Day 38: I just made a rookie mistake. After church (I drove! Ron was needing to stay late), I got in the car and headed to the grocery store as I often do when I leave church alone. Made my mental list, pulled into a space, opened the car door...BAM! A moment of recognition that under no circumstances am I going to be able to grab a grocery cart, pile it high with needed items while pushing it around, then once home, unpack the items to take in the house. I promptly closed the car door and came home holding my frustration in my hand instead of the gallon of milk we need for tomorrow. Sigh. There for a moment I guess I remembered the mastectomy but not the limitation of such. Maybe that is a silver lining that this is going to soon take a back seat.
38 days that seemed to last 78. Noah was stuck in an ark for forty. How in the world did he do it? And he had giraffes banging their heads on the roof top and monkeys swinging from the rafters. Today, I felt like banging my head. I got very little sleep last night and it definitely set the mood for my day. My pep is missing. I can't tell you how many nights 2 a.m has rolled around and I bolt straight up in bed wide awake. Then for the next 2-3 hours, I'm desperately wanting to be asleep but instead find myself mentally navigating navigating the complexity of this or that. Worry is my enemy these last few days.
Last night, it was the worry of returning to work in 2 days. How in the world am I going to pull that off? How is my stamina going to hold through the 8 hours? How about conquering the rush hour commute? How am I going to fit a wound cleaning into the middle of my day in a bathroom that shares 3 stalls and one common mirror. How am I going to fit sleep and getting ready in under 2 hours into each night and morning? How am I going to go back to my clinic space where this journey lies virtually untold? How am I going to dive right back in where I left off? I'm very aware that I alone am not capable of such a feat. I'm going to need a whopping dose of God by my side (or else I need to come into a large sum of money so I can stay in my comfy cozy cocoon of home). Remember those days of my going crazy for being on house arrest? Well, I am now reconsidering that nuisance. This, folks, is where I need some prayer coverage. I just don't feel ready. Regardless, Monday morning is coming with a vengeance. I better grab on.
Happy to report the spot/wound seems to be stable at last check yesterday. It's driving me a bit crazy, particularly during the cleaning, but there didn't seem to be any change in size when we checked it last night. Not getting smaller yet, but grateful to not see any progression either. Hopeful to have the same report tonight.
I've reached the point in this drama where I am now on the back slope. Not seeing many changes from day to day. I have to trend over a week to see what is improving. It's weird that I have found myself here. August seemed so life altering every single day. One day a boob, the next day a concave chest. Drains. Incisions. Reconstruction. Incisions again. Drains again. High emotions. Early September equally as challenging. Now, watch and wait. Wait for the swelling to resolve. Wait for the shape to settle out. Wait for the incisions to heal. wait for the wound to skidaddle. Wait for full strength and flexibility to return. Wait for side sleeping (that was disastrous!). Wait for the impostors to feel like family. Just a lot of wait. I guess I'm grateful and comforted that this is the stage I now find myself. Soon, this shall be yesterday's news, another niche in the story of me, and something else will come along to over shadow it's placement. Wonder what that will be? As I mentioned before in another post, I hope your story of triumph over what ever you face soon replaces mine. I'm anxiously waiting to see your opening line.
For now, back to the evening at hand go I (sadly, with no groceries in tow).
Sept 14, 2012 - Mastectomy drains
Someone asked me recently about the mastectomy drains. I tried to find some pictures that didn't contain too graphic of a content. Dad said having four tied around my waist make me look like an orkin man coming to spray for termites. Leave it to Dennis to find some humor in the suckiness of drains. (Pun intend). Would really love it if I never visit with these drain again. Click link below to see illustration.
Sept 14, 2012 - Day # 37 -See Spot...grow?
Day 37: The all consuming new spot (see previous blog post), is rallying up in protest of the extensive cleaning regimen. I fear he is outsmarting us. Last night when Ron went to investigate and clean the spot, he noticed it might be looking a little larger and more irritated. This is NOT what we were going for. We decided we should probably start collecting real data by measuring it. (4 x 2 on some sort of unrecognizable engineer ruler Ron has). He also had the brilliant idea of taking a super close up picture of it so I could see it without freaking out from the impostor boob scar. Let's just say, after seeing it I no longer like Barkley, and it's apparent Barkley hates me. I'm stripping him of his adorable Great Dane name. "Spot" is all he gets now. I really need him to go away...and soon before other trouble sets in.
Back to work on Monday for a full 8 hour day in the office. I worked some from home yesterday and today to try and ease myself back. It's definitely going to require a good amount of transitioning from me. I think that's all I have to say about this right now. Adjusting.
Some random thoughts from this week since this is a short update:
Back to work on Monday for a full 8 hour day in the office. I worked some from home yesterday and today to try and ease myself back. It's definitely going to require a good amount of transitioning from me. I think that's all I have to say about this right now. Adjusting.
Some random thoughts from this week since this is a short update:
- After some dinner with friends the other night, I realized I'm not the only one critical of myself. We were laughing about how two have noticed their youthful acne has returned, another wants a more perky chest, another thinks her face has aged 10 years in 1 month, another marvels at how her kids now out run her in a sprint. We all complain of heat surges and think we are entering menopause. I guess the troubles of women in their late thirties is uniform. They made me swear to change their names if they showed up in an update- so here's to you Bertha, Frances, and Ethel. = ) With much love, Syvia.
- Since moving my updates from facebook to this blog, I am truly missing the back and forth dialogue from you all. It felt more like an informal sharing of each others stories than a monologue to an empty screen. While there is some personal comfort in the empty screen, the encouragement from you and hearing your own stories as a reader is greatly missed.
- When I head back to work, I'm going to miss my tattoo parlor hours I've been keeping. Not setting an alarm every day really works for me on just about every level.
- Happy to report my pain level is down to a 2-3 out of 10 as long as I am not driving or manipulating the wound. I have been really looking forward to that! My surgeon and I were laughing that we should change the pain scale from numbers (2 out of 10) to a scale of smiling boob faces instead. You would rate a frowny boob up to an ecstatic boob. These are the things mastectomy patients talk about after reconstruction. It's inevitable.
- Lastly, I'm intrigued that someone in Russia is following my updates (Along with canada, germany, tanzania, great britian, and mexico). I think know everyone except for maybe my Russian and German reader. I'd love to hear from you and find out more about you.
Sept 13, 2012 - Day # 36 - Your story will heal you.
Day 36: My friend, Caroline, sent a quote this morning. "When you stand and share your story in an empowering way, your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else."
~ Iyanla Vanzant
Powerful, huh? When I sent my very first update on August 10 day #3 all I knew was I was very broken and facing a journey that I didn't think I wanted to tackle alone. I had to decide if I was going to crawl into a very private hole with my family and shelter myself from potential embarrassment, pity, and even judgment since my case was controversial. Putting something so personal as a mastectomy all out there for the world to see and judge could result in a personal disaster. I didn't know if I was ready for that. Under normal circumstances, I live a very compartmentalized life. Work separate from home separate from friendship separate from church and so on. And that works for me on a lot of levels. If one dam breaks, the rest of the compartments remain in tact and fully functional. Right or wrong, and most likely wrong, this is how I traversed my course. About a year ago, about the same time that I switched jobs, I decided to challenge that way of life. For the first time, I was going to open up the gates and let my life compartments start merging themselves into a soup of Sally. It was a scary moment for me as now I only had one compartment and if that one compartment broke, nothing was safe.
~ Iyanla Vanzant
Powerful, huh? When I sent my very first update on August 10 day #3 all I knew was I was very broken and facing a journey that I didn't think I wanted to tackle alone. I had to decide if I was going to crawl into a very private hole with my family and shelter myself from potential embarrassment, pity, and even judgment since my case was controversial. Putting something so personal as a mastectomy all out there for the world to see and judge could result in a personal disaster. I didn't know if I was ready for that. Under normal circumstances, I live a very compartmentalized life. Work separate from home separate from friendship separate from church and so on. And that works for me on a lot of levels. If one dam breaks, the rest of the compartments remain in tact and fully functional. Right or wrong, and most likely wrong, this is how I traversed my course. About a year ago, about the same time that I switched jobs, I decided to challenge that way of life. For the first time, I was going to open up the gates and let my life compartments start merging themselves into a soup of Sally. It was a scary moment for me as now I only had one compartment and if that one compartment broke, nothing was safe.
Sept 12, 2012 - Day # 35 - See Spot Run
Day 35: It's been a good day, but I'm exhausted. It's been non stop and you know I don't have the stamina for that these days. So you get my apologies for the delayed update. You know it's bad when you get an email from your mom saying "Go home and post. My phone is ringing off the hook!" When mom speaks.... I better get right to it.
Sally: "So Doc, I have what may be some bad news." (Me scrunching up my face and looking a little sheepish). Thankfully, he lets us get our greetings and niceties out before making me drop my gown. He's grown a bit in his bed side manner now that I've ragged him about it a bit. The very first time I met him he came running in the room like Kramer and went straight for the breast inspection. I never let him live that down.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Ut oh, let's hear it."
Sally: "Well you see, there's this spot...." (Surgeon's eyes getting a little wide at this point). So I go ahead and open the gown and show him the troublesome mind consuming spot. Me holding my breath and waiting nervously.
Lead Plastic Surgeon does a full exam of that area and more: "You have a scab." At that point I felt it was safe to exhale and breath normally.
Sally: "So I don't have tissue break down? My skin is safe? Hallelujah, I have been so worried. Best news ever"
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "You must have nicked it and not felt it or maybe it is from the skin rubbing against your tshirt." (See, I'm a good clinician, that was the exact scenario I had laid out as a possibility.).
"BUT, unfortunately, there is another worrisome spot we need to talk about...."
