This week is the week. I’m headed back to the dreaded
plastic surgery office in a few days. Just to make sure I had not imagined
anything, I took a peak again…and yes, they are still as lopsided/off-kilter/definitely-not-twins
as I had remembered. I actually hadn’t done an inspection since early June, so
a girl could be hopeful that the magical fairies of yonder boobie-land would
embrace July and bring greatness again, but alas...those fairies must be at the beach with the rest
of the working force. Nothing more fun that getting to go in for yet MORE poking
and prodding and wonderfully entertaining pictures that can be floating around
wherever those such things end up. Rolling my eyes at some of the absurdity and
loss of self-dignity that can occur with breast surgery.
I fondly think back to a year ago when I went to what was to
be my very last surgical appointment. Bahahaha! Psych! Gotcha! Loser! Made ya
look! Surgery #4! Oh to have that last appointment once again and that feeling
of “done”. I promise I’m not bitter. More kinda just over it. But I have this
very sneaky suspicion that boob surgery #5 is not only a very realistic choice but
also something I need to prepare myself for if there is any possibility of twin
peaks again. I’m going to beg for pink duct tape. I might even allow hot glue.
But that scalpel, I loathe him. He has taken his silver edge to me one time
too many! Sadly, the drunkard state of the implants leaves me equally as
unsettled for the long term. Catch 22.
I’m learning a good bit about long term outcomes of
radiation treatment this week. First there were the boobs and their probable
fate thus propelling me to mastectomy. Second, I’ve been dealing with dental
consequences. Many moons ago, we prophylactically sealed all of my teeth to
keep them cavity free. Radiation causes all kinds of dental problems that I won’t
go into here for sake of keystroke, but google is your friend if you are an overachiever like myself (smile). Well,
let’s just say I’ve had cavities between every single tooth over the last 10 or
so years. And it seems like at least yearly I have to get a filling dug out and
replaced. Ten guesses as to what I am doing August 12th. I’m
wondering if I should go ahead and start saving for dentures. SURELY, I’m too
young for dentures. I should be turned into glue, but as my sister says…”Sally, forget
it! You won’t stick!” (Not a reflection of her love for me in anyway.) And then there is the summer heat asthma in the beautiful stifling State I live in (and truly adore).
I’ve actually got it so easy. And I shouldn’t be complaining
even a single syllable. I see the realities of malignancy on a daily basis. I
see TRUE struggle in my clinic. I see third world problems littering my
computer screen. Mine is laughable, and
therefore I laugh. But there are some days when my prideful and selfish self
finds a little pity stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Thankfully, my reality
hears that little voice reminding me that God has purposed even this. Every
incision, every tooth, every cleft lip provisioned to be an opportunity for me
to point to His grace. Hopeful that I remember that as I step up on that exam
table. Otherwise, you might see a shoe fly across the room. “Why hello, lead
plastic surgeon. Don’t you look handsome with that tred mark on your fore head.
You got some botox for that?”
Not praying for an outcome, praying for an outlook. Sometimes
that fixes the outcome all together.
