I had a bee in my bonnet. I was absolutely determined. She's to blame, telling me of her hour long sessions at the gym despite having had a medical event herself recently. She took off 2 weeks from the gym. I am up to 4. So on went the laces and shoes and out the door I went. Well, I'm an idiot and the bee in my bonnet has certainly fled the coup looking for someone with a little more scruples than my bonnet had to offer. Fifteen minutes in to my humid leisurely stroll and it was quite evident my stamina had headed to the Outer Banks with the rest of the city for the holiday weekend while I was left here on the bottom on the hill with gym attire and snazzy shoes donned but no energy to go back up. I vivid recall that exact same scenario in the five surgeries before, thus proving old dogs in fact do not learn new tricks, but rather in the last step of the downhill traverse become fools for expecting a different outcome. I had worked so hard pre-surgery to maintain my stamina with regular walks, but every stinking time it sets sail without me after anesthesia. It feels a bit like "failure" while I am making my way back to the shower with a sore back and her being somewhere across town 15 minutes into her 60 minute event. Thank goodness she is a gem whom I adore, or else I would find it easy to dislike her for her exercise feats.
While I underachieved at my stroll, I gained a huge mental score by returning full time to work this past week. I had returned for a few days the previous week, but spent a few days working from home as well. So getting back in all 5 days was terrific for my "sticker chart". This was my first week back in clinic seeing patients. I knew these clinic days would prove the toughest for me (they always do on that initial return) as it requires putting on a "I've got it all together" face and moving from here to there and back again to meet with patients, compared to my office days where I can throw myself in the cubical where life can be whatever it turns out to be at whatever pace and posture my body will afford me. Clinic- postured, civilized, together, mobile, and "game face" in tow. Office - slump, drool, feet propped up, slow speed or fast speed, back in pain, it all works out. But to be out of this house and back in life again is beyond worth the challenges of the work day.
I was discussing with a friend this week about the mindset you can find yourself in when you are in your "moments" of life. It's as if every aspect of what is normal to you comes to a screeching halt while every waking ounce of effort is zoomed in with 200% laser focus on every nuance of the event itself, but every single person outside of the event is going about their every day life totally unaffected by your moment. You can't see through the tears of making plans for a memorial service, but your coworker is at work planning a cookout before the game. You are trying to tie your shoe to make your way to the GYN office after the miscarriage, your next door neighbor is barreling through the bucket of popcorn at new blockbuster released the night before. You are trying to help your husband hold the drain while he tries to get the stupid cap back in place without spilling on the floor, your girl's group is at a play date at the local park discussing the next cupcake recipe. It's exactly as it should be, but it can be so unsettling finding yourself "left behind" as life continues at break neck speed around you. You are where you are and they are where they should be, but your chaos and their normalcy falls under the microscope creating this unintended lonely divide. It seems the more intense the moment, the more vast the divide it creates. She paraphrased to me "it's hard to be in emotional pain" when it seems the rest of the planet is moving on in their normal mode of life having ice cream at the local custard shop. Nail on the head! Every surgery this divide reforms in some degree and fashion (though much less than with the initial surgery) as you become isolated form everyday life with one hand on the house at all times. So the day you hit "start" and are able maintain a few days in a row back at work, it's as if you rejoin the world again thus slowly closing that divide. And seeing that divide fade into nothingness becomes one of the most reassuring aspects of this portion of the journey.
One of my coworkers saw me this week and said "hey, how was your vacation??? Are you missing the beach and the waves? It seems like you have been gone a while." She's right, the whole world seemed to be on summer vacations and it was only natural for her to think I joined those ranks. I then burst the bubble and spilled out the whole spill of no beach, no waves, but rather stitches and drains and reconstruction (similar interactions happened throughout the week from people I don't see very often). In this one in particular, we sat down for one to deliver and the other to hear the now overdone saga. Seeing her reactions as the story unfolded was evidence of how absurd this whole story sort of sounds start to finish. You had breast cancer she asks? (eyes get wide) No breast cancer but a double mastectomy? (eyes get even wider) (A glance at the chest.) Six surgeries/three years later? These interactions are rare as I've lived this story rather publicly o these pages, but when they happen, it's a great reminder of all the story entails. Their questions take you places you may not have been before and their expressions, both verbal and not, give you a glimpse of the outside looking in. I don't get that glimpse very often as the words fall across this screen read in the privacy of your home. So in those very rare occasions when it is told in person to someone without knowledge it becomes an abundance of newness for me. It's profound and under-whelming at the same time. The parts you feel may be small can be enormous in the mind of another. Or the parts you find so intense, may be nothing more than a spilled drink to the person on the other side of the table. It can bring you into balance and out of your bubble of acute emotion. Another dot on the timeline instead of another massive event encompassing 3 years. It brings about perspective of how this won't always be your everything and soon enough it's just another story you tell to story collectors.
The calendar tells me it's been 4 weeks. My boob tells me the same. The steri-strips are removed, the glue is sporadic across the incision as some refuses to let go. The pain is now only a strain discovered when reaching for this or that or when you absent mindedly wake up finding yourself on the "wrong" side. The bras are still flimsy minus the usual under-wire. The drain sight is closed and less evident. I'm released to a fully submerged bath or dip in the pool as of today (though I will delay those events for a bit as cellulitis is my enemy to be avoided at all costs!). Lifting restrictions remain for 2-4 (?) more weeks, and I am hopeful my stamina will come back to the city along with the rest of the world sometime very soon after the holiday weekend. Meanwhile, I promise myself to keep lacing up my shoes for my daily super-slow-speed-10 minute turtle-stroll down the hill and hopefully back up again. You have to start somewhere, and before you know it you will be fully back into "normal life" along with everyone else and find the divide fully closed. And that moment, those of you who find yourself there, is one of the very best!
