Every day seems to start with a flurry of phone calls at the moment. Today, the first one arranged my pre-admission consultation, coming this Friday. The second call let me know that instead of one week Friday, my TEM operation is now happening on Tuesday, February 20. So we're really rolling now. Even though that first operation isn't removing any cancer yet (or at least no one thinks there's any cancer in that particular nodule), it's getting things ready so that my full-on bowel resection can take place a couple of weeks later and get the actual fucking cancer out.
Despite that good news, the rest of today was a washout. For the first time since I was diagnosed with cancer on January 8, I felt physically ill enough (rather than simply emotionally overwhelmed enough) to stay home from work. I'm not sure that my symptoms weren't mostly psychosomatic—essentially, I've been feeling particularly bloated and gassy today—but I slept for more than two hours this afternoon, and other than a quick lunch out with my wife, I haven't been out of the house.
She was the one who figured out I should stay home, incidentally. I had already dropped the kids off at school and was bundled up ready to walk out the door when she said, "I can tell from looking at you that you should stay home today." And she was right. I made no protest, peeled off the clothes, and climbed right back into bed.
Hours later, after I'd woken up from my afternoon nap, my kids came home from school and cheered me up. Maybe I'll make it to work tomorrow. We'll see. I can see the top of the rollercoaster now, and pretty soon I'm heading over.