One of the complicated segments of mastectomy surgery is dependency. We spend our whole lives on the bell curve of independence. Starting in infancy where we rely on every tasks to be completed for us and to us, then we learn to say our ABCs, tie our shoes, button a shirt, and put away our plates and before you know it we are driving a car, holding down jobs, and planning for the next year of travel. Then the subtleties of heading back down the right side of the curve begin. We find a new tremor in our grasp, a shuffle slide in our step, and an acute difficulty in opening jars or steadying our stance. For most of us, that comes much later. For some, it unfortunately comes earlier. And for some we see a temporary glimpse of what is to be in a temporary moment like mastectomy surgery.
It's unsettling finding you can't do what you could do before even when it is temporary. It's difficult to ask him to do something else for you. You watch him take over your daily chores as he comes by your perching spot with the vacuum and your heart sinks a little in guilt. He has his own tasks to complete, and now yours, plus a few new ones that came post op. Some of my hardest moments are in this dependency on him. It's not a moment in pride as may be the case with advancing age or the development of a long-term illness, but rather a disappointment in the impact of your gravity on his. You've always had a relationship of symbiosis, but you see that shift in the gravitational pull of mastectomy on spouse. So there is a guilt or disappointment from you when he has to find more hours in his day so that he can envelope yours.
There is that, this shifting of tasks, that gets to you from the get go. You try so very hard to think of every single thing you might need in the next hour so you can ask for it all at once. Your shower down to the minutia so that when he goes in search of the wash cloth, he can also grab the towel, the shampoo, the conditioner, the soap, the underwear, the sports bra, the yoga pants, the flip flops, the brush, and the lotion all in one swoop. And when he arrives back to the stool you planted yourself on while you wait for the shower shift to begin, you realize you forgot to mention the socks you need as well. And he is off again, back to the laundry room to find the grey one that is just soft enough to make it tolerable. And it goes on and on each and every day with any given task. Breakfast is a bowl, a spoon, a drink, the cereal with milk, a tray....oh, and I forgot the napkin. Back to the kitchen to the napkin drawer. A doctor's appointment is clothes, a shoulder bag, a book, insurance card, picture ID, a hat.....oh, we forgot the jacket for the cold waiting room. Out of the car, back into the house to get my jacket. Climbing into bed....pajamas, 6 pillows, turn on the room fan, grab the sleep mask, turnoff the light....Honey, we forgot to get the basin in case I get sick tonight. It's inevitable. You want it to be one single swoop so you inconvenience him the least and it ends up being 3 for just 1 of the 10 task that happen any given day.
That's simply the guilt in inconveniencing someone you love. Then there is a whole different level of awareness of impact in the more intimate moments of mastectomy. I've mentioned the "car wash" moments of showering. He gets you undressed, grabs all the said items above, checks the water temperature and you climb in for the scrub down you can't do yourself because both breasts have incisions and 2 drains on each side. So you stand still under the water while he gives yo the full scrub down of areas you can't conveniently reach. He does this with the utmost of care and you see the love he has for you in this task, but you can't get past the technical aspects of what is really happening. Or a bandage change. You are lying on your back on the bed naked from the waste up while he carefully measures the right sized gauze, clips the tape to size and places it over the spots. He is so gentle in his approach and a tear slides down your cheek in gratefulness for his commitment to this task with such tenderness and focus. And as precious as the moment is to see him do these things for you, you simply want to do it all yourself and find normalcy in self sufficiency. Mastectomy certainly can't/shouldn't be done alone, but once you are in the throws of it all you want nothing more than to return back to the freedoms of every day life where you live in symbiosis again with your spouse. In these moments you get glimpses into that bell curve of aging and you cherish even more the stages of middle-age and the freedom it brings through mundane every day tasks completed when you want, how you want, and with as much or as little help as you desire.
I found such pride in chopping the chicken for the casserole I made today. He's out of town this evening and I'm prepping the dish for lunch tomorrow. I prided myself in boiling the water and submerging the rice. I poured it into the dish and smoothed it out and slid it into the fridge. Then I cleaned the kitchen while jazz played in the background and Oliver watched me from his sofa perch. I was in tune with the moment of doing something. My first something in 3 weeks. I made a meal that didn't involve the microwave. Next, I made the bed and hung up the clothes from the most recent laundry. And I relished in the empowerment of marking something as "done". I still need him for the bigger tasks or the chores that require lifting, but I'm basking in the little things that can be mine. And I found myself walking through the house looking for one more thing to do. Some of that is the confinement of house. A lot of that is an attempt to shovel your way back quicker to where you want to be. Self-sufficient.
I will miss some of the moments of he and I forced to tackle life together. I will miss the sweetness in his eyes as he checks the incision for healing. I already miss the kindness in his voice as I slide in the chair to empty the drain. I see the awareness he has of my discomfort in the "car wash". The moments re-enforce why God put him with me in this journey. But I also relish the re-emergence of Sally as I slip further away from August 6th. Dependency has served its purpose and we did it well, but I welcome back the symbiosis we've come to master. He tells me he is better because of me, but I most certainly know I am better because of him and I see that in these little moments of tenderness during mastectomy. I'm so grateful these stretches of dependency are temporary for now, but they give me great reassurance and faith in what could come as we travel this curve. For now though, I'm fluffing pillows (being gentle of course, Lead Plastic Surgeon). I'm better at that anyway.