Sally: "So Doc, I have what may be some bad news." (Me scrunching up my face and looking a little sheepish). Thankfully, he lets us get our greetings and niceties out before making me drop my gown. He's grown a bit in his bed side manner now that I've ragged him about it a bit. The very first time I met him he came running in the room like Kramer and went straight for the breast inspection. I never let him live that down.
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "Ut oh, let's hear it."
Sally: "Well you see, there's this spot...." (Surgeon's eyes getting a little wide at this point). So I go ahead and open the gown and show him the troublesome mind consuming spot. Me holding my breath and waiting nervously.
Lead Plastic Surgeon does a full exam of that area and more: "You have a scab." At that point I felt it was safe to exhale and breath normally.
Sally: "So I don't have tissue break down? My skin is safe? Hallelujah, I have been so worried. Best news ever"
Lead Plastic Surgeon: "You must have nicked it and not felt it or maybe it is from the skin rubbing against your tshirt." (See, I'm a good clinician, that was the exact scenario I had laid out as a possibility.).
"BUT, unfortunately, there is another worrisome spot we need to talk about...."
Sept 12, 2012- Day # 35 - Waiting
Day 35: And I sit here waiting for Ron to come pick me up for our appointment. He's not due here until 1 (appointment is at 2:15), but you see I have this spot that's consuming my thoughts. Although, after another glance this morning, I feel almost, sort of, pretty sure, positive that it is just going to be a scab that has formed due to my skin getting chaffed against my clothing. The scar below the spot has a similar appearance. It's going to be nothing...I feel almost sure. = )
It kind of makes sense. Have I described to you yet what this skin feels like? You know when you have sunburn and you can't stand to have anything touch the burned area? That is what my skin has felt like since August 20th when we did the reconstruction. To make matters a little more tricky, for some reason God made us creatures that have a need to inhale and exhale. So every time I breath in (or out) my chest rises and falls and there goes the rubbing of the tshirt over the sunburned skin. The skin gets and stays pretty raw the whole time. Early on it was fairly intolerable. As weeks have passed, it now feels like almost healed sunburn. I asked a few other people if they had this sense of hyper awareness to touch in the boobiage area after recon, but no one has yet reported it back to me.
Maybe I am feeling it because all the nerves where taken out of the boob at mastectomy and now the nerves left behind in the skin have become heightened in sensitivity. It's weird to have heightened feeling in some places, dull feeling in some, and absolutely no feeling at all in others. All in a one foot radius. Phantom limb that is only partially phantom.
Last night, I slept 8 straight hours. (My almost 7 year old niece decided to check in on me with a wake up call early this morning. I can't be mad at her since I don't have kids of my own, and it's imperative I stay on her good side so she will care for me when I am old and feeble. Nursing homes scare me, so I need to ensure she will put me in her penthouse suite). Usually, I toss and turn, up to the bathroom, back to rearrange the pillow throne, sleep a few hours here, up an hour then sleep some more. So 8 hours straight is worthy of a celebration! I think I have turned the sleep corner. And I love me some sleep. Always have- always will. It's been beyond frustrating not having good sleep habits. My friend recently told me that I was keeping tattoo parlor hours this past month with me staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. I very quickly need to fix this with me going back to work on Monday.
Did I say Monday?!?!?! I'm a little freaked out about this. Nothing new to you as I've mentioned it in a few posts, but I am starting to feel the urgency of this. So much to overcome in a few short days. While I can now fully dress myself (Sis, I need a sticker for my sticker chart) it still takes me almost 2 hours start to finish from shower to out the door. And driving, I tire out after about 15 miles, yet I have a 30 minute commute. My arms are not yet ready to commit to a long term relationship with the steering wheel. I've also not driven in rush hour traffic yet. My back detests sitting in a chair for much more than an hour, and I tire out big time come mid afternoon. Then, there is just the issue of readjusting. Some of my coworkers know about this journey. Some of my coworkers only know I'm out. Wonder if they are picturing me in the Caribbean? When I left, I wasn't quite sure how public I wanted to be about this super sensitive topic. Guess I (and God) blew that out of the water with this blog, but still, typing on a screen to people with no faces is a far cry from a one-on-one conversation at the water cooler about Smooth Round High Profile Implants. Where do you draw the line? One benefit of going back to work, my entire day won't be consumed with thoughts of boobs. I'd like to go one hour without thinking once about Impostors. Maybe being back at work will return some normalcy to my life or at least my thoughts, but I imagine the first week or two is going to be super hard on my everything. My psyche of adjusting, my physical stamina, my learning all that I missed (I'm leading a super high paced deadline driven project this year and things change on a weekly basis.) and my reincorporating myself back into all that it used to be. I do know this- I will be a better practitioner in many ways. I've always been good at relating to patients because I've been there myself, but now I have another adventure under my belt so that can only help me as I relate back to the kiddos in my clinic. The best news is I have great coworkers who have been extremely supportive of my journey from every aspect. I really need that.
Ok, so I'm still waiting. Kind of wish I could snap my fingers and the appointment be over with. I detest the poking and prodding (because the boob area is so sensitive), and what I thought was going to be a quick glance over appointment is now shaping up to be a let's dissect this spot to see what is underneath. Pull out the scalpel and scrape. Shallow breathing. Heart palpitations. Dread!
I REALLY need my got-it-all-together-can-tolerate-any-emergency personality back. My friend shed some light on this for me. She used to absolutely adore scary movies. The gore, the fright, the elevated heart rate and even the laughter at the silly parts! After her breast cancer diagnosis, she absolutely can't stand them. They freak her out. They anger her. She very quickly learned that in life, when yours is no longer guaranteed, that there is absolutely nothing entertaining at all about fear. She now understood what is like first hand to be very afraid of something and fear, even as portrayed in a scary movie, was no longer entertaining. I appreciated hearing that perspective. Maybe scars and needles and diagnoses now carry more emotion behind it for me. No longer do I look at your central line catheter and see a catheter, I see a very uncomfortable incision and the emotions behind the need for the catheter. Truthfully, I've always seen that and it made me a good clinician, but it's a bit more heightened right now. I need to reign that in a little so I can function better on clinic days.
Oh, oh, oh! Ron is here to pick me up. Wish me luck! I'll update you later.
It kind of makes sense. Have I described to you yet what this skin feels like? You know when you have sunburn and you can't stand to have anything touch the burned area? That is what my skin has felt like since August 20th when we did the reconstruction. To make matters a little more tricky, for some reason God made us creatures that have a need to inhale and exhale. So every time I breath in (or out) my chest rises and falls and there goes the rubbing of the tshirt over the sunburned skin. The skin gets and stays pretty raw the whole time. Early on it was fairly intolerable. As weeks have passed, it now feels like almost healed sunburn. I asked a few other people if they had this sense of hyper awareness to touch in the boobiage area after recon, but no one has yet reported it back to me.
Maybe I am feeling it because all the nerves where taken out of the boob at mastectomy and now the nerves left behind in the skin have become heightened in sensitivity. It's weird to have heightened feeling in some places, dull feeling in some, and absolutely no feeling at all in others. All in a one foot radius. Phantom limb that is only partially phantom.
Last night, I slept 8 straight hours. (My almost 7 year old niece decided to check in on me with a wake up call early this morning. I can't be mad at her since I don't have kids of my own, and it's imperative I stay on her good side so she will care for me when I am old and feeble. Nursing homes scare me, so I need to ensure she will put me in her penthouse suite). Usually, I toss and turn, up to the bathroom, back to rearrange the pillow throne, sleep a few hours here, up an hour then sleep some more. So 8 hours straight is worthy of a celebration! I think I have turned the sleep corner. And I love me some sleep. Always have- always will. It's been beyond frustrating not having good sleep habits. My friend recently told me that I was keeping tattoo parlor hours this past month with me staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. I very quickly need to fix this with me going back to work on Monday.
Did I say Monday?!?!?! I'm a little freaked out about this. Nothing new to you as I've mentioned it in a few posts, but I am starting to feel the urgency of this. So much to overcome in a few short days. While I can now fully dress myself (Sis, I need a sticker for my sticker chart) it still takes me almost 2 hours start to finish from shower to out the door. And driving, I tire out after about 15 miles, yet I have a 30 minute commute. My arms are not yet ready to commit to a long term relationship with the steering wheel. I've also not driven in rush hour traffic yet. My back detests sitting in a chair for much more than an hour, and I tire out big time come mid afternoon. Then, there is just the issue of readjusting. Some of my coworkers know about this journey. Some of my coworkers only know I'm out. Wonder if they are picturing me in the Caribbean? When I left, I wasn't quite sure how public I wanted to be about this super sensitive topic. Guess I (and God) blew that out of the water with this blog, but still, typing on a screen to people with no faces is a far cry from a one-on-one conversation at the water cooler about Smooth Round High Profile Implants. Where do you draw the line? One benefit of going back to work, my entire day won't be consumed with thoughts of boobs. I'd like to go one hour without thinking once about Impostors. Maybe being back at work will return some normalcy to my life or at least my thoughts, but I imagine the first week or two is going to be super hard on my everything. My psyche of adjusting, my physical stamina, my learning all that I missed (I'm leading a super high paced deadline driven project this year and things change on a weekly basis.) and my reincorporating myself back into all that it used to be. I do know this- I will be a better practitioner in many ways. I've always been good at relating to patients because I've been there myself, but now I have another adventure under my belt so that can only help me as I relate back to the kiddos in my clinic. The best news is I have great coworkers who have been extremely supportive of my journey from every aspect. I really need that.
Ok, so I'm still waiting. Kind of wish I could snap my fingers and the appointment be over with. I detest the poking and prodding (because the boob area is so sensitive), and what I thought was going to be a quick glance over appointment is now shaping up to be a let's dissect this spot to see what is underneath. Pull out the scalpel and scrape. Shallow breathing. Heart palpitations. Dread!
