May 18: I'm intrigued by reading other people's perspectives around the mastectomy topic, particularly prophylactic mastectomy. Perspectives are everywhere you turn in recent days as Angelina decided to make her journey public, though after the fact. I kept receiving emails, post, calls "have you heard?". Then the news ran story after story of her journey calling her "brave", "inspirational", "applaud worthy" and the accolades go on. It made me think even further about "perspective" around this type journey and how different that perspective is for the one's viewing the journey compared to those walking it. If I had to bet, Angelina never once felt brave, inspirational, or applaud-able.
I asked Ron to try and describe to me that perspective from the outside looking in. Bravery to me is running into a house being consumed by flames to extract a stranger. Putting aside all thoughts of self while embracing the life of other. Choosing to honor someone else over your own self. This whole nation is captive by selfishness and the need to make our self the center of all motive. But then, as I continued to mull around thoughts and perspectives it started to click for me. Bravery is also putting aside one's own fear even to better the outcome of self. And then I saw it, the bravery of mastectomy.
You see, before now, to me it wasn't about bravery, but about survival. It was just the choice that needed to be made. Honestly, last summer, Ron and I saw it as a decision that was a no brainer. Really not even a choice at all. I didn't really see God leading me toward it, I didn't see Ron and I kicking and screaming and running away from it. It just made since to choose life over death. Wouldn't everyone do that? Just a decision we made and very quickly moved forward with. In fact, on some levels I considered myself selfish for making the decision (very far from brave) as I was greatly impacting Ron in this process as well, and my work team as I was needing to pull out of work for 8 weeks leaving them to sink or swim with one man down in the middle of a massive project. This would be my fourth surgery in 3 years. There was definite guilt for how this would impact people around me. Yet, as Ron and I continued to talk this week and him highlighting that he doesn't know if he would have made the same decision had we been talking about him instead of me, it started to bubble up that maybe this was something not just "reactive", "necessary", a "no brainer", an "instinctive" response to possible death but rather "brave", "inspirational", and "applaud worthy". (Prior to now the brave one to me was those that chose NOT to do it in my situation). Maybe I did choose something your average person would have struggled greatly with choosing. I have to admit, there wasn't much thought for me in the choice other than worrying about it's impact on family and potentially finances. My great thought came after the decision had been made and the first scalpel inserted. Maybe it's because I tend to choose rational over emotional (not that emotions are avoided, because I had those). But the rational choice to me was taking 65-95% chance of breast cancer and turning it to whopping < 5%. Bravery? I don't know, but I am starting to understand that is what those outside of this bucket perceive. Maybe had I known what would happen in those 3 months following mastectomy and had I chosen it anyway, then one could call me brave. Now, knowing all of what I know of mastectomy, I definitely can now in hindsight call it a brave choice from a brave heart.
So I applaud Angelina Jolie. And I applaud those many women not engulfed in fame that are taking these steps to choose something a bit more complicated than a "no-brainer" decision. This will be a very difficult journey for some. For others, they may sail through with flying colors. The trouble is you don't know which road will be yours. And therefore, I now see the bravery in it. Just know that for every thing you've heard or read about mastectomy, there is a much deeper layer there few speak of. Ask my spouse. Ask my mom. Ask my sister. Ask Nancy, Content, and Amy who cried with me in a restaurant booth. Ask my work team who allowed me to cry in a conference room. But then also ask about the incredible moments in mastectomy. Cause it is there too. Hard to be summed up in the brief paragraphs in appropriately titled "My Medical Choice" by Angelina in the New York Times May 14th, 2013. But the bravery is there all the same if you were able to view the behind-the-scenes of the journey.
Click www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts.
May 5, 2013 - The Burning Question
May 5: Two weeks off antibiotics. Anything is fair game (love, war, mastectomies) at this point, but so far we are strolling along with no signs of infection. Gone is the redness and pain that comes with cellulitis. All in all, I'm working to show hospitality to 2.2 while it itself is settling into a new home. And I was trucking along with that welcome until I realized that this coming weekend Ron and I are scheduled to be at the beach for a wedding. Beach = swim suit. Swim suit = just too much right now. Is it wrong to pray for snow in May? I don't know the patron saint of snow fall nor would I think he would listen to me anyway since I tend to bypass each saint and go straight to the Father in a direct prayer line. (So grateful He allows us a direct line.) God, maybe a little snow. Just a tad. I think it would make for beautiful beach wedding pictures. The bride would thank me I am sure. I'm positive of it = I'm a tad selfish.
