Struggling

I had desperately hoped that this anniversary... this CANCERVERSARY... would be an awesome time of gratitude and reflection and celebration. Starting with today, the anniversary of my biopsy, my MRI and CAT Scan and my night at Fairview Hospital with my husband and father. Instead, it has turned into a horrible time of stress and sadness. Of panic and upset and anger.

We still have no power. The stupid motherfucking piece of shit generator that Ryan has been miserably fixing, refixing, being kept awake night after night to fix, refix, and pour gas (read: money) into has turned into the worst possible thing that could have happened to us through this storm. It's brought more anger and stress than the comfort it may have otherwise given in the form of heat and unspoiled food. And it's basically because I cannot deal with having to watch Ryan be stressed out.

And ever since last Friday, when we had a non-hurricane-related flood which destroyed the majority of Ryan's recording studio, he has pretty much been nothing BUT stressed. And there is nothing more stressful for ME than Ryan being stressed. If it wouldn't stress him out so much, I'd rather go through cancer again than watch him stress over something or another EVERY FUCKING DAY.

I got home tonight from my second ever support group experience (a group at Moll Pavillion for Women with Gynecologic Cancers), the focus of which was the hidden gifts of cancer, and the happy feelings I departed with dissolved entirely as I pulled onto my still-dark street and saw that my house, too, had gone dark. Knowing the generator must have finally shit the bed, I was immediately filled with dread. I knew Ryan would be a wreck. And he was.

I left to find food and candles. He called me. We fought on the phone while a mouth breathing deli worker stocked lunch meats while shooting me crusty glances for being in her moustachioed, hairnetted way. We fought because he wanted me to come with him to Avon for parts for my new nemesis, the generator and because I said no - I just couldn't deal with it.

I hate how this week's end, this utterly significant year's end, is panning out. I feel like I have to cancel my party AND our overnight trip to Mohican, which is supposed to be Saturday. We can't leave with everything this fucked up. And if the power company isn't expected to have everyone's power restored until Monday... I am sure we'll be the last ones they take care of at this point.

Between this and some other potentially shitty news I got today from a friend so dear she is basically family... The only thing keeping me from curling up in a ball and sobbing is my happiness for my parents who sold their house in Boulder in about a week. (SO thrilled for them!) That and the joy and love and gratitude of the beautiful women I met tonight at Moll.

Aside from that, though, I am just filled with anxiety. And hatred of the shitpile generator and the stress it is causing me via the stress it is causing Ryan.

Anybody got any positivity I can borrow?
Xxo, Phoebe