Oct 22, 2012 - Day # 75 - End of a chapter

Day 75: This is not new information to most of you since a majority of you reside on social networking, but I am ecstatic to report that as of yesterday’s check my wound is dare I say “healed”! I snapped a picture of it last night and emailed it to Lead Plastic Surgeon for his view point and got an immediate reply of “Hooooraaaayyyy!!! See you in December!”  I get to skip this week’s scheduled appointment and forget about the drama of boob appointments combined with show and tell for two whole months. Two months of no appointments. That’s like a normal life again! What’s a gal to do? Ron and I slapped each other a celebratory High-Five, bore huge grins on our faces, and fell asleep out of exhaustion.  We promise to celebrate more enthusiastically in upcoming days when we’ve caught up on some much needed sleep. So there you have it, another closed chapter of this mastectomy journey. In fact it may be a closed book or at least a book with limited (yet to be written) chapters remaining. Some swelling still to resolve, stamina and muscle strength to be regained, self-assurance to continue to heal, but for all practical purposes I am now a woman who chose, endured, and conquered fairly unscathed the incredible journey called prophylactic double mastectomy with a semi-delayed reconstruction.

I’ve admitted it before but say it again here that no one could have fully prepared me for these last 11 weeks. I’m in part to blame as I did a pitiful job of preparing myself. I do a better job of prepping myself for grocery shopping than I did this surgery mainly out of naivety, but I’d be foolish not to admit some level of denial in the days leading up as well. So there in lies my first tidbit of advice….get some information before you embark. Find information for yourself and also for your spouse or caregiver. I know each journey can be vastly different from another, but any information can form a framework to build on.  I could not foreshadow to what degree these few months would challenge me and throw into question or provide confirmation of my thoughts and security in just about anything from faith, friendship, femininity, sexuality, emotional involvement in healing, and the list goes on. There were those early weeks in July (not directly reflected in my updates) where we truly had to rely on God’s guidance in a very murky decision point. There were worries of insurance coverage, reliance on prayer, the testing of conventional thoughts of healthcare, the testing of beliefs of what I ever would or would not do in my lifetime. One Thursday (see post “how this all came about”) life went from tried and true to  a case of “what in the world?” in a few short hours.. We had a quick reminder of how in a moment’s time your journey can be thrown into an unexpected course of fear, unknowns, and even a little amazingness tossed in for good measure. I had moments, particularly in August, where every sense of self control and strength came into question (flashback to that first shower or the day the vest came off in the post titled “Day 0 Part 2”). The strong woman who had made up the core of Sally was nowhere to be found or was at least was precariously perched on the edge of hard-to-find during many days of the weeks no gone by. The woman who knew how to think rationally and control all emotion had temporarily flown the coop. Likewise, I saw pieces of myself I had never seen before or even knew existed. In this came a wake-up call highlighting human vulnerability and the powerful emotions of the subconscious. I’m a better person for those moments, no doubt, but boy did they catch me off guard in the midst of it all. I’m certainly a better clinician, a better wife, and dare say a better friend as a result. And I’m more in tune with the Sally God created me to be for he chose this exact moment very purposefully for whatever outcome. I’ve been stretched to say the least.

I’ve shared this extremely personal journey for so many reasons, most of which were not revealed to me until after the fact. Originally, I sought to advocate for women in similar shoes.  I wanted to empower them to speak out about something that seems way more natural to hide under a t-shirt. Give prophylactic mastectomies and the women behind them a voice. I had stood too long in ignorance about this procedure and the heavy emotions that can encompass it. Too often, fear and embarrassment become a powerful motivator to climb under a rock and endure life alone, but the acknowledgement of God choosing every single moment in time (both amazing and unbearable) for a very specific purpose can empower you to step outside a comfort zone with what normally would be a very personal journey. Your experience can become someone else’s motivation.  Second, I needed an emotional outlet to get all of these crazy thoughts out of my head. In fact, it became very therapeutic for me to spill out the contents of this over-stuffed head and let them fall as may without much regard for those reading. I received encouragement from you like never before and quickly realized we were all going through my mastectomy together. My transparency involved you. And in return, you involved yourself. To quote one of you “I have laughed with you, I have cried with you”…. “and found myself seeking something greater in and outside of myself”.  Some of you were even motivated into action - myself included. Third, I found some restoration through my writing. I don’t know the why, but this all seemed more bearable through the humorous vantage point the blog forced me to take (see Day #30 -card carrying member). Maybe you found some restoration in your own story as well as you read and experienced mine. Our struggles, our triumphs, our journeys are not our own but a testament to God’s kingdom changing plans through us as vessels. And along the way, we find a little more of ourselves and those around us in return.

