Day 27: I didn't make the track team. I gave it a good old sally try, but those exercises are not fun and quite the strain on little pectoral muscle that just 13 days or so ago was filleted and glued and stretched. It loudly screameth outeth in retaliation. Hanging my head low. I desperately wanted to please the coach (aka. surgeon). But today is a new day, right? I have practice in a about an hour, but I decided to post instead and put you, my faithful supporters, first. Laughing, ok well I just wanted to delay the scar splitting implant popping exercises a bit more. What's another hour?
I did however have a few successes yesterday. Blue ribbons all around! Almost.
1) I, the very woman who has had nothing but pajamas on for 27 days (with the exception of one outing to church where I feared God smirk on the PJs), put on Jeans and a blouse for an outing with Ron! Wooo hallelujah hooo! And they actually fit! This was a bit of a fear of mine and maybe a small source of delay in switching from the PJs. You know denial is a handy tool of mine, but I'm working on lessening my denial arsenal. More on that soon.
2) I washed AND dried my hair! It was an awful rat's nest in the end, but hey, it was dry.
3) I put on makeup.
4) I once again applied deodorant.
5) I fixed myself a bowl of cereal.
6) Went on a date. It was short with just dinner out, but it was a date all the same. We wanted to go to a movie, but I didn't have it in me. I'm working up to that. So we came back home to watch a dvd here. By the way, at this current place in my journey, I'm still too emotional to make it through "The Last King of Scotland". Wowsers, I was a wreck! I hurt from head to toe by the end of that.
Now this whole shower, dry, makeup, clothes process only took me about 2.5, maybe 3, hours but still it got done and there were no tears! I somehow have to find a way to knock that process down to about 45 mins in the next 10 days in prep for going back to work, but you have to start somewhere.
Let me go back to the movie. I've learned something new about myself. And I quote Ron. I am now a "wuss". And let me tell you that is a drastic change from the pre-mastectomy me. I can't explain it, it just is. Where I used to be rock solid in tolerating blood and goo, I now cringe at the sight of a kid getting a vaccination. I see a needle and I freak out (already seeing red lights for my clinic job I am returning to soon)! I see a leg being amputated on the screen, I hurt to my core with physical pain. Last night, during the movie, I kept grabbing my sternum in pain.
What I am learning is that my subconscious anguish is being manifested in physical reactions. I saw this start back in July when I was approaching my surgery date. I would wake up in the middle of the night with horrible shooting pains running down each leg, then 10 second later the elbow, 10 seconds later my sternum. They hurt so bad I would scream out grabbing this and that. Always migrating and never a physical explanation. This is the first time in my life I've fully understood how much the mind plays a roll in health. I have several examples in July of sitting working on a project or more embarrassingly sitting in a staff meeting and with absolutely zero notice bursting out into uncontrollable sobbing. Thankfully, this has resolved. But I started realizing how much this decision to undergo mastectomy had wrecked my subconscious thinking. This was brand spanking new to me. I'm the one you want in an emergency. I'm the one you want making tough medical decisions with you. I'm the rational one! Well, boy did that change for about two months. I see that rational side coming back, and I have hopes I will return to that baseline steady has served me so well. It's right around the corner! Anyway, its just amazing how much chaos can impact your everything. I think everyone was amazed at how much this impacted me. We didn't expect that. But I was a slobbering and blubbering saint bernard at the sight of my mastectomy. Rock solid Sally was no where in sight. Believe me, I searched.
And that brings me to needing to admit something else. A failure of yesterday. You should see me rolling my eyes and scrunching up my face as I type this. It's pitiful really. I want to be a better person than this. I see the absurdity of my delay. It's been 27 days for goodness sake. You know how I mentioned in yesterday's update that i was going to embrace the mirror? (Maybe all of you forgot that and I am off the hook, but doubtful.) I gave myself 12 hours to go stand in front of the mirror and actually look at the impostors and their scars. (Reminder, I've yet to see these implants in all their glory staring back at me in a mirror, I've only had the vantage point of looking down. I have no idea what they really look like). Well, I didn't reach my goal. I tried, twice in fact, and just couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't know what I am so afraid of. This is not me. I'm never afraid to face life. But these impostor boobs have me all freaked out! If I don't look, they aren't so bad. If I look, they are my reality. I think deep down I am waiting for them to get into their final state before I commit to knowing them personally. I'd rather them just be an architectural work in progress that I ignore until the finalized building passes building code inspection. Lead Plastic Surgeon told me it will take several weeks before everything settles out, swelling gone, lumpiness less lumpy, divots filled in, pain resolved, remotely looking normal. I'm a sap. I'm the queen of mastectomy denial.
