing about cancer group, is if I take a nap there, every other person in the room will understand.  I know this because it frequently happens during group...coincidently it's usually when I am talking.  But that truly is my biggest fear tomorrow, and I am honestly afraid, that I just won't have the stamina to make it through the whole day.  As much as my cabin fear has been bothering me, I don't know that I am ready to be out of the nest out on my own.  After all, I got winded eating a piece of cake today.

But that is not my only apprehension about tomorrow.  My Mo' looks absolutely pathetic.  It didn't take much for me to remember why I never got the urge to grow one before.  Again, at group I am not too worried about it, because everyone will know why I am growing it and some may be doing it themselves.  It is everyone else I may encounter throughout the day.  I wish I had a t-shirt that says "Yes, I know I have a ridiculous, pathetic mustache.  It is for a good cause.  Ask me about Movember".  But I don't.  So, as I go to the restaurant tomorrow to meet my friend, it is very likely that the fifteen year old cleaning the tables will have a thicker, better looking mustache than me, and I am afraid that she will make fun of me for it when she picks my head up off of the plate to take it away.  I guess on one hand, I could blame the fact that I have half the testosterone that I did pre-surgery.  However, if I do that, I may have to explain why, which will be good for the Movember movement to talk about testicular cancer, but I don't know that I should walk around tomorrow telling everyone I see about my balls...er, ball.

So that's where I am at.  I have to get up at a normal hour.  I have to stay awake all day.  I have to walk around with less hair on my lip than an old lady.  And I have to keep it together, because after all, this means I am almost back to normal, and that is kind of an emotional thing to deal with as well.  There is part of me that is dying to get back to normal, and a certain part that is scared and not sure if I am ready yet.  Oh and if Murphy's Law exists, I did some research and people on my chemo, tend to lose their hair between the third and fourth week, which pretty much starts tomorrow.  So, if I am going to lose it, I am sure it will fall out during my volunteer meeting or lunch, either of which are going to make a very awkward scene.  Hopefully I will have enough strength at the end of the day tomorrow to tell how things went.