I’ve come to a long awaited end of a chapter. My journey was much shorter than others out there, but it seemed a lifetime. Eleven short weeks that spanned an emotional eternity. I absolutely made the right decision in plunging forward with this decision, but oh how it impacted me. I hope God has great plans for this outcome. I trust that he chose me for a very specific purpose. Thank you for letting me spill out the intimate moments of the last 11 weeks. Thank you for continually supporting me through the images of the mirror, the woes of pesky little drains, the tears of success, the fears of potential failure, the embracing of impostors, the battles against Spot, and now the triumph of being on the other side. I am blessed beyond measure and hope you’ve seen a little bit more of Sally and just maybe a whole lot more of God as a result. Thank you for letting me be real and in turn you hanging on to each word. You gave me motivation to put down the personal barriers and show you at least one side of an extremely challenging moment in my life. One more notch on Life’s to-do list accounted for.  We did it and to God be the Glory as I surely could not have done it alone.

Smooth, round, high profile gel Implant. The things I never knew before.  

(P.S. I promise to update you again if any changes or worthy updates occur).

Oct 17, 2012 - Day # 70 - Lesson 101

Day 70: A few more "bet you didn't knows" for mastectomy 101 class. 

A mastectomy patient can't cross their arms. And let me tell you how very frustrting this is to a woman who has spent her entire life cold and in need of the warmth that comes with crossing one's arms. Also someone who prefers to sit with arms crossed despite the negative vibe it gives off as being "uninterested, stand offish, threathened". Nope, that's me just bitterly cold. I long for the comfort of crossing my arms for any extended period of time. Before, right forearm over left forarm, right hand resting comfortably in the crook of left elbow resulting in a happy go luck Sally. Now, same stance but very uncomfortable chest region inderneath and an awkward looking outcome since my arms can't lie over the region below. Hard to fully describe, but trust me it's awkward, and I long for the return of my comfort zone.

A mastectomy patient who has undergone implant reconstruction can not comfortably live where the temperatures fall below 70. I don't know how women of the artic can be a candidate for this reconstructive surgery option. I found out last week when the temperatures took a drastic and unexpected dive that this is an impossible combination. What happens when you walk outside in the cold? You shiver. Well how does shivering happen? Clinching of muscles. Where does new implant reside? Carefully tucked under the filleted pectoral muscle. Cold -> pectoral muscle clinch -> internal screams from patient. And when I say clinch, I mean lockdown, as in will not release under any circumstance. I, the absolute most cold intolerant person on the planet, wishes I had scheduled my recon surgery in the comforts of june to allow for full recovery in the exhausting heats of summer. I do not know how I will survive the dipping temperatures of late fall. Smiling face on the outside, desperate uncomfortable and uncontrollable clinching on the inside. Bad news bears. The silver lining, I am healing so I am hoping the winterized pain will lessen even more in upcoming weeks. In the meantime, don't be surprised if I am dressed like an out of place eskimo at our next encounter.

Mastectomy scars have come a long way in arm many decades. My breast of old was opened and scooped out via a carefully placed incision that was glued back together for safe keeping. Two weeks later, said incision was reopened, synthetic contents carefully replaced and packaged, and incision once again glued back together for recovery. Almost 2 months later, scars are fading into the background - considering what they have been through. 20 years ago, mastectomy scars were a sight to behold. Jagged, randomly placed, sitting in multiples, sutured into place leaving needle marks behind. Go ahead, do an image search. It will leave a lasting impression as it did me when I started researchign this procedure. Just like hair cuts and dye jobs (excuse me, color services), incision techniques and placement have improved by leaps and bounds. I imagine I should give credit to both surgeons who worked hard and strategically to make my scarring minimal for hopes of preserving my sanity. Job well done, Mr and Ms surgeon! I commend your handiwork and applaud God who had a hand in the matter as well. So grateful to have been chosen for this procedure in this decade.

