My thoughts are a little jumbled this week as I attempt to gracefully balance life as we all do. I've crossed the threshold of all consuming boob thoughts to now a hodge podge of work, home, friends, family, travels, and a little boob thrown in for balance. The impostors have morphed into more of a secondary thought mainly popping up like a surprised guest during the cleaning ritual, changing clothes, trying to fall asleep, and randomly placed moments in my work day when I reach for something that is too high or brush up against something and feel the unmistakable tinge of discomfort. I'm sure you have noticed this transition as well in my updates. It's most certainly reassuring to fall back into a more familiar pattern. This week has been a compilation of a less normal non-boob mix. I'm still navigating thoughts around a friend who lost her 18 month old twin son a few weeks ago. That pops into my head at the strangest of times. Then, thoughts around the wedding we attended this past weekend. Next, I may find myself pondering the birth of a baby into my close network of friends. It has been over a month, but I still marvel at the newness of parenthood and all that changes that come with the arrival of a newborn. Now as of a few days ago, I am sorting through the thoughts and emotions of the suicide of my coworker who somehow felt there was no suitable solution to the thoughts that plagued her each day. She was a brand new mom and one of the most bubbly people you would ever meet. All smiles. All happy go lucky on the exterior. Shock rocks our work community as always does when something like this happens. I'm burdened by what must have been her feelings of confusion and utter despair. Then I ask myself how many others like her sit around me on any given day, and I have no clue? What responsibility do I have in life to those around me? I will never have that all figured out, but I do know I need to focus my attention less on self and more often on the lives of those around me. What if one simple and kind word out of my mouth could positively alter the course for another that lies in unannounced desperation? "What if" thoughts are everywhere for all of us in any given day. Pondering.
And my thoughts now transition back to the adorable wedding this past weekend. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was super apprehensive about this event. Of course there was excitement to see this couple "take the plunge" and commit to a God-centered marriage. But mixed in with that excitement for them was a trail of anxiety and hesitation around self. This is how petty and self focused I can be at times particularly in the last few months and therefore leading to my "what if" thoughts of above. As the day started to approach, my worry fell to this not so fashionable, full-coverage, ill-designed sports bra that needed to be incorporated into a dress that may or may not have a neckline to support it and may or may not even fit anymore. I put it off, I put it off, and I put it off some more until finally Friday evening arrives and I can put it off no more. (Rest assured, I found a suitable option). This in turn reveals to myself (as well as to you) that this new accomplishment of mastectomy and breast implants on my life's "I wasn't planning for" to-do list has made me a tad more vain. Or maybe vain isn't the correct term, and self conscious should be substituted in its place. Add to those self-conscious thoughts the apprehension of the questions that might arise from those at the wedding who knew of my most recent journey. I see the irony there. Here, I type a mile a minute about anything and everything that might come up in any given mastectomy day as an outpouring of information and advocacy, but I clam up like an oyster when asked about it in public. In person I resort back to my days of privacy while in private I feel free to be open and out there. The safety of the tiny white screen with the black cursor. It sits in silence and accepts my pecking without evaluation of content and intent. Maybe the feelings that crowd my thoughts when approached in public are nothing more than a reflection of my self consciousness like my struggle with choice of clothing. Well, turns out the wedding went off without a hitch, I had a dress to wear, and the conversation of me was little to none. Oh how we find ourselves worrying about the silliest of things.
Today, I had my weekly clinic appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon. I'm so eager to make this long term relationship more of a short term engagement. I love his team and all, but I've grown bored with the weekly show and tell. It does in fact get very old very quickly - as in I was tired of it 10 minutes into my very first appointment back in June. At what point does one start feeling comfortable with the flashing of one's impostors. I dare say never and if I do I need a sanity check. I recall the same feelings of invasion back during my lymphoma treatment when at the tender self-finding age of 16, I was expected on a daily frequency to strip down to nakedness and lie on a table for a zap of radiation therapy to my chest and abdomen. Months of this lovely occurrence. How is that a normal day for a teenager? (Maybe more on that later.) Despite the strip down, the best news of the day came when show and tell was over and he said he thinks Spot is improving. "Healing! But not healed." Surgeon had promised me last time I saw him that Spot would be healed before this appointment today, and you can be confident that I reminded him of that, but alas Spot has his own calendar and agenda. Regardless I'm delighted, exuberant, spectacular, and satisfied. I get another week break and back to see him in two. Two more weeks of every day life without the complications of working a doctor's appointment into your day. I will take it and run like the wind!
My brother turns 40 this week. How exactly did I get here with siblings in their forties and myself knocking on that door? Oh so many thoughts there that could find their way to this tiny white screen. Maybe another day. (But hey, my boobs aren't 40! They are a ripe old age of 2 months!)