I REALLY need my got-it-all-together-can-tolerate-any-emergency personality back. My friend shed some light on this for me. She used to absolutely adore scary movies. The gore, the fright, the elevated heart rate and even the laughter at the silly parts! After her breast cancer diagnosis, she absolutely can't stand them. They freak her out. They anger her. She very quickly learned that in life, when yours is no longer guaranteed, that there is absolutely nothing entertaining at all about fear. She now understood what is like first hand to be very afraid of something and fear, even as portrayed in a scary movie, was no longer entertaining. I appreciated hearing that perspective. Maybe scars and needles and diagnoses now carry more emotion behind it for me. No longer do I look at your central line catheter and see a catheter, I see a very uncomfortable incision and the emotions behind the need for the catheter. Truthfully, I've always seen that and it made me a good clinician, but it's a bit more heightened right now. I need to reign that in a little so I can function better on clinic days.
Oh, oh, oh! Ron is here to pick me up. Wish me luck! I'll update you later.
Sept 11, 2012 - Day # 34 - Ut oh, there's a spot.
Day 33: So there is this spot. This can't get it out of your mind spot. Not a big spot. Just a spot. You know when you go to dinner (mom, I hope you are reading this) and you look down on your freshly pressed white silk blouse to see a dropping of the most delicious lasagna you've ever treated your taste buds to? Gone, now, is the culinary amazingness of the lasagna you were just inhaling. You are looking at your friend across the table who was just telling you about her heart retching break up with Patrick. Two minutes ago you were hanging on her every word and offering condolences. "Beth, he was dog meat! Not worth a second minute of thought." Hoping she buys your story cause he really was delightful and he will be missed. Now you stare at her and all you see are lips moving. You thinking: Do you think the waiter sees this spot? How in the world am I going to get this out? Where is my Shoutastic pen? Really, I don't even remember dropping anything. I was so careful! Was this blouse on sale? I just got it!!! Maybe if I fold my arms just so....
"Sally, are you listening to me? PATRICK, just broke up with me!" Shock back to reality. A spot on a brand new shirt can consume your every thought (if you are a woman). "Beth, do you see a spot on my shirt?"
Well, I have an all consuming spot, but instead of it finding itself on my freshly pressed white silk blouse, it has landed itself on my brand spanking, newly fabricated, Smooth Round High Profile gel filled Impostor right Boob!!! (see previous post titled "Card Carrying Member".) Yesterday, when I was changing my clothes, I did a quick glance down. The surgeon wants us to look at both impostors regularly to search for changes- redness, swelling, bruising, change in size -oh there has been a change in size!- and so on. So, yesterday, I noticed this black scaling spot on my right boob strategically placed in an area I don't want it to be.
Sally from bathroom stage left: "Ron, come here and bring a flashlight!" I had Ron and my sister bring a flashlight once before back in August, so he knows this can't be good.
Enter Ron from bedroom stage left: "What's up babe?"
Sally with a slightly worried look on her face: "I need to you look at this spot, cause you know I can't go to the mirror and do it myself."
Sally stepping into medical mode: "Describe it to me."
Ron holding flashlight and kneeling before Sally in full investigator mode: "It's a black spot. Sort of like a scab, a tad smaller than an eraser, right in the middle of your Nipple (can I say that here?)"
Audience (Oliver the cat) trying desperately to help out: Meow!
Sally, trying to maintain composure: "It is bleeding? Or is it dried blood maybe?"
Ron leaning in for a closer look, glasses pulled down to tip of nose: "Not bleeding now, it's black, and maybe was once blood? Let me get a wet q tip and see if we can dissolve it, then we will know if it is blood."
Sally shifting back and forth on the stool at sight of Q tip coming toward her, now tightly closing eyes: "Ok, but you know I have lost all medical tolerance since August, so GO EASY!"
(30 second time lapse)
Sally with eyes cinched tight: "well are you going to scrub it or what?"
Ron: "Already did, why are you sitting there with your eyes closed? Unfortunately, Nothing came off."
(conversation above only slightly paraphrased)
I had forgotten that I had no feeling in that area of the Impostor so I had no idea he had been working away at the spot the whole time. Open my eyes and start brainstorming. It's likely not blood if it didn't dissolve in water. Could I have nicked my boob on something and not known it since I can't feel the boob itself? And how does one exactly nick a boob? Especially since I don't walk around with a shirt off. Do you think I would NOT notice running head on into a knife? Or NOT notice a falling scalpel from the sky that landed right in the middle of my chest? Not likely. Maybe it's chaffed skin from the tshirt rubbing on it all day long for 33 days straight? Could it be necrosis/dying tissue?
Please, oh please, don't let it be dying tissue. This is what the surgeon was so worried about from the get go. Because of all of the chest radiation in days gone by (see previous post titled "How this all came about") he felt sure I was going to have delayed healing and possibly lack of proper blood flow to the new tissue and skin. If that happened, the skin may start to die thus leading to another procedure and skin graft. But at my last appointment he told me we have most likley passed the worry point for dying tissue. I was good to go!
Surely, it's just dried on....something. Anything! I will take a dried on anything for it not to be dying skin. I am desperately not wanting to lose tissue after we have come so far. This morning, I looked again by glancing down and see there is now some additional scaling appearance in the skin around the area. So maybe this is a top layer of skin sloughing off? We lose skin every day, right? Eeek.
The Good news:
Because of God's timing, I already have an appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Perfect Timing as always. Now we just put it out of our mind and wait and see. But I wouldn't mind one bit if you add this little spot to your prayer list for today. I'm only slightly concerned. (That sounds believable when I type it. shallow breathing). Will update you tomorrow.
Funny story to add to this since we are talking about numb boobs. A friend of a friend had a mastectomy and reconstruction. Several months later her husband took her out to dinner. She ordered the yummy soup. Dinner arrived and they started eating and chatting about their day. Husband: "Um, honey, your boob is sitting in your soup bowl." She had been leaning over the table to sip out of the bowl and couldn't feel that she was actually leaning INTO the bowl. Can you imagine the laughter at that table? If you can't laugh, what can you do?
"Sally, are you listening to me? PATRICK, just broke up with me!" Shock back to reality. A spot on a brand new shirt can consume your every thought (if you are a woman). "Beth, do you see a spot on my shirt?"
Well, I have an all consuming spot, but instead of it finding itself on my freshly pressed white silk blouse, it has landed itself on my brand spanking, newly fabricated, Smooth Round High Profile gel filled Impostor right Boob!!! (see previous post titled "Card Carrying Member".) Yesterday, when I was changing my clothes, I did a quick glance down. The surgeon wants us to look at both impostors regularly to search for changes- redness, swelling, bruising, change in size -oh there has been a change in size!- and so on. So, yesterday, I noticed this black scaling spot on my right boob strategically placed in an area I don't want it to be.
Sally from bathroom stage left: "Ron, come here and bring a flashlight!" I had Ron and my sister bring a flashlight once before back in August, so he knows this can't be good.
Enter Ron from bedroom stage left: "What's up babe?"
Sally with a slightly worried look on her face: "I need to you look at this spot, cause you know I can't go to the mirror and do it myself."
Sally stepping into medical mode: "Describe it to me."
Ron holding flashlight and kneeling before Sally in full investigator mode: "It's a black spot. Sort of like a scab, a tad smaller than an eraser, right in the middle of your Nipple (can I say that here?)"
Audience (Oliver the cat) trying desperately to help out: Meow!
Sally, trying to maintain composure: "It is bleeding? Or is it dried blood maybe?"
Ron leaning in for a closer look, glasses pulled down to tip of nose: "Not bleeding now, it's black, and maybe was once blood? Let me get a wet q tip and see if we can dissolve it, then we will know if it is blood."
Sally shifting back and forth on the stool at sight of Q tip coming toward her, now tightly closing eyes: "Ok, but you know I have lost all medical tolerance since August, so GO EASY!"
(30 second time lapse)
Sally with eyes cinched tight: "well are you going to scrub it or what?"
Ron: "Already did, why are you sitting there with your eyes closed? Unfortunately, Nothing came off."
(conversation above only slightly paraphrased)
I had forgotten that I had no feeling in that area of the Impostor so I had no idea he had been working away at the spot the whole time. Open my eyes and start brainstorming. It's likely not blood if it didn't dissolve in water. Could I have nicked my boob on something and not known it since I can't feel the boob itself? And how does one exactly nick a boob? Especially since I don't walk around with a shirt off. Do you think I would NOT notice running head on into a knife? Or NOT notice a falling scalpel from the sky that landed right in the middle of my chest? Not likely. Maybe it's chaffed skin from the tshirt rubbing on it all day long for 33 days straight? Could it be necrosis/dying tissue?
Please, oh please, don't let it be dying tissue. This is what the surgeon was so worried about from the get go. Because of all of the chest radiation in days gone by (see previous post titled "How this all came about") he felt sure I was going to have delayed healing and possibly lack of proper blood flow to the new tissue and skin. If that happened, the skin may start to die thus leading to another procedure and skin graft. But at my last appointment he told me we have most likley passed the worry point for dying tissue. I was good to go!
Surely, it's just dried on....something. Anything! I will take a dried on anything for it not to be dying skin. I am desperately not wanting to lose tissue after we have come so far. This morning, I looked again by glancing down and see there is now some additional scaling appearance in the skin around the area. So maybe this is a top layer of skin sloughing off? We lose skin every day, right? Eeek.
The Good news:
- The spot itself is super small.
- It just showed up yesterday.
- It's only on one side.
- The skin around it that is sloughing looks very superficial.
- It adds character...maybe like a beauty mark? (ok, so I'm stretching it a bit there).
Because of God's timing, I already have an appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon tomorrow afternoon. Perfect Timing as always. Now we just put it out of our mind and wait and see. But I wouldn't mind one bit if you add this little spot to your prayer list for today. I'm only slightly concerned. (That sounds believable when I type it. shallow breathing). Will update you tomorrow.