Oct 12, 2012 - For the Record

And for the record: I've never felt more loved by the people around me as I have for the past 3 months. Thank you for impacting my life in such a positive way! My cup still runneth over.

Oct 12, 2012- Day # 65 - The Practical Saint

Oct 12:  Yesterday was my 4 year wedding anniversary. Ron and I had made plans to go out to dinner after work, but he wouldn't tell me when or where just to meet him at home. I had a late afternoon meeting at work and I got out a little later than normal, so all the way home I am panicking that I am going to be late. Of course, every car in the state of North Carolina lies between me and home this evening. It was like a barn yard of animals trying to get to the trough at feeding time. No matter what road I took I crawled about an inch an hour. I kept calling Ron to tell him to add 10 mins to my anticipated arrival time. He kept saying no worries, I built it cushion time. After a grueling knuckle gripping commute and 50 minutes later, I was home. I pull into the garage and notice a sheet of paper taped to the door leading in from the garage.

In said instructions:

· Enter the house and go straight to the master bedroom suite

· In the bathroom you will see I have drawn a bubble bath for you. Take all the time you need.

· When you finish with your bath, use the walkie talkie on the side of the tub to let me know you are finished. You will receive further instructions so stay put until I tell you otherwise.

· Dinner will follow your bath in the McCollum dining room.

· Dress code: causal PJs

· Happy anniversary

So I do as I am told and go straight to the bathroom where I find candles lit, bubbles in the tub, fresh flowers on the counter, and plates of crackers and cheese to tie me over. About 30 minutes later, I emerge from the tub, dress in my PJs (which makes me super excited), and use the walkie talkie to let him know I was finished with task #1. I'm then instructed to open the cards I find on the counter.

Contents:

· Sweet anniversary card

· Craigslist advertisement of Ron selling his motorcycle!!!!! He placed an ad that very morning. (Super happy as I am terrified of him riding it. Super super terrified. By the way, it sold today.)

After a few more minutes I get the "ok" to head to the dining room. I walk into the dining room to find an amazing table setting complete with more fresh flowers and a little white boxed placed in the center or my plate. I open this to find a beautiful new ring. You know a woman loves some accessories. I'm beaming from ear to ear. In comes Ron with salads to start, followed by filet mignon, bacon wrapped shrimp, gourmet mac and cheese, roasted garlic asparagus, and fresh sour dough bread. Put on some background music and talk about our day. There's nothing I adore more than dinner and conversation. We are both foodies, and I particularly love intentional conversation. So we sat and talked for quite a good bit. Follow that up with warm fresh baked cherry pie! After being stuffed to the core, we watched a movie and I became the happy recipient of a foot massage. I am an absolute sap for foot massages. I'm sad to report I fell asleep close to 9 pm out of sheer exhaustion from my work day, but what a fabulous evening and a ton of brownie points for my husband. You can check out Facebook for picture of the items described above. Don't think he was the only one shelling out items and I should be flogged. I did purchase him a round of golf much to his delight.

I tell this story not to flaunt the evening but because it speaks volumes to the heart of my husband. I've always ragged him a bit because he tends to fall on the side of "practical" which often pushes "romance" right out the window. Practical is a trait I crave in a mate, so it serves us well in everyday activities, but practical in the case of love can often result in missed opportunities. So I absolutely adore when Ron puts practical out the window instead. This was such an occasion. And I really needed that.