THIS is my weakness in this whole journey. I just don't want these impostors to be mine! I want back my, flawed as they were, former God-given tenants. I want back their asymmetry. I want back their 37 year old sag (well, maybe). They were mine, and I had plans to grow old with them. They knew me and I knew them. We had a great thing going! Breaking up is hard to do. I mourn my pitiful, not at all worthy, flawed boobs. There was no drama there. God had a different fate for that relationship, I trust that fate, but I still mourn the old. I mourn last May when I was none the wiser before picking up a medical abstract. I mourn the days of not thinking about a boob for even one second of my day.
My thoughts and reactions seem dramatic. They are. I imagine some women sore through this prophylactic journey with flying colors. Not even a second thought. In surgery today, embracing new boobs tomorrow! I hope that for them with everything in me. I wish that for me. Boy, do I. But here I sit...adjusting. Better today than yesterday though. So there is a trend!
Does it count that I do like having not so large "hands"? Oh yeah, then there is a 5% breast cancer risk. Priceless.
Sept 3, 2012 - Day # 26 - Knocked out by an implant
Day #26 track tryout highlight: About to tinkle on myself I'm laughing so hard.
Exercise #2 says to pull on rope until you feel slight pull at incision scar. My scars are completely numb as most reconstruction boobs have no nerves and thus no feeling. If you were in the room you would have heard me yell out: "Ron, whatever you do, do NOT stand in front of me! I might pop an incision and an implant fly out and nail you in the forehead! Run for your life!"
Well, maybe you had to be there.
Well, maybe you had to be there.
Sept 3, 2012 - Day # 26 - Try out report
Day 26 Track tryout report: I didn't even get through exercise #1 successfully "Sally, take the bench." Rolling my eyes. Stay tuned for more sports highlights.
Sept 3, 2012 - Day # 26 - Track Team Tryouts (as if)
Day 26: Today is supposed to be one of my solo days. Ron is here, but I get the impression I'm supposed to pretend he is not. Scarey!!! We are prepping the placement of things. Moving high to low, and pulling things from back to front. But it just seems all too early. I'm awful at failure.
I'm a bit more sore this morning but want to attribute that to the car ride yesterday (I felt like a jelly ...
I'm a bit more sore this morning but want to attribute that to the car ride yesterday (I felt like a jelly ...
mold shaking and jiggling in the back seat), but there may be some nervous pain rolled up into the big picture.
When Ron came to pick me up yesterday from my mom's, we both instinctively leaned in for a big squeeze your innards out kind of hug. I adore those. I crave those. I advocate for those. Try it! Now! Find a stranger and squeeze their insides out! (Inquire about personal space rules first though particularly if you are on the job today.) About two inches before the embrace, a quick stop of recognition of the mistake we were about to make. Then, a soggy ole frustrated let down. I miss those hugs! I'm ready to be able to run in for the romantic tragedy kind of sweep you of your feet, whirl you around, follow up with a smooch kind of hug! Ok,I admit we have never whirled each other around, but still. It's been four weeks since I've done a worthy hug with anyone! That's like neglect. Call in the law, fill out paper work, remove me from the household kind of neglect. For both parties involved. These scars get in the way of life! They sure know how to rain on a coming home party. They are bothersome. They ruin all kinds of intent.
I wanted to mattress shop...alas, I can't lie down flat to test them out. I need to dress shop for an event in October...well that's impossible when you can't clothe yourself or put on a normal bra. I want to go to the movies...can i even sit an hour in a chair I can't reposition? I want to dress in normal clothes and actual fix my hair...guess what, the dryer is too heavy and my reach restricted so I can't touch the top of my head. Hello business in the front, but unfortunately a drug party in the back.(Flashback to mullet descriptions of the 90s).
I have allot of "I wants" right now. I feel a little burned out. I'm eager to see some lumpiness resolve. I need some Sally time. Please, oh please let driving be right around the next corner. I would even drive to the proctologist if that allowed me to drive! (Hint of desperation.)