Funny story to add to this since we are talking about numb boobs. A friend of a friend had a mastectomy and reconstruction. Several months later her husband took her out to dinner. She ordered the yummy soup. Dinner arrived and they started eating and chatting about their day. Husband: "Um, honey, your boob is sitting in your soup bowl." She had been leaning over the table to sip out of the bowl and couldn't feel that she was actually leaning INTO the bowl. Can you imagine the laughter at that table? If you can't laugh, what can you do?
Sept 10, 2012- - Day # 33 - Meet the Trading in the Tatas Team for Komen race for the cure.
Meet the "Trading in the Tatas" team you so graciously supported. Thank you! We passed our goal of $1000 in less than 7 days. At last check, on Sept 9, we have raised $1070. The team survived their run and are all smiles at the end. Wish I could have been there to see it in person. Love to each of you.
Sept 9, 2012 - Day # 32 - Package Reveal (out there and loving every minute of it!)
Day 32: "I'm out there and loving every minute of it!!!" (Picture Kramer in one of the all time best Seinfeld episodes). I did get out there, but can't yet claim I was loving every minute of it. Last night, after posting my tribute to the value of hope, I got up out of the chair, immediately walked into the bedroom, looked at Ron and said "It's time, I'm finally looking." You should have seen the look of shock on his face. As if I had just told him we won the HGTV green home giveaway. There he sat jaw dropped and me staring back at him. I told him "how could I claim hope if I can't even trust God to get me through a little ole peak"?
So I trusted God and pulled off the tshirt - of course I was facing away from the mirror at this time. Ron kept cheering me on, but all I could hear was the ear numbing sound of my heart beat. It sounded like a indian tribal celebration minus the chanting and fun. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Quickly came the shallow breathing and suddenly all ambition flew out the door, almost knocking Ron over, and there I was left standing naked from the waste up. There I stood with my back to the mirror working up the nerve to do this one little task I had been avoiding like the plague for 31 days. Stand, shift my weight, stand, turn half way, turn back, stand, shift my weight, shallow breathing, thump, thump, thump (in the back ground Ron saying "you've got this Sally", "piece of cake", "it's not what you think it is.")
Suddenly, I got the brilliant idea that I could use my tshirt to shield my view, and then I could open the "package" in stages. That could work! Why hadn't I thought of that before now! See bits and pieces at a time before revealing the full blown masterpiece. So the first step was easy. Grab the shirt, hold it up to cover everything, then turn around to face the mirror. Done! That was so easy! I'm a super star. Coach is going to be calling me at any moment to pull me off the bench.
So now there I am standing actually facing the mirror. I've got this. Thump, thump, thump...Shaking my head, biting my lip, looking at Ron, turning back to the mirror, and this went on for a little while. Sally, remember II Samuel 22: 29-31. With my God I can scale a wall.... Inch down the t shirt to where it now looks like a bandeau top. Ok, so that looks pretty normal. Beautiful Job, Lead surgeon! Inch it down a little more to about mid-line. Ok, I've seen this before just looking down, so no surprises here. Lumpy boobs. Done. I'm making some huge strides here. But here is where I sent myself into new territory. I work up my nerve to so a millisecond drop and pull back up...one, two, three, GO! Now quickly pull up. Ok, so what did I just see?,,,, Nothing that made me run for the trashcan. Maybe a longer look to really prove I did this. Just a quick 4 second focus. I need to focus my eyes to below midline to see the scars. The scars have been what has freaked me out all along. I need to see those to say I'm good.
And what does Sally do? She turns back away from the mirror clutching the tshirt like my life depended on it. (Now let me tell you up to this point we have probably pushed 10 for 15 mins. I told you I was a sap.) "Ron, look at the scars and describe them to me." For some idiotic reason I thought if I heard about them first and could form a mental image, I wouldn't collapse in the floor from terror at my first look. So there goes Ron doing his best to describe the two incisions in all their glory. Bless him! Ok, so that doesn't sound like anything shocking. He described what every fresh scar looks like. I don't know why I thought I was going to get anything extraordinary there. (Insert some legendary stall and denial.)
Back to the mirror with the tshirt up around my neck. One, two, three.....ok, let's try this again...one, two three...."ok, Ron, I'm going to count to four"...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ("Sally, you've got this!" in the background)...DROP!
And there they were staring back at me for about four seconds. I didn't recognize them as mine that's for sure, but they were SOMEBODY'S boobs that looked dimply, swollen, and scarred. Nothing worthy of a horror movie by any means, but you definitely won't see them on the catwalks of NY in this lifetime either. Honestly, for the four seconds they stared back at me and the whole time I felt sort of detached. Like I was looking at YOUR boobs. (Not that I know what your boobs look like, just saying.) There sat two envelopes of Smooth High Profile Gel (see "Card Carrying Member" post from two days ago) that had no emotional control over me. Sort of anti-climactic in fact especially after all the hyperventilation of August and dread and delay of September. Boring. Ho hum. Impostor Boobies. So I put my tshirt back on and said "well, that was that!" and walked out the bedroom door.
Go figure! I'm as amazed as you are. This doesn't mean I like them, nor that I want to see them again any time soon. I prefer to stay detached for now. It's working for me on some level.
So I trusted God and pulled off the tshirt - of course I was facing away from the mirror at this time. Ron kept cheering me on, but all I could hear was the ear numbing sound of my heart beat. It sounded like a indian tribal celebration minus the chanting and fun. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Quickly came the shallow breathing and suddenly all ambition flew out the door, almost knocking Ron over, and there I was left standing naked from the waste up. There I stood with my back to the mirror working up the nerve to do this one little task I had been avoiding like the plague for 31 days. Stand, shift my weight, stand, turn half way, turn back, stand, shift my weight, shallow breathing, thump, thump, thump (in the back ground Ron saying "you've got this Sally", "piece of cake", "it's not what you think it is.")
Suddenly, I got the brilliant idea that I could use my tshirt to shield my view, and then I could open the "package" in stages. That could work! Why hadn't I thought of that before now! See bits and pieces at a time before revealing the full blown masterpiece. So the first step was easy. Grab the shirt, hold it up to cover everything, then turn around to face the mirror. Done! That was so easy! I'm a super star. Coach is going to be calling me at any moment to pull me off the bench.
So now there I am standing actually facing the mirror. I've got this. Thump, thump, thump...Shaking my head, biting my lip, looking at Ron, turning back to the mirror, and this went on for a little while. Sally, remember II Samuel 22: 29-31. With my God I can scale a wall.... Inch down the t shirt to where it now looks like a bandeau top. Ok, so that looks pretty normal. Beautiful Job, Lead surgeon! Inch it down a little more to about mid-line. Ok, I've seen this before just looking down, so no surprises here. Lumpy boobs. Done. I'm making some huge strides here. But here is where I sent myself into new territory. I work up my nerve to so a millisecond drop and pull back up...one, two, three, GO! Now quickly pull up. Ok, so what did I just see?,,,, Nothing that made me run for the trashcan. Maybe a longer look to really prove I did this. Just a quick 4 second focus. I need to focus my eyes to below midline to see the scars. The scars have been what has freaked me out all along. I need to see those to say I'm good.
And what does Sally do? She turns back away from the mirror clutching the tshirt like my life depended on it. (Now let me tell you up to this point we have probably pushed 10 for 15 mins. I told you I was a sap.) "Ron, look at the scars and describe them to me." For some idiotic reason I thought if I heard about them first and could form a mental image, I wouldn't collapse in the floor from terror at my first look. So there goes Ron doing his best to describe the two incisions in all their glory. Bless him! Ok, so that doesn't sound like anything shocking. He described what every fresh scar looks like. I don't know why I thought I was going to get anything extraordinary there. (Insert some legendary stall and denial.)
Back to the mirror with the tshirt up around my neck. One, two, three.....ok, let's try this again...one, two three...."ok, Ron, I'm going to count to four"...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ("Sally, you've got this!" in the background)...DROP!
And there they were staring back at me for about four seconds. I didn't recognize them as mine that's for sure, but they were SOMEBODY'S boobs that looked dimply, swollen, and scarred. Nothing worthy of a horror movie by any means, but you definitely won't see them on the catwalks of NY in this lifetime either. Honestly, for the four seconds they stared back at me and the whole time I felt sort of detached. Like I was looking at YOUR boobs. (Not that I know what your boobs look like, just saying.) There sat two envelopes of Smooth High Profile Gel (see "Card Carrying Member" post from two days ago) that had no emotional control over me. Sort of anti-climactic in fact especially after all the hyperventilation of August and dread and delay of September. Boring. Ho hum. Impostor Boobies. So I put my tshirt back on and said "well, that was that!" and walked out the bedroom door.
Go figure! I'm as amazed as you are. This doesn't mean I like them, nor that I want to see them again any time soon. I prefer to stay detached for now. It's working for me on some level.
Sept 9, 2012 - Day # 32 - I looked
Day 32: I LOOKED!!!! Even I can't believe it, but I promised you I would. Last night, after some reflection (see yesterday's post) I realized my hope was bigger than that mirror. More on the actual peek later when I have more time. Just a quick pat myself on the back for doing it.
Sept 8, 2012 - Day # 31 - Learning to swim
Day 31: I'm sitting here in my sun-room watching the storm roll in. If you've been around me for more than an hour, you know I absolutely adore a storm. They make me all kinds of chipper. And some days you just need a little chipper in your step. They also make me reflective.
I just returned from church and on the way home I could see the thunder clouds building up. I was alone in the car (which means I drove! Woo hoo! Frightening, but accomplished) so I was able to really put some uninterrupted thought in to some things. It's rare you have quiet time to sit back and just ponder. You know how life sometimes just smacks you in the face? One of those catch you off guard, changed perspective kind of hit you in the face. I actually love when that happens. I love knowing that I can think I have life all figured out and then- smack- comes more perspective. This is where my thoughts went. This mastectomy is a whole lot of nothing when you compare it to the issues surrounding the lives of so many. Homelessness, Human Trafficking (did you know N.C. ranks in the top 10 for states involved in this heinous act?), alcoholism, divorce, chronic illnesses, the loss of a spouse, your child that won't speak to you any more. How in the world does no boobs even begin to compare to that?
