In the past week, I've learned of two new breast cancer
diagnoses. It seems to be everywhere. 1 in 9 seems to be an inflated number as
I have at least 7 women in my casual or immediate influence who have had the
diagnosis and that is who was willing to make it public and I recall. I was
particularly struck by one lady in particular who I actually have never met. I
was told the story of several women whom got together to create a breast cancer
quilt. Each woman working on the quilt had also survived the diagnosis and want
to be a supporter of this lady. It was the cutest (albeit non-conventional)
quilt covered in cartoonish drawings of various colorful bras. I can’t describe
it adequately and that hilarity of the design, which was rather endearing an
approaching adorable, isn't the point. The point is that these women got
together purposefully, in measurable support, for another lady navigating the
breast cancer map. To say I was touched is a lousy description. I kept coming
back to the time and energy and purpose. They wanted her to have this quilt in
time for her reconstruction surgery. So they set a goal and got it done. So
many of you do that well. You see a need. You trampoline yourself right into
the middle of it with intention. You show love at every turn and it’s almost
auto pilot for you. I don’t know that I want the bra quilt itself (or maybe I
do, it was quite magnetic in its draw almost a trance you didn't know you
desired) but I know that I want to exude that sort of support for other people.
And I fall short of this on almost every level with missed opportunity after
missed opportunity. My well intentions become exactly that…intentions. Woe is
me.
And therein lies the question, how do I become less “me”
focused as I traverse my every day and instead become more focused on you and
whatever event is at your doorstep? Isn't that what we all should be about? God
commands not only to intentionally love others, but to love them as you love
yourself. Screeching halt! I love myself, A LOT! I can even dare say I love
others, but how do I show radical love (inconsistent with today’s society) and
support consistently, intentionally, and regardless of whether I get love in
return. And how can I ensure that love is a priority for me and not just a well
intention? It certainly is not innate in me. Well the love is innate, I’m
rather good at that, but the active showing of that love often finds itself
with the dirty laundry (which I also had intentions of washing last week) in a
heap on the floor. This I know….I am really good at thinking about you. I may
even drop a card in the mail to you. I cry behind closed doors for you. But am
I going to sit for hours on end quilting a bra quilt for you? And with the goal
of no personal gain and instead to brighten your day in the midst of your
diagnosis? Oh I want to be these women. I want to be more than a few
encouraging words found on the pages about Christmas Boobs, or Impostor
(implant) ID cards, or concave chests and tears in the shower. I want the drains
to be circumstance that fuels action instead of passive words from me to the
screen. I certainly don’t want to fail you in your time of need, whatever that
need may be. And I painfully know I have failed many of you in the past. I
don’t know the breast cancer diagnosis, but I know the road to and from mastectomy.
It would be a lost journey if I didn't translate that into measurable love and
active support for you and yours. So this is what I am working on. Less passive.
More active. Love you more than I love me. “Bra quilts” to show you I mean
business. I promise you no bra quilt, but I do promise you I am working hard to
be selfless. These boobs shall carry me! (How would you like to see that on a
calling card? Mercy! Would you not immediately catapult it into the trash and
call for backup! My apologies. Laughing all the same). Just a little insight of
life application going on for me right now.
And to the Impostors. Surgery #5 is tidied up in a big red
bow and ready for send-off. The fog has lifted and sunny skies are forecasted, meaning I am no
longer running into door frames or answering “apple” when you ask me where the
sticky note pack is. As delightful as that was, I no longer want to experience
that and will have to be losing liters of blood and at risk for death to go
back to the operating table. Implants that have fallen to the knee cap can be
its own fashion trend and will certainly make gardening or installing hardwoods
much easier for me. I will not go back to the OR! (Famous last words, right?) I
still have the stitches, which should dissolve after about 12 weeks. I don’t
love them. But nowhere, that I am aware of, is it commanded to love your
stitches, so no judgment please. They get caught on stuff and the tugging is
less than fabulous. I am a weakling with incisions, this is no new revelation
to you, and it is what it is. This changed with mastectomy for whatever reason.
They sit there underneath the sports bra and I tolerate them. I go back to the
surgeon in January for another follow-up. I haven’t yet decided if I will
actually go (wink).
Mastectomy is complete, and because of reconstruction I have
perky boobs. If only it could be summed up truthfully in that one little
sentence as if it was a piece of cake. Oh how much I have learned.
Matthew
22:36-40: 36 “Teacher, which is
the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all
your soul and with all your mind.’[a]
38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the
second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b]
40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
Galatians 5:14:
For the entire law is fulfilled in
keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
(See
Matthew, Mark, Luke, Galatians, James, Romans for more instances of this
command).
