It can't be PMS, or can it?

I have two major coping mechanisms: sleep and crying. Today I've employed both and neither are working.

Absolutely nothing is wrong. I went to the oncologist for a check-up. I don't even know if I'm supposed to be going every 2 months, every 3 months or what. I forget to go; they call. I reschedule, then reschedule the rescheduled appointment because I have class that day. Eventually I get there. Today was it.

Sitting in the waiting room for the requisite hour's wait, I'm accompanied by people just getting the bad new, "Yes. It was malignant." By people coming for chemotherapy, hairless, dry-eyed and pale, resolute and hoping to survive. Wanting to beat it this time around. By family members, anxious and solicitous. And for a few, like me, there for routine checkups, "Has it returned?" is the primary question. Although most, like me, know that it hasn't. The beast is still contained, but we're aware of the dark shadow of possibility that may someday rear its ugly head.

The TV is playing old reruns of obsolete comedies, a background sacrilege to the serious thoughts each is having. I try to read. I lose the battle and come awake wondering if I've snored or snorted loudly enough to be heard. No one pays me the least attention, each is lost in his/her own world of somber possibilities. I sleep again. Hard. Either a snore or a snort or the fear of one wakes me again. That deep sleep from which it's difficult to awaken. Finally I rouse enough to change positions, trying to move so as not to fall asleep again. One part of me doesn't want to sleep; the other part is winning. Just as I fall heavily into the zone again, she calls my name.

Just as I expected, the blood test is good. Everything is fine. Even my blood pressure registers normal. Wonder of wonders, must be the sleep.

The doctor orders a bone scan. The one last year was very good, above average for my age. Since I'm on the killer hormones, bone density needs to be monitored. I expect it will also be above average.

I come home late and my husband has cleaned the house. He has the back room ready, clean and cozy for me to rest or work (or blog) on my laptop. So I get settled, postpone working on my paper that's past due, and read a few blogs. And start laughing, then crying. (If you need to laugh until you cry, try reading this... it's VERY VERY funny!)

It can't be PMS...so why am I still crying? There must be a sad virus in the oncologist's office. Next time I think I'll wear a bubble suit when I go.

Or maybe just carry a big plastic bubble umbrella!!

..?