Just a few days ago my coworker lost her 18 month old son (he was a twin) and today they had a funeral. How does a mother overcome this? How does she pick up her anything and get out of bed the next morning? How does she put aside such tremendous unimaginable pain and find the motivation to even fix a sandwich? How do you explain that loss to your other child who keeps asking where her twin brother is. As I sat in church tonight, just an hour before service starts, our music leader got a call that his father had passed away. No even an hour before! And where did he stand an hour later? Right there on the stage putting his heart into what he loves- music and faith. No doubt on the inside he was struggling with every piano key, but he knew his purpose in that moment was to celebrate Christ...even in death. Then there is a friend and family member who has a cancer diagnosis and finds struggle in each moment. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring in that diagnosis. Or a young women is who is caught in the desperate grip of depression. She sees nothing but haphazard despair.
So it's very clear to me as I am driving down the road that my last 31 days enduring post mastectomy is absolutely nothing in comparison. It's a blink of an eye. It's a splinter in a finger. It's trivial in comparison to the life others have on their plate. So why does it seem so devastating at times? Well, because everyone in life wants the perfect, the happy, the easy going. We don't want the hardship, the challenge, the knock you off your feet. But we all know, knock you off your feet is always right around the next bend. Or if you are like me, it's your right now.
You see, my mastectomy journey seems so intense because I can only compare it to the smooth as glass journey I was having back in May. No bumps, no bruises, just basking in the goodness of life. When things go smoothly, I sit back and enjoy the ride. When things switch modes to knock you off your feet, everything comes to a screeching halt and you take notice. You aren't comparing yourself to others, you are comparing yourself to your "before". You kick you, you scream, you pout just like anyone else. "This is not what I asked for. Things were going so well". In August I felt like I was swimming up stream. I was in tune with God's grace and His provision (and even the belief that this path was chosen specifically for me), but even trusting God's role in all of this, it didn't take away the sting. And you know what? It's not supposed to. I firmly believe God gives us emotions, and they serve a very specific purpose in every journey. Anger can lead to motivation. Sadness can morph in to reflection and advocacy. Fear can soon become motivation to find refuge in something you can't provide yourself. And then, we are able to see purpose in chaos.
I would be amiss to feel shame for my emotions of August (although I have on several occasions). Those emotions for the most part served their purpose as long as they didn't consume me. Feel what I need to feel, find purpose from those feelings, then move on with intent and focus. However, I would be hard pressed to move past these emotions without belief that God very specifically allowed this moment in time to become one of my stories. If I didn't believe that, I would be filled with hatred, bitterness, judgement, and hopelessness that consumed my every moment. Instead, because I have faith in Christ's big picture, I'm able to feel anger which purposed me into motivation to get on the other side. Sadness and confusion propelled me into empathy and advocacy (and even his blog). Fear, made me claim hope. I don't know how women do these journeys without that sense of hope?
Sometimes the turns of life just can't be explained, but when you have hope in something bigger than yourself, those unexplained moments become purposeful. Instead of sinking, you find a way to start to swim again. It may take days. It may take years. But soon you find that your desperate attempt to stay afloat becomes a doggie paddle, then a frog leg swim, and soon you are swimming the 100 meter freestyle with grace and poise. The circumstance may not have improved. You may by all earthly standards be in the pits of chaos, but your perspective changes and that pit comes with a big old basket of purpose. Happiness is based on atmosphere and circumstance. Joy is based on perspective. And I shouldn't be so naive to assume I can find that on my own.
So as I was driving home, I was thinking about how minor my mastectomy is in the whole scheme of things. But at the same time, in my own little bubble of Sally's life, it's a whopping ball of chaos. I began rolling over in my head the lyrics to a song I adore and had just heard for the umpteenth time earlier today. Here's the link if you want to give it a whirl. http://www.tr3s.com/music/artists/one-sonic-society/videos/forever-reign-819276/. I have it playing in the background as I type this. I CAN NOT DO ANY OF THIS on my own. I would not be even remotely able to pull myself out of the awfulness of a concave chest. I would still be lying in a big ole heap of balling my eyes out if it were up to my own accord. My human side would fall prey to my circumstance. And just like anyone else, I would return to happiness again as circumstances changed, however I would always be destined to return right back to despair the very next moment life took a sharp turn. Praise God, I have have something to save me from that. I have faith in Christ who offers me peace when fear cripples me. Light when darkness closes in. Joy when life turns to mastectomy. My emotions will still be there and they will be raw, but Hope gives me belief that this emotion can be temporary even when the circumstance may become permanent.
I happen to know my coworker will be able to start the healing process even though her son's death is permanent. She will feel raw. She will feel her heart rip out. She will feel every single letter of awful, but because she has Hope in Christ and knows that with every event there can be purpose, and in time, she will start to heal. Not forget, but heal. I even see her becoming an advocate as she too works in pediatric oncology. Our world is filled with mothers losing a child. Why he was taken, I have no clue. We will never know. Her circumstance is sealed and permanent. But I have the utmost assurance that with her perspective she gains from faith in Christ, she will see that God allows amazing things to come from despair if you can focus on the master plan.
If you keep searching for something in life and you keep coming up empty, if you keep falling prey to your emotions and circumstance, if you can't find purpose in trials, try running in to the arms of something bigger than yourself. Let Christ give you purpose. See if that gives you new perspective and the motivation to wait it out with realization that something incredible can be happening at the same time as despair.
Thank you "Forever Reign" (the song above) for reminding me of something I've known all along but need to hear again on occasion. Even chaos loses it's sting in the promise of hope. I want to be a reflection of that in a mastectomy that stretched me to my core. It is no longer the month of May, but where do we find purpose if it is always smooth sailing.
And thank you, whoever is reading these updates, for allowing me to not only show the triumphs and humors of this mastectomy, but for allowing my raw struggles and thoughts well.
Maybe a visit to the mirror long over due. If God can bring Hope in the crazy of life, I can take a peek in a silly little mirror.
____________________________________________________
Lyrics for "Forever Reign": Hillsong Music
I just returned from church and on the way home I could see the thunder clouds building up. I was alone in the car (which means I drove! Woo hoo! Frightening, but accomplished) so I was able to really put some uninterrupted thought in to some things. It's rare you have quiet time to sit back and just ponder. You know how life sometimes just smacks you in the face? One of those catch you off guard, changed perspective kind of hit you in the face. I actually love when that happens. I love knowing that I can think I have life all figured out and then- smack- comes more perspective. This is where my thoughts went. This mastectomy is a whole lot of nothing when you compare it to the issues surrounding the lives of so many. Homelessness, Human Trafficking (did you know N.C. ranks in the top 10 for states involved in this heinous act?), alcoholism, divorce, chronic illnesses, the loss of a spouse, your child that won't speak to you any more. How in the world does no boobs even begin to compare to that?
Just a few days ago my coworker lost her 18 month old son (he was a twin) and today they had a funeral. How does a mother overcome this? How does she pick up her anything and get out of bed the next morning? How does she put aside such tremendous unimaginable pain and find the motivation to even fix a sandwich? How do you explain that loss to your other child who keeps asking where her twin brother is. As I sat in church tonight, just an hour before service starts, our music leader got a call that his father had passed away. No even an hour before! And where did he stand an hour later? Right there on the stage putting his heart into what he loves- music and faith. No doubt on the inside he was struggling with every piano key, but he knew his purpose in that moment was to celebrate Christ...even in death. Then there is a friend and family member who has a cancer diagnosis and finds struggle in each moment. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring in that diagnosis. Or a young women is who is caught in the desperate grip of depression. She sees nothing but haphazard despair.
So it's very clear to me as I am driving down the road that my last 31 days enduring post mastectomy is absolutely nothing in comparison. It's a blink of an eye. It's a splinter in a finger. It's trivial in comparison to the life others have on their plate. So why does it seem so devastating at times? Well, because everyone in life wants the perfect, the happy, the easy going. We don't want the hardship, the challenge, the knock you off your feet. But we all know, knock you off your feet is always right around the next bend. Or if you are like me, it's your right now.
You see, my mastectomy journey seems so intense because I can only compare it to the smooth as glass journey I was having back in May. No bumps, no bruises, just basking in the goodness of life. When things go smoothly, I sit back and enjoy the ride. When things switch modes to knock you off your feet, everything comes to a screeching halt and you take notice. You aren't comparing yourself to others, you are comparing yourself to your "before". You kick you, you scream, you pout just like anyone else. "This is not what I asked for. Things were going so well". In August I felt like I was swimming up stream. I was in tune with God's grace and His provision (and even the belief that this path was chosen specifically for me), but even trusting God's role in all of this, it didn't take away the sting. And you know what? It's not supposed to. I firmly believe God gives us emotions, and they serve a very specific purpose in every journey. Anger can lead to motivation. Sadness can morph in to reflection and advocacy. Fear can soon become motivation to find refuge in something you can't provide yourself. And then, we are able to see purpose in chaos.
I would be amiss to feel shame for my emotions of August (although I have on several occasions). Those emotions for the most part served their purpose as long as they didn't consume me. Feel what I need to feel, find purpose from those feelings, then move on with intent and focus. However, I would be hard pressed to move past these emotions without belief that God very specifically allowed this moment in time to become one of my stories. If I didn't believe that, I would be filled with hatred, bitterness, judgement, and hopelessness that consumed my every moment. Instead, because I have faith in Christ's big picture, I'm able to feel anger which purposed me into motivation to get on the other side. Sadness and confusion propelled me into empathy and advocacy (and even his blog). Fear, made me claim hope. I don't know how women do these journeys without that sense of hope?