The last few months have left me feeling anything but romantic. In fact, I have felt so very far from that but by my own doing. It's difficult to factor in almost anything normal in life much less romance when you are struggling with the self-issues and physical limitations that often follow mastectomy. Everything in your day becomes a to-do list of drains, bandages, walks, appointments, exercises, and so on. And the exhaustion is so very powerful. You get caught in the everyday rut of healing. As a result, mastectomy can be a fast track to boring and a just-get-through-your-day mentality and understandably so. Women (and their spouses) have so much up against them that they have to be extremely purposeful to maintain any sense of normalcy in their lives during this recovery. The odds are stacked against them at every turn. Somehow, Ron and I fared extremely well mainly due to the amazingness of Ron. But I would be amiss if I didn't elude to the absolute need of being purposeful in your relationships as your traverse this territory. Life is already trying to break you on any given day, throw in a mastectomy and you have the perfect recipe for relationship disaster. I praise God that Ron and I recognized this early on and was able to focus on looking out for each other emotionally. He put me first, and I put me first too! Smile. Actually, he put me first and I did everything I could to look out for both of us. I can't imagine tackling this journey without a solid marriage in tow. So much of this story has been focused on me and my struggles and triumphs, but boy an equally incredible story lies with the spouses behind the patient. I wish I could talk him into to posting about his journey in this blog, but writing anything longer than his signature just about throws him into convulsions. He just detests it. (And maybe that is why he chose engineering). It's not lost on me though how intense this whole event has been for him. The emotions of worrying did we make the right decision, did we think every through, sitting through 5 hours of surgery - twice, suffering through my inconsolable sobs, supporting me when nothing made sense to me, the long hours of caregiving, lack of sleep, continuing to work only to come home to more work here. The list goes on and on. And yet, he stood by it all and came through with flying colors. It most certainly is a testament to his God-centered life and his commitment to marriage. He's a saint. And that is why he is so easy to love. And why we are stronger on the other side for it.

It's been 4 years- such a short time in the span of marriages- but it's been a four year span of incredible. And because of our commitment to each other and those 4 years, this mastectomy became just another relationship building notch on our marriage story. Of note, in those 4 years, I've had 4 major surgeries - left knee, right knee, both boobs off, and both boobs back on. I told you he was a saint.

(By the way, I got permission to post this story although I am sure he would embarrassed beyond words if you mentioned it in person).

Oct 10, 2012 - Day # 63 - Safety of the tiny white screen

My thoughts are a little jumbled this week as I attempt to gracefully balance life as we all do. I've crossed the threshold of all consuming boob thoughts to now a hodge podge of work, home, friends, family, travels, and a little boob thrown in for balance. The impostors have morphed into more of a secondary thought mainly popping up like a surprised guest during the cleaning ritual, changing clothes, trying to fall asleep, and randomly placed moments in my work day when I reach for something that is too high or brush up against something and feel the unmistakable tinge of discomfort. I'm sure you have noticed this transition as well in my updates. It's most certainly reassuring to fall back into a more familiar pattern. This week has been a compilation of a less normal non-boob mix. I'm still navigating thoughts around a friend who lost her 18 month old twin son a few weeks ago. That pops into my head at the strangest of times. Then, thoughts around the wedding we attended this past weekend. Next, I may find myself pondering the birth of a baby into my close network of friends. It has been over a month, but I still marvel at the newness of parenthood and all that changes that come with the arrival of a newborn. Now as of a few days ago, I am sorting through the thoughts and emotions of the suicide of my coworker who somehow felt there was no suitable solution to the thoughts that plagued her each day. She was a brand new mom and one of the most bubbly people you would ever meet. All smiles. All happy go lucky on the exterior. Shock rocks our work community as always does when something like this happens. I'm burdened by what must have been her feelings of confusion and utter despair. Then I ask myself how many others like her sit around me on any given day, and I have no clue? What responsibility do I have in life to those around me? I will never have that all figured out, but I do know I need to focus my attention less on self and more often on the lives of those around me. What if one simple and kind word out of my mouth could positively alter the course for another that lies in unannounced desperation? "What if" thoughts are everywhere for all of us in any given day. Pondering.

