July 22, 2014 - Catch 22

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 12^th. 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.