Sometimes the turns of life just can't be explained, but when you have hope in something bigger than yourself, those unexplained moments become purposeful. Instead of sinking, you find a way to start to swim again. It may take days. It may take years. But soon you find that your desperate attempt to stay afloat becomes a doggie paddle, then a frog leg swim, and soon you are swimming the 100 meter freestyle with grace and poise. The circumstance may not have improved. You may by all earthly standards be in the pits of chaos, but your perspective changes and that pit comes with a big old basket of purpose. Happiness is based on atmosphere and circumstance. Joy is based on perspective. And I shouldn't be so naive to assume I can find that on my own.
So as I was driving home, I was thinking about how minor my mastectomy is in the whole scheme of things. But at the same time, in my own little bubble of Sally's life, it's a whopping ball of chaos. I began rolling over in my head the lyrics to a song I adore and had just heard for the umpteenth time earlier today. Here's the link if you want to give it a whirl. http://www.tr3s.com/music/artists/one-sonic-society/videos/forever-reign-819276/. I have it playing in the background as I type this. I CAN NOT DO ANY OF THIS on my own. I would not be even remotely able to pull myself out of the awfulness of a concave chest. I would still be lying in a big ole heap of balling my eyes out if it were up to my own accord. My human side would fall prey to my circumstance. And just like anyone else, I would return to happiness again as circumstances changed, however I would always be destined to return right back to despair the very next moment life took a sharp turn. Praise God, I have have something to save me from that. I have faith in Christ who offers me peace when fear cripples me. Light when darkness closes in. Joy when life turns to mastectomy. My emotions will still be there and they will be raw, but Hope gives me belief that this emotion can be temporary even when the circumstance may become permanent.
I happen to know my coworker will be able to start the healing process even though her son's death is permanent. She will feel raw. She will feel her heart rip out. She will feel every single letter of awful, but because she has Hope in Christ and knows that with every event there can be purpose, and in time, she will start to heal. Not forget, but heal. I even see her becoming an advocate as she too works in pediatric oncology. Our world is filled with mothers losing a child. Why he was taken, I have no clue. We will never know. Her circumstance is sealed and permanent. But I have the utmost assurance that with her perspective she gains from faith in Christ, she will see that God allows amazing things to come from despair if you can focus on the master plan.
If you keep searching for something in life and you keep coming up empty, if you keep falling prey to your emotions and circumstance, if you can't find purpose in trials, try running in to the arms of something bigger than yourself. Let Christ give you purpose. See if that gives you new perspective and the motivation to wait it out with realization that something incredible can be happening at the same time as despair.
Thank you "Forever Reign" (the song above) for reminding me of something I've known all along but need to hear again on occasion. Even chaos loses it's sting in the promise of hope. I want to be a reflection of that in a mastectomy that stretched me to my core. It is no longer the month of May, but where do we find purpose if it is always smooth sailing.
And thank you, whoever is reading these updates, for allowing me to not only show the triumphs and humors of this mastectomy, but for allowing my raw struggles and thoughts well.
Maybe a visit to the mirror long over due. If God can bring Hope in the crazy of life, I can take a peek in a silly little mirror.
____________________________________________________
Lyrics for "Forever Reign": Hillsong Music
Sept 7, 2012 - Day # 30 - Card carrying member
Day 30: Have I mentioned before that I have an Implant ID Card I'm supposed to safe guard? Bet you didn't know that. Seriously, I have an ID card that presents all the "stats" of my wonderful new impostors.
Side A:
Patient Name: Sally McCollum
Date of surgery: 8/20/12
Doctor's Name: Lead Plastic Surgeon (name changed to protect the guilty)
Breast Implant Size: 800 grams
Final Fill volume
Side B:
Implant ID Card- This device is a tracked device
Left: Smooth Round High Profile Gel (High profile makes me giggle. And they are anything BUT smooth!)
Lot #: XXXXX
Right: Smooth Round High Profile Gel
Lot #: XXXXX
This strikes me as hysterical. What exactly am I supposed to do with this Implant ID card???
"Hello, Officer. I'm sorry I was speeding. Here's my implant ID card and my official car registration." Insert big grin and hope for the best? Or maybe it's like tthis. Cashier: "That will be $42.37 for the bra and matching panty." and then Me: "Do you offer discounts to implant ID card holders?"
So here it sits on my table with me wondering what in the world am I to do with it. I could frame it and mount it in the hallway for all to see. Card on the left, up close picture of impostors on the right. All highlighted with focused frame lighting. Would you enjoy that as your house decor? These implants are high profile after all. They deserve some sort of in-your-face placement. Rolling my eyes. After further investigation I find out implants are considered "devices" and tracked by the FDA in case of a recall. Recall! Can't you imagine how that would play out. I wonder if they call you and say they are shipping news ones in the mail to arrive on Friday. In the box you find a shipping return label to send back the recalled boobs. They better provide free shipping! Or maybe I show up at Lead Plastic Surgeon's office for an exchange. All these ladies lined up with Smooth High Profile Implants Lot # XXXXX waiting for their switch out. Kind of hope there is a recall just so I can see how that unfolds.
And did I mention that this isn't a one time fit all kind of Implant? Lead Plastic Surgeon said I am going to need to make modifications as time goes on. To which I asked what time frame are you talk about? 20 yrs? 30 yrs? "Sally, more like 1 or 2 yrs. And initially maybe in a few weeks or months."
Side A:
Patient Name: Sally McCollum
Date of surgery: 8/20/12
Doctor's Name: Lead Plastic Surgeon (name changed to protect the guilty)
Breast Implant Size: 800 grams
Final Fill volume
Side B:
Implant ID Card- This device is a tracked device
Left: Smooth Round High Profile Gel (High profile makes me giggle. And they are anything BUT smooth!)
Lot #: XXXXX
Right: Smooth Round High Profile Gel
Lot #: XXXXX
This strikes me as hysterical. What exactly am I supposed to do with this Implant ID card???
"Hello, Officer. I'm sorry I was speeding. Here's my implant ID card and my official car registration." Insert big grin and hope for the best? Or maybe it's like tthis. Cashier: "That will be $42.37 for the bra and matching panty." and then Me: "Do you offer discounts to implant ID card holders?"
So here it sits on my table with me wondering what in the world am I to do with it. I could frame it and mount it in the hallway for all to see. Card on the left, up close picture of impostors on the right. All highlighted with focused frame lighting. Would you enjoy that as your house decor? These implants are high profile after all. They deserve some sort of in-your-face placement. Rolling my eyes. After further investigation I find out implants are considered "devices" and tracked by the FDA in case of a recall. Recall! Can't you imagine how that would play out. I wonder if they call you and say they are shipping news ones in the mail to arrive on Friday. In the box you find a shipping return label to send back the recalled boobs. They better provide free shipping! Or maybe I show up at Lead Plastic Surgeon's office for an exchange. All these ladies lined up with Smooth High Profile Implants Lot # XXXXX waiting for their switch out. Kind of hope there is a recall just so I can see how that unfolds.
And did I mention that this isn't a one time fit all kind of Implant? Lead Plastic Surgeon said I am going to need to make modifications as time goes on. To which I asked what time frame are you talk about? 20 yrs? 30 yrs? "Sally, more like 1 or 2 yrs. And initially maybe in a few weeks or months."
Day # 13 - Princess Sally (posted out of order)
Some positive comical vibes to keep us going: Ron and my sister have resorted to calling me "princess sally".
(no irony lost on me since the name Sally actually does mean "princess"). I'm thankful my mom has stuck with plain ole sally. I guess a woman who actually needs upwards of 11 pillows in the bed to get comfortable deserves a little name calling. Of note, I only require two under normal circumstances. Add to those 11 pillows a face mask and ear plugs, and I'm a slumbering site to behold. Picture me sitting straight up in a chair to eat dinner. Such is the position to be achieved for sleeping. But I'm adamant about sleeping in the bed for normalcy (vs the chair). But seriously, what is normal about that position? It's the only way I can keep the pressure of the drains at a minimal. No doubt an intruder would be frightened out of his shoes if he walked in to find that scene in the middle of the night. But princess Sally needs her beauty sleep just like the next gal.
Today, we washed my hair in the kitchen sink. A dining room chair. Two pillows to sit on. Three towels. Ron's entire arm under my head for cushion- his arm more wet than my head. Mom up to her elbows in soap suds. Oliver, the cat, trying to partake in the festivities. Then comes the blow dryer and 3 brushes.
Shall we start talking about pajamas and sponge baths? In the past 5 days, I've been through as many if not more sets of pajamas. A gal deserves her comfort right? And what is more comfy than fresh pjs? Then there is the munchies every two hours with pain meds. So three title "her highness" may carry some merit, I suppose. Or we can blame the medications.
Wonder how shoulder massages can be worked in to the daily schedule?
"Ron, where are you???? I have an idea...
(no irony lost on me since the name Sally actually does mean "princess"). I'm thankful my mom has stuck with plain ole sally. I guess a woman who actually needs upwards of 11 pillows in the bed to get comfortable deserves a little name calling. Of note, I only require two under normal circumstances. Add to those 11 pillows a face mask and ear plugs, and I'm a slumbering site to behold. Picture me sitting straight up in a chair to eat dinner. Such is the position to be achieved for sleeping. But I'm adamant about sleeping in the bed for normalcy (vs the chair). But seriously, what is normal about that position? It's the only way I can keep the pressure of the drains at a minimal. No doubt an intruder would be frightened out of his shoes if he walked in to find that scene in the middle of the night. But princess Sally needs her beauty sleep just like the next gal.
Today, we washed my hair in the kitchen sink. A dining room chair. Two pillows to sit on. Three towels. Ron's entire arm under my head for cushion- his arm more wet than my head. Mom up to her elbows in soap suds. Oliver, the cat, trying to partake in the festivities. Then comes the blow dryer and 3 brushes.