And my thoughts now transition back to the adorable wedding this past weekend. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was super apprehensive about this event. Of course there was excitement to see this couple "take the plunge" and commit to a God-centered marriage. But mixed in with that excitement for them was a trail of anxiety and hesitation around self. This is how petty and self focused I can be at times particularly in the last few months and therefore leading to my "what if" thoughts of above. As the day started to approach, my worry fell to this not so fashionable, full-coverage, ill-designed sports bra that needed to be incorporated into a dress that may or may not have a neckline to support it and may or may not even fit anymore. I put it off, I put it off, and I put it off some more until finally Friday evening arrives and I can put it off no more. (Rest assured, I found a suitable option). This in turn reveals to myself (as well as to you) that this new accomplishment of mastectomy and breast implants on my life's "I wasn't planning for" to-do list has made me a tad more vain. Or maybe vain isn't the correct term, and self conscious should be substituted in its place. Add to those self-conscious thoughts the apprehension of the questions that might arise from those at the wedding who knew of my most recent journey. I see the irony there. Here, I type a mile a minute about anything and everything that might come up in any given mastectomy day as an outpouring of information and advocacy, but I clam up like an oyster when asked about it in public. In person I resort back to my days of privacy while in private I feel free to be open and out there. The safety of the tiny white screen with the black cursor.  It sits in silence and accepts my pecking without evaluation of content and intent. Maybe the feelings that crowd my thoughts when approached in public are nothing more than a reflection of my self consciousness like my struggle with choice of clothing. Well, turns out the wedding went off without a hitch, I had a dress to wear, and the conversation of me was little to none. Oh how we find ourselves worrying about the silliest of things.

Today, I had my weekly clinic appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon. I'm so eager to make this long term relationship more of a short term engagement. I love his team and all, but I've grown bored with the weekly show and tell. It does in fact get very old very quickly - as in I was tired of it 10 minutes into my very first appointment back in June. At what point does one start feeling comfortable with the flashing of one's impostors. I dare say never and if I do I need a sanity check. I recall the same feelings of invasion back during my lymphoma treatment when at the tender self-finding age of 16, I was expected on a daily frequency to strip down to nakedness and lie on a table for a zap of radiation therapy to my chest and abdomen. Months of this lovely occurrence. How is that a normal day for a teenager? (Maybe more on that later.) Despite the strip down, the best news of the day came when show and tell was over and he said he thinks Spot is improving. "Healing! But not healed." Surgeon had promised me last time I saw him that Spot would be healed before this appointment today, and you can be confident that I reminded him of that, but alas Spot has his own calendar and agenda. Regardless I'm delighted, exuberant, spectacular, and satisfied. I get another week break and back to see him in two.  Two more weeks of every day life without the complications of working a doctor's appointment into your day. I will take it and run like the wind!

My brother turns 40 this week. How exactly did I get here with siblings in their forties and myself knocking on that door? Oh so many thoughts there that could find their way to this tiny white screen. Maybe another day. (But hey, my boobs aren't 40! They are a ripe old age of 2 months!)

Oct 8, 2012 - Day # 61 - 200 square feet of space

Day 61: I’ve decided that everything in this entire journey is relative. What I may have experienced on Day # 17, Susie Q down the street status post mastectomy also day #17 has an entirely different day, vantage point, and impact. To each their own journey.  At my last clinic visit, as I waiting to be called back, in walks a lady presumably about my age and falling right below her zip up jacket you see the unmistakable snake of drain tubes. Well, let me just say this woman in no way resembled me and my days of drains. She waltzed in with a big smile, unaccompanied by supervision, walking just as normally as the next person. I had been stiff, awkward, a little pouty, and nothing like this ray of sunshine I saw before me. Immediately, I wondered if I had over-reacted to my drains. Were they really all that bad? Had I over dramatized? This, I pondered for quite some time and caught myself people watching the full hour wondering about their story and trying to relate what I was seeing to my own experience  on some level. There were all different kinds of faces. Some flat and absent of emotion. Discomfort. Bewilderment. Contentment. Contorted with laughter.  Some chipper and energetic as the woman who had just walked in with drains in tow. Head scarves decorated the scalps of the less fortunate than I. I was so intrigued by the assortment of women (and men) in the waiting room. What a collection of stories that must lie in these 200 square feet of space.  Yet, we all sat silently in our own cocoons.

