I hope I was not too crass. I hope I was not too “out there”.
I hope I was not too in your face with my saga. But most of all I sincerely
want you to know that in no way did I want to offend you. I’m sure I did in
some small or maybe even big way. I spent day, months, and now years talking
about the breast. I named them (boob 1 and boob 2). I cartooned them and gave
them personalities of their own. I made fun of them and their quirkiness. I described
them in great detail leaving very little to the imagination. For those of you
who have never faced mastectomy, I may have brought some humor to your day or provided some insight to something currently foreign. But,
I realize this may be too much for older generations not used to such open and public
discussions of anatomy. I realize this may be too informative for those just
trying to go through everyday life. I also
realize this may have come across as trivial or lighthearted to someone in the
middle of the fight against breast cancer. You, who are just trying to make it
through the moment, unable to live by the big picture, but rather wrapped up in
the struggle of trying to simply get to the next hour these words in this
series may have done you, so very dear to my heart, an injustice. I had no intentions of offending you. Though I realize intent
does not always change perception.
When I started this blog, I so very desperately wanted to give you insight without
fear, into a rather difficult choice. If you know me outside of this screen,
you also know I tend to attempt life with a positivity and jovial demeanor at
all costs. I truly believe that life can be traveled more effectively when
approached with a grateful heart despite circumstance, purpose and humor. So it
is only natural that I would find consolation and hope in the personification
of the breast. “Impostor” made this silicone container tangible. “Boob” made this
synthetic replacement more endearing. It allowed me to project love and
acceptance onto something I feared I would very much reject, detest and blame. It
seems very trivial as I did not in fact have breast cancer, but taking off the epitome
of all things female turned out to be very real and more challenging than I
ever imagined possible. These two seemingly inconsequential sacks of adipose carried
with it the sense of sexuality, the emotions of completeness, and the security
of self. One never really understands that until she finds herself laying on
that table in the operating room. So when you find yourself struggling with up
from down, you seek out ways to process, connect, and cope for fear that the
opposite prevails. For me, that came in the form of writing. I couldn’t speak these
words in person. Just as soon as you approached me I found myself desperately
seeking an out. But on this page, I could process trying on 13 bras that no
longer fit, unstoppable tears over a concave chest, and the surreal aftermath
of what I had just done. I could better understand why something that on paper seemed trivial, in reality sent me into a whirlwind. No one can prepare you fully, though I desperately wanted
to try and do that for you. There is power and triumph in camaraderie. There is
healing in “I have been there”, and there is validity in encouragement. You may
have thought me attention seeking, but my intent was rooted in healing
and empowerment for myself and those already there or yet to come. I chose to be transparent. I sought to be
candid. I risked offending someone simply so I could become better on the other
side. And above all I wanted you to
know there is no shame in mastectomy. There may be tears, there may be ongoing bewilderment, there may even be a little laughter when you find yourself piled up on 14 pillows and still unable to find a sleeping position that even remotely resembles anything worthwhile, or hilarity when you pass by a mirror and quickly walk back to see who that was. But there is no shame.
Mom, I apologize for publically airing out our dirty laundry
of caregiving (you took it is such great stride!) Grandma Sarah, I apologize
for saying words your generation would never have dreamed of uttering in
public. Ron, I apologize for taking the personal and making it anything but
(and for taking you through the most overwhelming emotional roller coaster. I don’t
know how you did it so well.) Women who
are facing a terrifying path of navigating breast cancer, I apologize if my
words brought you any offense. I don’t make light of or take for granted a
single moment of fighting for your next second as have been there myself with
lymphoma. Instead, I hope you find that every event in life can be navigated
with a head held high. That God can repurpose any possible moment, no matter
how devastating, into the most incredible impact either for yourself or someone
you come in contact with. We simply have to be open to the possibility. And if
cartooning a breast into an Imposter gets you to the next day, then cartoon
away! Instead of offense, we might find laughter and triumph. So
please know I’m cheering you on to your next hour! I’m laughing us through the awkward. I'm advocating for the pillow wedge to keep you safe and upright when the 14 pillows slip off the side of the bed.
All implants unite in advocacy for a head held high during
mastectomy. Mine included.
P.S. I’ve made it past surgery #4 related to this mastectomy
with flying colors. Almost 3 weeks out. The pain is more than tolerable and really
only when I reach for something or hit the counter top which I seem to do on an
all too frequent basis (smile). Bruising
has faded to a luxurious yellow green and incision sites are closed. Another
notch on my mastectomy post. Conquered!