Shall we start talking about pajamas and sponge baths? In the past 5 days, I've been through as many if not more sets of pajamas. A gal deserves her comfort right? And what is more comfy than fresh pjs? Then there is the munchies every two hours with pain meds. So three title "her highness" may carry some merit, I suppose. Or we can blame the medications.
Wonder how shoulder massages can be worked in to the daily schedule?
"Ron, where are you???? I have an idea...
Day # 7 - Transparency Promised (posted out of order)
Day 7: I'm making a difference. See, every journey has it's purpose we just have to wait it out. Even if one life is changed or impacted, our purpose is served. Often the difference is not for ourselves, but for some one on the periphery. Someone you wouldn't even imagine would be impacted. Tears streaming down my face. "Take the boobs, Lord, if it leads to a changed life, a changed heart, a changed medical practice, empathy, a better relationship...". I promise that makes all if this worth it. So many of you have emailed me to keep the posts coming because it's impacting your day. I was simply trying too get the benefit of 100+ psychiatrists without paying the bill. But hey, if it helps you too. Let's go for it!
Ok, so there is my new focus -100% transparency for my own processing, but also because so many of you have contacted me as to how my transparency is helping your own journey. Well, perfect timing ladies, because today of all days, I am a wreck!
Poor Ron and mom had to suffer through it last night. I was a the year old tantrum, an inconsolable 37 year old frustrated female. It was awful on my own account. Don't get me wrong, i fully trust God and his plan, but sometimes the "going through it" just catches up with your emotions. He gives us emotions for a reason, they are very therapeutic, but boy did mine go haywire.
Flash back to yesterday afternoon when I was feeling so great. Great wasn't something I had felt in seven days. Very far from great. So when there was a single flash of feeling decent I latched on to it with a grip of an iron man. I was up and about. I visited with a friend, I took a long walk, I watched my mom vacuum (hey, it took some effort instructing her) and I took in all the sights of the living room. Reminder, I was running low on pain meds so I also spent the day rationing.
Ok, so there is my new focus -100% transparency for my own processing, but also because so many of you have contacted me as to how my transparency is helping your own journey. Well, perfect timing ladies, because today of all days, I am a wreck!
Poor Ron and mom had to suffer through it last night. I was a the year old tantrum, an inconsolable 37 year old frustrated female. It was awful on my own account. Don't get me wrong, i fully trust God and his plan, but sometimes the "going through it" just catches up with your emotions. He gives us emotions for a reason, they are very therapeutic, but boy did mine go haywire.
Flash back to yesterday afternoon when I was feeling so great. Great wasn't something I had felt in seven days. Very far from great. So when there was a single flash of feeling decent I latched on to it with a grip of an iron man. I was up and about. I visited with a friend, I took a long walk, I watched my mom vacuum (hey, it took some effort instructing her) and I took in all the sights of the living room. Reminder, I was running low on pain meds so I also spent the day rationing.
Sept 6, 2012 - Day # 29 - Even I don't believe it.
Day 29: By calendar dates, tomorrow marks one month since the mean ole mastectomy joined my list of "I have dones". I'd much prefer adding sky diving or dog sledding to the list (everyone knows how much I adore a sled dog!), but alas...mastectomy it is. It certainly wasn't on my "top 10" to-dos. But life doesn't always come in top 10s. I now join a glorious club though and am honored to be part of the amazing women who also chose life over the other possibles. I'm in excellent company. Some prophylactic as I, others as a life saving choice in response to a diagnosis. Maybe there should be a mastectomy wall of fame honoring some of those women. Can you picture that? If we can honor a baseball player making millions of dollars a year (really?), why not the face of these women fighting for their lives for free? I shall create this wall of fame in my head. Better yet, feel free to use the comment section below to honor someone you want on this wall. What is better than honoring a struggle or a triumph?
I actually don't personally know anyone else who did this prophylactically, especially someone who was Brca gene negative as I was, so I will start the wall of fame with Sarah Steegar Delaney. She's on facebook, look her up to see picture of what courage looks like.
I actually don't personally know anyone else who did this prophylactically, especially someone who was Brca gene negative as I was, so I will start the wall of fame with Sarah Steegar Delaney. She's on facebook, look her up to see picture of what courage looks like.
Sept 5, 2012 - Change in appearance
I easily bore with colors and designs, so I decided to switch the blog appearance up for a bit. Don't worry, you have the right site. Just me needing some more variety in this journey. If I had to change my appearance, why not the blog? Smile.
Have I mentioned my four walls I live in every day. I'm coming up with all kinds of "home improvement" ideas while being on house arrest. But I have a surprise for you regarding "track tryouts" stay tuned.
Have I mentioned my four walls I live in every day. I'm coming up with all kinds of "home improvement" ideas while being on house arrest. But I have a surprise for you regarding "track tryouts" stay tuned.
Sept 5, 2012 - Day # 28 - Driving Mrs. Sally
Day 28: I guess I have grown accustomed to a chauffer. It's now a comfort zone. Yesterday, I sat in the front seat for the first time, and I was freaked out the entire time. The shoulder belt is NOT my friend. It's bad news bears. It's out to get me I'm sure. I have this irrational fear the entire time Ron is driving that we will be in an accident with me being thrown into the belt crushing the imposters. Today, I want to choose the back seat again. Would you think bad of me for this backward slide? Is there a 12 step program for back seat riders anonymous? I'm bigger than that, right? And somehow I'm supposed to transition from my back seat haven to that of driver! EEEEKKK!
See, my fear is not in the driving itself. It is like riding a bicycle. It is the pot hole that is my enemy. The speed bump. The pea size pebble that once traversed by my wheel sends chaos through my chest.
My family has chuckled at the choice words that leave my lips at the sight of a upcoming bridge or pavement change. FUSELLI PASTA! CRAWFISH STEW! OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH! And maybe on occassion something a tad stronger. Maybe. It doesn't help that the entire ride from shutting the door to arriving at said location I'm sitting there as stiff as a mummy. Put a piece of coal under my armpit and no doubt in an hour you will find a diamond. I'm too afraid of each little bump and jelly mold giggle that I can't do anything but clinch.
I want to conquer the seat belt! I want to tame the clinch! People, work is 12 days away. Surely! If I could just get some of the chest tightness and swelling to lessen then I wouldn't require so much clinching and bracing at every driving moment. It almost takes the joy out of the destination. Almost (these four walls are pretty motivating)! I should probably acquire a "student driver" sign so fellow drivers will find pity on my 25mph car stroll.
First, I have to work up some nerve. For the record, I still have yet to hug my mirror so there is a precedent for "delay".
See, my fear is not in the driving itself. It is like riding a bicycle. It is the pot hole that is my enemy. The speed bump. The pea size pebble that once traversed by my wheel sends chaos through my chest.
My family has chuckled at the choice words that leave my lips at the sight of a upcoming bridge or pavement change. FUSELLI PASTA! CRAWFISH STEW! OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH! And maybe on occassion something a tad stronger. Maybe. It doesn't help that the entire ride from shutting the door to arriving at said location I'm sitting there as stiff as a mummy. Put a piece of coal under my armpit and no doubt in an hour you will find a diamond. I'm too afraid of each little bump and jelly mold giggle that I can't do anything but clinch.
I want to conquer the seat belt! I want to tame the clinch! People, work is 12 days away. Surely! If I could just get some of the chest tightness and swelling to lessen then I wouldn't require so much clinching and bracing at every driving moment. It almost takes the joy out of the destination. Almost (these four walls are pretty motivating)! I should probably acquire a "student driver" sign so fellow drivers will find pity on my 25mph car stroll.
First, I have to work up some nerve. For the record, I still have yet to hug my mirror so there is a precedent for "delay".
Sept 4, 2012 - Day # 27 - Denial, it's what's for dinner.
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.
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?
Sept 2, 2012 - Day # 25 - Heavy Heart
Day 25: I woke up in the middle of the night with a heavy heart. A feeling that I needed give you more background. I didn't want anyone to see this journey as something I was orchestrating and charting alone. I'm too flawed too ever be able to get through chaos on my own. All of my best and greatness will always be one stair step short of being enough to get by in this environment. I have hundreds
of report cards, evaluations, and personal references from others around me to prove that.
Back when I was six, I must have been very advanced for my age (smile), I recognized I wanted to place my life in the hands of God. In the years to come, I would better understand what that means and see that I had no means within myself to be anything other than self motivating, self promoting, self righteous. I understood that those things would continue to motivate me as a human, and I was destined to feeling like a failure constantly driving myself to be better than the person to my right or left. Often failing. I wanted a chance at something different. I wanted to please God, at that time simply because it was the right thing to do to want to please people. But I did understand God loved me more than I could every love him and that he desperately wanted to save me from myself. I also recognized I couldn't tackle the hate of the world on my own. I couldn't overcome my own tendency to add to the hate of the world. I was a great person, but there wasn't any amount of great that could save me from myself and those things that come from living in a world of chaos. Don't you get tired of this rat race? I needed the forgiveness of God. I was desperately flawed. I needed to trust in His love for me, his plan through Jesus to save me from self with the resulting outcome becoming a better Sally than I could ever be without that devotion to Him. Sally was making Sally watered down. In God I can be the Sally He designed me to be.
Many years later in life, in my thirties, I spent some time reading through Romans and realized I didn't have to please God out of responsibility, the whole world revolves around this to do list and judgement of performance (yuck!), but rather when I loved him more than I loved myself, those things would naturally flow out of me. (Fruit of the spirit.) I threw out my to do list of doing right and focused instead on my relationship with Him and the people around me and all of a sudden, I found I was happy, content, joyful, peaceful and desiring to want that for my own life and those of everyone I came in contact with.