I’ve never known anyone on a mastectomy journey.   Sure, I’ve known people on the periphery and even mentioned them on my “wall of fame” in previous posts, but I’ve never gone through the depths of mastectomy with anyone. I didn’t have a single expectation or understanding about this journey on the front side. I went into it about as blindly as one possibly could go. I learned as I went. And in hindsight, I think that was absolutely naïve and absurd on my part. I didn’t know if what I was experiencing was “normal” or not.  Was I completely off the wall? Could I have done something different to speed or alter recovery? I spent a majority of my time worrying about where I was on this charted course and being slapped in the face by every single new blind day. It was scary trying to navigate in the absolute dark. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I reach out to women who had traveled this course before? Maybe, knowing I didn’t have breast cancer made finding someone else in a similar boat a little tougher. I knew I would be faced with different emotions and outcomes than a woman carrying that diagnosis. But I could have searched harder.  I mistakenly (or maybe God planned it that way) did this blindly, and I now feel the absolute necessity of needing to get my story out there for that other woman starting to chart the same course.

I do firmly believe that only about 10% (random number) of life is meant to impact you and you alone. Yet we so cautiously and carefully control what we allow people to see on the outside of our neatly landscaped lives. On any given day each of our lives are an unorganized field of engulfing weeds. We all have weeds, yet we only display the prized tulips. Shameful! Watered down! Unsalted! I was extremely close to falling in to that trap of self-censorship. Praise God that he removed my pride and prompted me to be open about this mastectomy. Believe me; it went against every fiber of my being to send that very first face book update 3 days afterwards. Even now, I glance back of some of my writings and wonder what in the world allowed me to speak so openly about such a sensitive topic in first person.

There are moments I wonder if I will ever regret someone knowing the painful moments of that first shower. The humility of vest changes. The uncontrollable sobbing. The exhausting acknowledgement of lack of control. The craziness of the woman of August. There are moments when I see one of you in person and immediately feel the vulnerability of you knowing the most personal moments of my life, the scenes of concave chests and now chest wounds, and I not even knowing where you work or the name of your spouse. But at every point of life I have to walk what I believe. Trusting God with my life translates to trusting God with my story and what plans he may or may not have for it. I felt to my core that you were to know my story. Every nook and cranny even if that goes against my extremely private make up. For whatever purpose and in disregard to how it may be received.  I couldn’t be more surprised by the intensity of that conviction.  So I listened and threw it all out there despite momentary relapses of wanting to climb under a rock.  And you know what? Amazing things came of that transparency. Support from people I never dreamed of. Encouragement to get through the next day. A feeling of being in God’s will with each passing moment. Empowerment by the flow of words onto a page and the dialogues between old and new friends that would result. Seeing God change a moment in your life because of a transparent moment in mine. It truly does make every pesky drain incision worth the discomfort. And it makes me crave knowing the story of each woman in the waiting room in return.  

Oct 3, 2012 - Day # 56 -Things I took for granted

Day 56: Mom gently reminded me that people are asking where my posts are. I guess working all day and coming home exhausted has left my computer screen neglected. Also, there isn't as much change from day to day this far out, so I didn't know how much people wanted to keep up with. But the people have spoken so here you go.

Last night, I slept on my side. Now to the majority of you you are thinking "what's the big deal"? Well, let me tell you it is very much a big deal to a woman status post reconstruction. You've read the endeavors of my nightly rituals of late with 14 pillows, numerous rearrangements, grunts of discomfort, and restriction to back sleeping only. Well 2 weeks ago, Lead Plastic surgeon lifted those restrictions and it has taken me 2 full weeks to be able to actually take him up on his oh so kind offer of resumption of side sleeping. It's been way too painful to put prolonged pressure on either side with the drain incisions being right below the arm pit, and impostors glued in place under stretched pectoral muscles and synthetic slings. Rolling on the left or right side could send one into a fit of anguish and choice words only to 1.5 seconds later find yourself on your back once again (if you ever made it off the back to being with). Two nights ago, I tested the side again and would make it about 15 mins before having to flip back over. Last night, at least an hour on each side. You will recall historically I am a side sleeper so this is a nice triumph to me. One more to-do list task checked off as successful and a much happier version of me with a better night of sleep. I'll add that the ultra firm (sleep on a slab of concrete) mattress may be due some credit as well, at least for improved back pain that has been plaguing me since the mastectomy surgery. Not so sure Ron is happy with the insertion of concrete into our slumber, but we are still testing that out. I have to  remind him he was only invested financially in the mattress purchased and said "pick whatever you want. I can sleep anywhere." There may be an egg crate foam purchase in our very near future.