All that said, it's a little frightening coming to this Monday where I'm supposed to start the rehab exercises. No joke lost in me that it's Labor Day! Dare I postpone to tomorrow?!?! But today is the try out day. Tomorrow, Ron is back at work, mom at her home a few cities away, and me finding out if I have a chance of making the team. (insert the butterflies of 10 mins before hearing your name at track tryouts...however it would never be track for me. There would have to be a doberman chasing me to pull a run out of these knees.) How can doing every day tasks elicit such an emotion? Because there's always the fear of failure in life. Sitting on the bench desperately wanting to say this is the day. Not meeting coach's expectations. Honestly, not even knowing the expectations other than you have two weeks from today to "be well". Well let me tell you something, Mr. Lead surgeon!!! "I don't yet feel well!!!!" But boy do I crave it!
Raising a glass to giving it my best shot! I'm actually going to look in the mirror today. I haven't done that even once since the reconstruction. I've been very purposeful about not doing that. I actually have no idea what the big picture looks like. I've never once seen the reconstruction scars. I've glanced down to put on a shirt or access a specific pain, but I've yet to see their all amazing lumpy, discolored, unsettled glory looking back at me in a reflection. It's absurd that I haven't looked. Denial is a very effective technique for a bit, but boy will it destroy some things.
Working up my nerve...today, I will embrace the mirror and all it's reflections! Poor mirror, it no doubt feels my same hug neglect. But the silver lining is I have 12 hours to get this done and it still be called today. But I wouldn't watch the clock if I were you.
When Ron came to pick me up yesterday from my mom's, we both instinctively leaned in for a big squeeze your innards out kind of hug. I adore those. I crave those. I advocate for those. Try it! Now! Find a stranger and squeeze their insides out! (Inquire about personal space rules first though particularly if you are on the job today.) About two inches before the embrace, a quick stop of recognition of the mistake we were about to make. Then, a soggy ole frustrated let down. I miss those hugs! I'm ready to be able to run in for the romantic tragedy kind of sweep you of your feet, whirl you around, follow up with a smooch kind of hug! Ok,I admit we have never whirled each other around, but still. It's been four weeks since I've done a worthy hug with anyone! That's like neglect. Call in the law, fill out paper work, remove me from the household kind of neglect. For both parties involved. These scars get in the way of life! They sure know how to rain on a coming home party. They are bothersome. They ruin all kinds of intent.
I wanted to mattress shop...alas, I can't lie down flat to test them out. I need to dress shop for an event in October...well that's impossible when you can't clothe yourself or put on a normal bra. I want to go to the movies...can i even sit an hour in a chair I can't reposition? I want to dress in normal clothes and actual fix my hair...guess what, the dryer is too heavy and my reach restricted so I can't touch the top of my head. Hello business in the front, but unfortunately a drug party in the back.(Flashback to mullet descriptions of the 90s).
I have allot of "I wants" right now. I feel a little burned out. I'm eager to see some lumpiness resolve. I need some Sally time. Please, oh please let driving be right around the next corner. I would even drive to the proctologist if that allowed me to drive! (Hint of desperation.)
All that said, it's a little frightening coming to this Monday where I'm supposed to start the rehab exercises. No joke lost in me that it's Labor Day! Dare I postpone to tomorrow?!?! But today is the try out day. Tomorrow, Ron is back at work, mom at her home a few cities away, and me finding out if I have a chance of making the team. (insert the butterflies of 10 mins before hearing your name at track tryouts...however it would never be track for me. There would have to be a doberman chasing me to pull a run out of these knees.) How can doing every day tasks elicit such an emotion? Because there's always the fear of failure in life. Sitting on the bench desperately wanting to say this is the day. Not meeting coach's expectations. Honestly, not even knowing the expectations other than you have two weeks from today to "be well". Well let me tell you something, Mr. Lead surgeon!!! "I don't yet feel well!!!!" But boy do I crave it!
Raising a glass to giving it my best shot! I'm actually going to look in the mirror today. I haven't done that even once since the reconstruction. I've been very purposeful about not doing that. I actually have no idea what the big picture looks like. I've never once seen the reconstruction scars. I've glanced down to put on a shirt or access a specific pain, but I've yet to see their all amazing lumpy, discolored, unsettled glory looking back at me in a reflection. It's absurd that I haven't looked. Denial is a very effective technique for a bit, but boy will it destroy some things.
