Oddly the pathology report hit me almost as hard as the original diagnosis.  Only a little of my energy is spent on wondering why that is.  The rest is focused on getting centered again.

“The Pony” is in the people who have circled around us and are supporting us with love, and food.  “The Pony” is employers who are accommodating both of us and our struggle.   “The Pony” is the visiting Nurses Brigade.  “The Pony” is the Surgeon, one of the States best, who seems to almost be taking this cancer as a personal affront.  “The Pony” is the Oncologist, full of piss and vinegar, who believes there is no room for ego in the exam room.  I am humbled by this all.  I am a very private person, perhaps even shy, and so I would not expect this kind of outpouring.  “The Pony” is lifetime partner who sparkles and lights up the room and draws friends and family and love to her and so vicariously I get to learn about these things.

I have struggled with the surgery, rather quietly, because I didn’t want to be the Eeyore to P’s Winne-the-Pooh.  But, I’m not happy with this disease, at times I’m angry, and it is a struggle to point that anger in the right direction.  The disfigurment that the disease has caused my buddy and lover SUCKS.  The amputation of a breast is important to remove the cancerous cells, the Surgeon is a craftswoman, but it is an amputation all the same and it SUCKS.   Watching chemo kick her ass, SUCKED.  Knowing that she will possibly have a couple of numb toes, perhaps fingers, for the rest of her life  as a side effect of the next round of chemo, SUCKS.  Knowing that we likely won’t escape radiation SUCKS.

I’m willing to eat this shit sandwich and ask for seconds, however, if in the end I get to spend more time with this amazing woman.