How can you tell when you're over thinking it?

When I was pregnant with Rachel, I got so sick of talking about babies and pregnancy. It was an emotional pregnancy for me - we found out I'm a cystic fibrosis carrier and I ended up with gestational diabetes. After awhile it seemed as though I'd read every single possible book related to pregnancy, birth, nursing, getting a kid on a schedule, what to do the first year, etc.

When I was pregnant with Jake, I brushed up on baby feeding and a couple of chapters in our sleep book. That was about it.

Best to keep it simple, right?

A few months after Jim was diagnosed, he said "I'm just so sick of talking about it." Yeah, I knew that feeling. Since then, I've read every book, scanned a ridiculous number of websites, signed us up for an organic farm share, etc. etc. - I know some of what spurs me on is the need to feel active and busy. After all, it's important to me to feel as though I'm contributing to his recovery, even if I'm not getting the treatments, too.
We are truly sick of talking about it. Not that we mind answering questions. We certainly don't. And we know that people are truly asking because they care. We are glad to talk about it with other people. Friday night I went to a scrapbooking night with my friend Kim. I had a ball and I was delighted to be invited. But eventually the group started talking about someone else with cancer, and I started asking questions. What kind of surgery is she having? Who is her surgeon? Where is she being treated? As if I know every person in the Sheboygan area that has cancer. Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut? Finally it came out that Jim has cancer. Then they started asking me questions. I could actually hear myself talking and I was thinking "KATE, SHUT UP. You're such a downer! This is supposed to be a FUN night."

When is it too much? When are we over talking, over doing, over thinking? When have we read too many books? Will I know when people just don't want to hear about it? Will I know when to stop talking? I don't want people to pity us, but I still talk about it. Not because I'm looking for pity, but because sometimes I feel that if I don't say something, it's just an enormous pink elephant in the room.

I am not known for being graceful under pressure. Today was a tough day - I'm feeling a lot of self pity and I decided tonight that I would actually rather take the SATs again than pick up any more dog poop. I freaked out on Rachel today. I freaked out on a 3 year old. It was not a good start to the day. I had such a meltdown that she actually ended up comforting me after a while.

I think we're over thinking this. I know I'm over thinking it. It seems like all we ever talk about anymore is pain, pills, chemo, pep talks, nurses, doctors, research, what book I've read, organic food, and what hospital to go to next. I really, really hate that this is our reality. I really hate that I am only able to read books on a subject that I really don't want to have to read about. I resent picking up dog poop. Our reality is so altered at this point that I'm starting to feel angry. And whiny. And like I don't want to pick up any more dog poop.

At some point I'd like to talk to Jim about...the price of tea in China. And not about green tea and its healing properties for cancer. I'd like to talk about how tough his day was at work...not about how it was tough because he was scrunched over because of stomach pain. I'd like to talk about what's going on in the neighborhood...just to fill him in, not because he's missing things because he can't leave the house. I'd like to talk to him about yard work as he's doing it, not because I have questions about tools that I don't know how to operate. (My new electric string trimmer is awesome, by the way!) I'd like to read a book for the sheer joy of reading - not to learn more about healing, not to cover my racing thoughts, not to try and figure out the cure that I somehow seem to be missing throughout all my reading. And I'd like to feel sorry for myself for dumb things like the fact that I stepped in gum at Wal-Mart. Not because our lives have taken an unbelievable turn out of the normal range.

Am I over thinking it? You bet. I'm not sure how we'll stop. Maybe we won't be able to stop until he's NED. Maybe we'll never be able to stop because we'll always worry, even when he's NED. Maybe we'll just get so sick and tired of it all that we'll be forced to talk about something else without the conversation turning to cancer. I can't wait until we get to talk about something perfectly boring and with absolutely no meaning. Like the weather.