Working up my nerve...today, I will embrace the mirror and all it's reflections! Poor mirror, it no doubt feels my same hug neglect. But the silver lining is I have 12 hours to get this done and it still be called today. But I wouldn't watch the clock if I were you.
Sept 2, 2012 - Day # 25 - Hurdles
Day 25 additions: This morning, I lined up my hurdles of what still had to be done.
Put on my clothes BY MYSELF.
Go to the bathroom BY MYSELF.
Apply deodorant (it's the little things in life).
Dry my own hair.
Use my right arm to scratch my left elbow.
Fix myself lunch.
Fix my family dinner.
Lift something heavier than 3 pounds.
...
Put on my clothes BY MYSELF.
Go to the bathroom BY MYSELF.
Apply deodorant (it's the little things in life).
Dry my own hair.
Use my right arm to scratch my left elbow.
Fix myself lunch.
Fix my family dinner.
Lift something heavier than 3 pounds.
...
Drive ANYWHERE from here to there.
Sit at a desk comfortably for at least an hour.
Sleep in a normal Sally position.
Put on something other than pajamas (for the love of mankind and fashion entrepreneurs everywhere).
Return to work (sigh).
Accept my boobs as mine and loving every lump and bump.
And anything else I'm forgetting.
Well, I am happy to report that yesterday I went to the potty all by my little lonesome. Mom must be beaming with pride that I'm now potty trained. All of you mothers of toddlers, I now understand your plight. But do I get a sticker or coin for my piggy bank. No!
This morning, I myself took off my sleep shirt and put on my very own tshirt for the day. (Don't tell Lead Plastic Surgeon. He wanted me to wait a few more days to tackle this.) Insert sticker chart again.
And my neighbors are ecstatic to report Sally's underarm is now boasting a brand new aroma of chamomile and lavender. The entire neighborhood is no doubt celebrating my triumph. I may be able to now resume dinner out with pals. (You know who you are....Sarah, Kristy, Leigh, GNO folks.)
This coming week, I'm going to be on my own during the day (that's our goal anyway), so I imagine there may be a breakfast and lunch preparation in my future. Premade guacamole and chips, anyone? Remember, no judgment.
Drying my hair is a huge motivator. Thus nappy mane that only slightly resembles hair had become my new trade mark. And I'm aware hats are only so becoming after 3 weeks. Ask Ron.
So, I have my goals cut out for me. Updates from the boob front: the pain is now tolerable. The stiffness not do overwhelming, and the swelling now enhancing instead of distracting. But the lumpiness still an eye sore. Will I ever get used to the appearance?
Appt still set for Wednesday of next week. Wonder if I will get to be the driver. Doubtful, but maybe. Hope, right?
Sit at a desk comfortably for at least an hour.
Sleep in a normal Sally position.
Put on something other than pajamas (for the love of mankind and fashion entrepreneurs everywhere).
Return to work (sigh).
Accept my boobs as mine and loving every lump and bump.
And anything else I'm forgetting.
Well, I am happy to report that yesterday I went to the potty all by my little lonesome. Mom must be beaming with pride that I'm now potty trained. All of you mothers of toddlers, I now understand your plight. But do I get a sticker or coin for my piggy bank. No!
This morning, I myself took off my sleep shirt and put on my very own tshirt for the day. (Don't tell Lead Plastic Surgeon. He wanted me to wait a few more days to tackle this.) Insert sticker chart again.
And my neighbors are ecstatic to report Sally's underarm is now boasting a brand new aroma of chamomile and lavender. The entire neighborhood is no doubt celebrating my triumph. I may be able to now resume dinner out with pals. (You know who you are....Sarah, Kristy, Leigh, GNO folks.)
This coming week, I'm going to be on my own during the day (that's our goal anyway), so I imagine there may be a breakfast and lunch preparation in my future. Premade guacamole and chips, anyone? Remember, no judgment.
Drying my hair is a huge motivator. Thus nappy mane that only slightly resembles hair had become my new trade mark. And I'm aware hats are only so becoming after 3 weeks. Ask Ron.
So, I have my goals cut out for me. Updates from the boob front: the pain is now tolerable. The stiffness not do overwhelming, and the swelling now enhancing instead of distracting. But the lumpiness still an eye sore. Will I ever get used to the appearance?
Appt still set for Wednesday of next week. Wonder if I will get to be the driver. Doubtful, but maybe. Hope, right?
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