the road not taken

i'd rather you be a raging bitch and be alive.
-nitza-pizza-with-an-n, dear friend and fellow girlie-girl.


in one week, i will be clutching the arm of the nurse
who encourages me to get up and walk.
i will either be smiling through gritted teeth,
or possibly sweating through my first hotflash
and on an emotional rollercoaster.

when my oncologist makes the cut
my ovaries will be singing out
should i stay or should i go?
he will decide, once he gets a chance to
really look at them, whether or not
i get to keep the goods (my ovaries).
if not, then i will win what's behind
door number two: immediate menopause.

and seriously? i am not complaining.
i am standing.
i am breathing.
i am present.
and i don't care what i have to go through
to stay this way.

having a catheter for two weeks or more?
no problem.
having to give myself a shot every day
to thin my blood?
bring it.
not having energy or the ablity to gogogo
for four to six weeks?
i got it covered.

menopause...i can handle it.
it isn't too far away anyway.
right?

and the silver-lining no matter the decision?
no more wasted cabinet space with big boxes of
monthly feminine paraphernalia.
hallelujah!