Sept 9, 2012 - Day # 32 - Package Reveal (out there and loving every minute of it!)

Day 32:  "I'm out there and loving every minute of it!!!" (Picture Kramer in one of the all time best Seinfeld episodes). I did get out there, but can't yet claim I was loving every minute of it. Last night, after posting my tribute to the value of hope, I got up out of the chair, immediately walked  into the bedroom, looked at Ron and said "It's time, I'm finally looking." You should have seen the look of shock on his face. As if I had just told him we won the HGTV green home giveaway.  There he sat jaw dropped and me staring back at him. I told him "how could I claim hope if I can't even trust God to get me through a little ole peak"?

So I trusted God and pulled off the tshirt - of course I was facing away from the mirror at this time. Ron kept cheering me on, but all I could hear was the ear numbing sound of my heart beat. It sounded like a indian tribal celebration minus the chanting and fun. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Quickly came the shallow breathing and suddenly all ambition flew out the door, almost knocking Ron over, and there I was left standing naked from the waste up. There I stood with my back to the mirror working up the nerve to do this one little task I had been avoiding like the plague for 31 days. Stand, shift my weight, stand, turn half way, turn back, stand, shift my weight, shallow breathing, thump, thump, thump (in the back ground Ron saying "you've got this Sally", "piece of cake", "it's not what you think it is.")


Suddenly, I got the brilliant idea that I could use my tshirt to shield my view, and then I could open the "package" in stages. That could work! Why hadn't I thought of that before now! See bits and pieces at a time before revealing the full blown masterpiece. So the first step was easy. Grab the shirt, hold it up to cover everything, then turn around to face the mirror. Done! That was so easy! I'm a super star. Coach is going to be calling me at any moment to pull me off the bench.

So now there I am standing actually facing the mirror. I've got this. Thump, thump, thump...Shaking my head, biting my lip, looking at Ron, turning back to the mirror, and this went on for a little while. Sally, remember II Samuel 22: 29-31. With my God I can scale a wall.... Inch down the t shirt to where it now looks like a bandeau top. Ok, so that looks pretty normal. Beautiful Job, Lead surgeon! Inch it down a little more to about mid-line. Ok, I've seen this before just looking down, so no surprises here. Lumpy boobs. Done. I'm making some huge strides here. But here is where I sent myself into new territory. I work up my nerve to so a millisecond drop and pull back up...one, two, three, GO! Now quickly pull up. Ok, so what did I just see?,,,, Nothing that made me run for the trashcan. Maybe a longer look to really prove I did this. Just a quick 4 second focus. I need to focus my eyes to below midline to see the scars. The scars have been what has freaked me out all along. I need to see those to say I'm good.

And what does Sally do? She turns back away from the mirror clutching the tshirt like my life depended on it. (Now let me tell you up to this point we have probably pushed 10 for 15 mins. I told you I was a sap.) "Ron, look at the scars and describe them to me." For some idiotic reason I thought if I heard about them first and could form a mental image, I wouldn't collapse in the floor from terror at my first look. So there goes Ron doing his best to describe the two incisions in all their glory. Bless him! Ok, so that doesn't sound like anything shocking. He described what every fresh scar looks like. I don't know why I thought I was going to get anything extraordinary there. (Insert some legendary stall and denial.)

Back to the mirror with the tshirt up around my neck. One, two, three.....ok, let's try this again...one, two three...."ok, Ron, I'm going to count to four"...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ("Sally, you've got this!" in the background)...DROP!

And there they were staring back at me for about four seconds. I didn't recognize them as mine that's for sure, but they were SOMEBODY'S boobs that looked dimply, swollen, and scarred. Nothing worthy of a horror movie by any means, but you definitely won't see them on the catwalks of NY in this lifetime either. Honestly, for the four seconds they stared back at me and the whole time I felt sort of detached. Like I was looking at YOUR boobs. (Not that I know what your boobs look like, just saying.) There sat two envelopes of Smooth High Profile Gel (see "Card Carrying Member" post from two days ago) that had no emotional control over me. Sort of anti-climactic in fact especially after all the hyperventilation of August and dread and delay of September. Boring. Ho hum. Impostor Boobies. So I put my tshirt back on and said "well, that was that!" and walked out the bedroom door.

Go figure! I'm as amazed as you are.  This doesn't mean I like them, nor that I want to see them again any time soon. I prefer to stay detached for now. It's working for me on some level.