I'm hearing so much encouragement from each of you. I can't thank you enough for that or even begin to tell you how it boosts my motivation. What is the most remarkable to me in those comments is your ongoing reassurance of how well I am embracing this mastectomy. I can't even begin to figure out how I am supposed to act in all of this. I have no concept of whether I am right on target or off in left field. At times I chuckle at the thought of your impression of me. Yes, I'm positive. Yes, I look for God's activity in my journey. Yes, I desperately want to ooze faith through every nook and cranny of this mastectomy. But boy, have there been moments of negativity, self centeredness, and doubt on an embarrassing ongoing frequency. Last week, when I was failing miserably at balancing the nuisance of this infection, an impossible work week, accumulating house chores left undone for weeks on end, and a self centeredness that even I couldn't stand I looked at Ron and asked the burning question. "Did we make a mistake doing this?"
I was so naive last summer when we were choosing this path. August 7th was to be a quick surgical procedure that would come and go with little more than having to succumb to fake breasts. And while I actually did have "best case scenario" at almost every turn, that whole stinking thing threw me for a very unexpected convoluted loop both physically and mentally. I had an enormous amount of grief. Bitterness found it's way to my doorstep on more than one occasion. Big whopping doses of frustration bombarded my evenings. And maybe I failed you in not allowing you to see more of that. I did strive for transparency and allowed it to show on occasion. But I don't want any one of you to think me immune to the emotions that I myself never once expected for a moment prior to August 7. Instead, I'd rather leave a legacy of Holy Spirit driven perseverance interwoven with the raw human reality. I call it a sandwich of grace, perspective, doubt, bitterness, positivity, faith, sorrow, triumph. I do not, however, want my legacy in mastectomy to be regret. Yet at times, it lurks into an hour of my day. Days when reality sets in of how much easier these last few months would have been had I not had August 7. There would be no April cellulitis had there not been an August 7 mastectomy. There would be no monumental fatigue. There would be less balancing, less adjusting. There certainly would be no dread of a swim suit (ok, well yes there would be but it would be for the old routine reasons, not the new). You know what else there wouldn't be? The amazing growth of self that has happened. The facing of something enormous that I originally anticipated to be trivial. The reminder that just when you think you have it all figured out it can just as easily become flooded with something foreign and unexpected.
I don't have it all figured out. Not even close. But I don't doubt for a second that purpose is being served. And when those moments of regret threaten to surface, I want to dig deep down to remind myself that purpose triumphs (and maybe even when I fail). It's been a tough month. I allowed myself to be bitter. By his Grace, even in that there was purpose. He's sneaky like that.
Click www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts.
I'm hearing so much encouragement from each of you. I can't thank you enough for that or even begin to tell you how it boosts my motivation. What is the most remarkable to me in those comments is your ongoing reassurance of how well I am embracing this mastectomy. I can't even begin to figure out how I am supposed to act in all of this. I have no concept of whether I am right on target or off in left field. At times I chuckle at the thought of your impression of me. Yes, I'm positive. Yes, I look for God's activity in my journey. Yes, I desperately want to ooze faith through every nook and cranny of this mastectomy. But boy, have there been moments of negativity, self centeredness, and doubt on an embarrassing ongoing frequency. Last week, when I was failing miserably at balancing the nuisance of this infection, an impossible work week, accumulating house chores left undone for weeks on end, and a self centeredness that even I couldn't stand I looked at Ron and asked the burning question. "Did we make a mistake doing this?"
I was so naive last summer when we were choosing this path. August 7th was to be a quick surgical procedure that would come and go with little more than having to succumb to fake breasts. And while I actually did have "best case scenario" at almost every turn, that whole stinking thing threw me for a very unexpected convoluted loop both physically and mentally. I had an enormous amount of grief. Bitterness found it's way to my doorstep on more than one occasion. Big whopping doses of frustration bombarded my evenings. And maybe I failed you in not allowing you to see more of that. I did strive for transparency and allowed it to show on occasion. But I don't want any one of you to think me immune to the emotions that I myself never once expected for a moment prior to August 7. Instead, I'd rather leave a legacy of Holy Spirit driven perseverance interwoven with the raw human reality. I call it a sandwich of grace, perspective, doubt, bitterness, positivity, faith, sorrow, triumph. I do not, however, want my legacy in mastectomy to be regret. Yet at times, it lurks into an hour of my day. Days when reality sets in of how much easier these last few months would have been had I not had August 7. There would be no April cellulitis had there not been an August 7 mastectomy. There would be no monumental fatigue. There would be less balancing, less adjusting. There certainly would be no dread of a swim suit (ok, well yes there would be but it would be for the old routine reasons, not the new). You know what else there wouldn't be? The amazing growth of self that has happened. The facing of something enormous that I originally anticipated to be trivial. The reminder that just when you think you have it all figured out it can just as easily become flooded with something foreign and unexpected.
I don't have it all figured out. Not even close. But I don't doubt for a second that purpose is being served. And when those moments of regret threaten to surface, I want to dig deep down to remind myself that purpose triumphs (and maybe even when I fail). It's been a tough month. I allowed myself to be bitter. By his Grace, even in that there was purpose. He's sneaky like that.
Click www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts.
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