Hurry Up and Wait

Hurry Up and Wait

🌼 Date: Monday, August 3, 2026

⚡ Energy: Treading water with numb legs

💝 Status: Waiting, waiting, and apparently waiting some more

😫 Outlook: Frustrated, defeated, and very tired of being the reminder system

Waiting to see if you made the team is the worst.

I hated it in high school.

I hate it now.

There is something awful about knowing someone else has information that affects your life, your plans, your body, your future, your ability to move forward, and you just have to sit there like a golden retriever by the front window waiting for the mailman.

Except less cute.

And with more rage.

I have been waiting for the call to schedule my exchange surgery.

And today, I finally got it.

Which should have been exciting.

It was not.

It was officially frustrating.

First, let me say this: I know I am not my doctor’s only patient.

I know there are schedules and surgeries and insurance and appointments and a million moving parts.

I know the medical world does not revolve around Tiny Tina, even though honestly, after this year, I feel like I should at least get a small satellite.

But don’t we all have charts for a reason?

Detailed notes?

Treatment timelines?

Restrictions?

Instructions?

Important little medical breadcrumbs that are supposed to help everyone involved know what is happening?

Because it feels like if you are calling someone to schedule something as important as exchange surgery, and there are specific restrictions that patient has to follow, maybe those restrictions should be checked before the call happens.

Maybe.

Just a wild thought from a woman with two medical chest rocks and a rapidly thinning patience supply.

I do not think it should be the patient’s responsibility to remind the scheduler that the restrictions have not been met yet.

I do not think the patient should have to say, “Wait, hold on, my surgeon said six months after radiation, remember?”

I do not think the patient should feel like she knows her timeline better than the office calling to manage it.

And yet, here we are.

Again.

Back in November or December, I got a call from the same scheduler to set up a date for my exchange surgery.

At that point, I asked if I could have it done before chemo and radiation.

Umm.

Nope.

So the answer was basically:

“I will put you on the calendar to touch base in three to four months and we will see where you are at with your treatment.”

Okay.

Fine.

Then I got the call again in February.

At that point, I had just finished chemo and was supposed to be starting radiation in April.

I had to remind her that my plastic surgeon had said I needed to wait six months after radiation before I could have the exchange surgery so my skin would be ready.

And once again:

“I will put you on the calendar to touch base in three to four months and we will see where you are at with your treatment.”

Déjà vu.

But make it medical scheduling.

Because I knew surgery is scheduled about three months out, I asked one of the nurses at one of my plastics appointments if she could please put a note in for the scheduler.

By my math, and let’s be honest, maths is hard, six months from my last radiation treatment on April 30 would be October 30.

So in my mind, we were aiming for the end of October or early November.

A timeline.

A plan.

A light at the end of this reconstruction tunnel.

Today, the scheduler called.

And guess what?

My doctor does not have anything available at the end of October.

And her schedule is not opened yet for November and beyond.

So now the plan is:

“I will put a reminder on my calendar to call you after August 30th to get on the schedule for November.”

And that was the moment something in me just sank.

Have you ever felt like you have been treading water for so long that your arms and legs are numb, and you are not sure how much longer you have before you slip under the surface for the last time?

That is how I felt in that moment.

I have been hitting every milestone.

Surgery.

Chemo.

Radiation.

Fills.

Shots.

Appointments.

Labs.

Restrictions.

Waiting periods.

I have done what I was supposed to do.

I have shown up.

I have followed directions.

I have held myself together through things I did not think I could survive.

And then suddenly…

BAM.

Brick wall.

It felt like someone put their hand on top of my head and pushed me under the water.

And I am too tired to fight back right now.

I know this is not the end of the world.

I know this is not a cancellation.

I know, logically, that November is still close to the timeline we expected.

But cancer recovery is not just logic.

It is emotion.

It is exhaustion.

It is grief.

It is living inside a body that has been cut, poisoned, burned, stretched, deflated, refilled, poked, scanned, measured, and discussed like a group project you never volunteered for.

It is waiting for the next step while trying not to fall apart in the waiting room of your own life.

And today, I fell apart a little.

Not dramatically.

No glitter explosion.

No inspirational music.

No triumphant speech.

Just that heavy, quiet, defeated feeling.

The kind where you sit there and think, “I cannot keep being the person who has to remember everything for everyone.”

Because I am tired.

I am tired of being patient.

I am tired of waiting.

I am tired of being told someone will call me later.

I am tired of wondering whether later will actually happen.

I am tired of feeling like my future depends on someone else’s calendar reminder.

I am tired of trying to stay hopeful while also preparing myself to be disappointed.

And today, I do not have a cute ending.

I do not have a neat little lesson.

I do not have a powerful comeback paragraph where Tiny Tina rises from the ashes and tells the medical system to buckle up.

Today, I just feel defeated.

And maybe that is allowed too.

Maybe not every post gets to end with strength.

Maybe some days are just about telling the truth.

Today, the truth is this:

I am frustrated.

I am tired.

I feel let down.

I feel like I ran face first into a wall I did not see coming.

And I am still here.

Not shiny.

Not brave in a pretty way.

Not wrapped in a bow.

Just here.

Floating.

Barely.

But still here.

And maybe, for today, that has to be enough.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time