I know I took six weeks off of work. I know I was confined to extremely limited activity during my house arrest. I know I slept an enormous amount of time during that break. BUT I KNOW I need a vacation to get away and actually have some leisure time with Ron that I might actually enjoy. So we are searching for something within driving distance we can feasibly go to without forking out an arm and leg leaving Friday after work and coming home Sunday evening. Our anniversary is October 11, and we always travel by plane to some exotic location for our anniversary. So I am really bummed we can't do that this year. 1) I have no time off. And I mean none. 2) The surgery hit our pocket books. 3) The mastectomy recovery took way longer than I had led myself to belief up front. I am wanting to find something close by we can go to get away and enjoy some Ron/Sally time. I owe it to Ron after all the things he has had to do that "were not in the initial marriage contract". Clean wounds, share not so fun showers, endure emotional outbursts, bathroom time, appointment after appointment. emptying drains, change bandages, and the list goes on. I've decided I deserve time away too for good measure. We are kicking around Williamsburg. Have you been?  Did you love it? What must we absolutely not miss? Let's hope we figure something out. I want to have that to look forward to in coming weeks. I definitely took my 8 weeks of vacation a year for granted now that they are all gone.

The Spot. It's still there. I think it has a fondness for me that I'm sad to report is not shared in return. In fact, I detest him. I tell him daily yet he still clings to the hope of a lasting meaningful relationship. He just can't take the hints! I'm thinking about sending it to counseling for dependency traits. Despite my careful and routine attempts to bandage and clean him out of existence he still looks the same to me that is has for the past week. I am refusing to go to the Surgeon's office today for my sanity. It's been 3 weeks that we know of. And this thing did not pop up over night so I am guessing we have had this little pesky wound for 4 weeks now. But it isn't worse according to the surgeon so I made and executive decision and am taking this week off. A week with no Doctor's appointments! Sign me up! Maybe a return of dignity is in my future when all is said and done.

So we bought pumpkins. Did I already mention that? I was like a kid in the candy store. We went to the farmer's market Sunday afternoon and you would have thought Ron was the parent and I the kid. I kept going from this one to that one  getting Ron to pick them up for me to survey. That one is too tall and skinny. That one too flat. That one is adorable with it's quirky stem. I've already admitted I have some commitment issues when it comes to picking stuff out (flashback to the mattress selection process and you should see me with a restaurant menu). In the end, we got 3 to carve and 2 for decor in the kitchen. Thought I would have to talk Ron into that part but he was all on board. Have you seen the Apple Gourd Pumpkins? I just adore those. And it goes perfectly on my counter. We haven't been able to carve any yet. And come to think of it, I don't think I will be able to carve for a few more weeks. I struggle to even cut up a potato into wedges for roasting for dinner right now. I didn't realize how much you use your pectoral muscle with slicing and chopping. Let's just say me and the knife are struggling together. He just wants to do his job. I just want to be successful at chopping something. I can't imagine that gutting out a pumpkin and carving out a face are going to go over so well with said pectoral muscle. He rules my movements right now, and I miss my old willy nilly freedom to do just about anything I wanted. Maybe in a few weeks. So for now, they sit as harvest decor and will later hopefully morph into lanterns of fright.

One funny thing that may be too much information for a few of you....as I was walking on the treadmill this week- yes, I decided to give it a whirl again - I noticed that while the majority of my body moves around with each step, these impostors stay firmly (pun intended) in place. I couldn't help but cackle. Just another thing I didn't know before this mastectomy journey and the list is getting long. Where was the brochure that talked about all of this stuff? You know what else? While some parts of the impostors are numb which by the way is way, way, way weird, other parts have heightened sensitivity. I've mentioned that some in the past, but it still catches me off guard. I totally know how one woman put her impostor in a bowl of soup and had no idea. I had a similar experience with a steaming pot last week. I didn't know I was leaning over the steam until my face started hurting. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for these things because the concave chest didn't work out so well for me and they do the trick, but that doesn't mean I don't notice the weirdness of it all.

Things I took for granted. What else do you want to know? Submit your questions. = )