I started seeing the potential in others instead of always focusing on their deficiencies. I wanted them to become everything they could be instead of trying to out do them. Don't get me wrong, my old self of competition and slander and self promotion still comes out at times, often, but i now recognize when it does and am able to fall back in God's mercy and grace to find my love for other people again. I truly do want you to be the best Bobbie Jo you can ever be! And I know that without faith in God's plan for you, that becomes impossible. Bobbie Jo will mess that up in a heart beat! How can you finding your greatness and you wanting the same for me not make life better?!?! There's no pressure to be something I'm not. There's freedom to be who He created me to be. And freedom to recognize how amazing this life is despite the world trying to prove otherwise. I love the Sally God frees me to be. And when I find myself screwing up, I remind myself God's plan for me is better than anything I could ever imagine up for myself. My own plan is the quickest path to miserable.
Ok so why do I mention that here? Well, in case you haven't noticed, there are moments in life when things can just be rather crappy from our perspective. Remember, we live in a world of self promotion. Everyone doing everything to promote self. I must be the 1 out of 10 who gets "excel" in that work eval. I'm better than Susie, right? (For the record, I got "achieves"). I better mention to Pam that brad has been unable to hold down a job. He's flawed (thus making myself appear well kept and together). When will people realize that a team of amazing is a thousand times better than one person of amazing. Brad may have lost his job (we forget downsizing can wipe out even the best), but he is incredible at accounting. I'm horrible at accounting! Your skill supplements mine to make me better. My deficiencies often produce commonality with others around me. My strengths your benefit.
We live in a world where cancer eats joy, jealousy drives ambition, popularity squashes potential, death drives fear. Circumstance dictates emotions. I want cancer to produce advocacy, jealousy to fall prey to encouragement, death to drive belief in something bigger than myself, and circumstance to become inconsequential. Joy can be our outcome! God loves me enough to save me from hate! I love him enough to claim his provision and find joy in the ridiculous around me. And you know what, it's free to anyone who wants to man up enough to see yourself as flawed, admit you are destroying yourself, recognize He desires the absolute best for you even in the awful, claim the saving grace of Jesus, and walk in life with a new perspective. Become someone who desires the best for others in addition to yourself. Become someone eagerly awaiting the next turn. I'm a work in progress. I fail all the stinking time. I continue to be flawed every silly day. Do you recall my desperation and tears of early August? But you know what? I have hope! And hope changes everything. (Open the book of John starting at Chpt 1 and give it a whirl. It will be a life changing read if you allow it to be.)
So why did I spill all of that out on this page? Life can crappy. It's one split minute decision away from chaos. One day you are riding happiness with a new found love, the next day your new found love is with you no longer. One year, you become a trend setter in your corporation, the next year you file bankruptcy. One day you are helping a kid with cancer, the next day you sign yourself up for a mastectomy. Life is brutal! It's unpredictable. It's one big jumbled up ball of what is right around the next corner. And you know what? I love it. I love the mystery of all of that. I love knowing that even in the awful something amazing can result. Maybe not always for me. Sometimes my awful results in amazing for you. I love that I can see a glimpse of God's plan at every stinking turn if I allow myself to. (Remember Sally is the best person to mess up Sally.) Life may be out to "get me", but I'm full of hope that just around the next corner lies something new.
This mastectomy has resulted in all kinds of crazy. It's been painful, it's stripped away some vanity, it's broken my mood on occasion. It created a sucky kind of August. And now September. But I'm not stupid enough to bask in that satan driven focus for long. I want to claim the new friendships, the altered perspective, the experience that will impact the life chaos to come, the strenghtened marriage, the power of encouragement. The ability to overcome. The realization of trivial this really is in the scheme of hurricanes and loss of life.
You see, circumstance is what it is. I battled lymphoma. Now, I have imposter boobs. No amount of good intention or focused control will always prevent choas. This is reality. Famine will happen. Floods will take homes. Cindy will talk bad about Stacey. Cancer will be in a diagnosis. But I can either bask in the awful as so much of the world does every day and allowing myself to slip into sustained depression and defeat while on the outside trying to clamor to the top and appear put together and desirable. OR I can claim God's promise and look for the amazing that is always present in the awful. Amazing might be hidden and disguised under a rock, but God gave me hands didn't he? And I surely know how to move a rock.
Claim that God wants Amazing, even in chaotic circumstance. Find hope and maybe even some humor. It's often life changing.
(And if you want someone to talk to about putting your faith in God through Jesus, contact me!)
Back when I was six, I must have been very advanced for my age (smile), I recognized I wanted to place my life in the hands of God. In the years to come, I would better understand what that means and see that I had no means within myself to be anything other than self motivating, self promoting, self righteous. I understood that those things would continue to motivate me as a human, and I was destined to feeling like a failure constantly driving myself to be better than the person to my right or left. Often failing. I wanted a chance at something different. I wanted to please God, at that time simply because it was the right thing to do to want to please people. But I did understand God loved me more than I could every love him and that he desperately wanted to save me from myself. I also recognized I couldn't tackle the hate of the world on my own. I couldn't overcome my own tendency to add to the hate of the world. I was a great person, but there wasn't any amount of great that could save me from myself and those things that come from living in a world of chaos. Don't you get tired of this rat race? I needed the forgiveness of God. I was desperately flawed. I needed to trust in His love for me, his plan through Jesus to save me from self with the resulting outcome becoming a better Sally than I could ever be without that devotion to Him. Sally was making Sally watered down. In God I can be the Sally He designed me to be.
Many years later in life, in my thirties, I spent some time reading through Romans and realized I didn't have to please God out of responsibility, the whole world revolves around this to do list and judgement of performance (yuck!), but rather when I loved him more than I loved myself, those things would naturally flow out of me. (Fruit of the spirit.) I threw out my to do list of doing right and focused instead on my relationship with Him and the people around me and all of a sudden, I found I was happy, content, joyful, peaceful and desiring to want that for my own life and those of everyone I came in contact with.
I started seeing the potential in others instead of always focusing on their deficiencies. I wanted them to become everything they could be instead of trying to out do them. Don't get me wrong, my old self of competition and slander and self promotion still comes out at times, often, but i now recognize when it does and am able to fall back in God's mercy and grace to find my love for other people again. I truly do want you to be the best Bobbie Jo you can ever be! And I know that without faith in God's plan for you, that becomes impossible. Bobbie Jo will mess that up in a heart beat! How can you finding your greatness and you wanting the same for me not make life better?!?! There's no pressure to be something I'm not. There's freedom to be who He created me to be. And freedom to recognize how amazing this life is despite the world trying to prove otherwise. I love the Sally God frees me to be. And when I find myself screwing up, I remind myself God's plan for me is better than anything I could ever imagine up for myself. My own plan is the quickest path to miserable.
Ok so why do I mention that here? Well, in case you haven't noticed, there are moments in life when things can just be rather crappy from our perspective. Remember, we live in a world of self promotion. Everyone doing everything to promote self. I must be the 1 out of 10 who gets "excel" in that work eval. I'm better than Susie, right? (For the record, I got "achieves"). I better mention to Pam that brad has been unable to hold down a job. He's flawed (thus making myself appear well kept and together). When will people realize that a team of amazing is a thousand times better than one person of amazing. Brad may have lost his job (we forget downsizing can wipe out even the best), but he is incredible at accounting. I'm horrible at accounting! Your skill supplements mine to make me better. My deficiencies often produce commonality with others around me. My strengths your benefit.
We live in a world where cancer eats joy, jealousy drives ambition, popularity squashes potential, death drives fear. Circumstance dictates emotions. I want cancer to produce advocacy, jealousy to fall prey to encouragement, death to drive belief in something bigger than myself, and circumstance to become inconsequential. Joy can be our outcome! God loves me enough to save me from hate! I love him enough to claim his provision and find joy in the ridiculous around me. And you know what, it's free to anyone who wants to man up enough to see yourself as flawed, admit you are destroying yourself, recognize He desires the absolute best for you even in the awful, claim the saving grace of Jesus, and walk in life with a new perspective. Become someone who desires the best for others in addition to yourself. Become someone eagerly awaiting the next turn. I'm a work in progress. I fail all the stinking time. I continue to be flawed every silly day. Do you recall my desperation and tears of early August? But you know what? I have hope! And hope changes everything. (Open the book of John starting at Chpt 1 and give it a whirl. It will be a life changing read if you allow it to be.)
So why did I spill all of that out on this page? Life can crappy. It's one split minute decision away from chaos. One day you are riding happiness with a new found love, the next day your new found love is with you no longer. One year, you become a trend setter in your corporation, the next year you file bankruptcy. One day you are helping a kid with cancer, the next day you sign yourself up for a mastectomy. Life is brutal! It's unpredictable. It's one big jumbled up ball of what is right around the next corner. And you know what? I love it. I love the mystery of all of that. I love knowing that even in the awful something amazing can result. Maybe not always for me. Sometimes my awful results in amazing for you. I love that I can see a glimpse of God's plan at every stinking turn if I allow myself to. (Remember Sally is the best person to mess up Sally.) Life may be out to "get me", but I'm full of hope that just around the next corner lies something new.
This mastectomy has resulted in all kinds of crazy. It's been painful, it's stripped away some vanity, it's broken my mood on occasion. It created a sucky kind of August. And now September. But I'm not stupid enough to bask in that satan driven focus for long. I want to claim the new friendships, the altered perspective, the experience that will impact the life chaos to come, the strenghtened marriage, the power of encouragement. The ability to overcome. The realization of trivial this really is in the scheme of hurricanes and loss of life.
You see, circumstance is what it is. I battled lymphoma. Now, I have imposter boobs. No amount of good intention or focused control will always prevent choas. This is reality. Famine will happen. Floods will take homes. Cindy will talk bad about Stacey. Cancer will be in a diagnosis. But I can either bask in the awful as so much of the world does every day and allowing myself to slip into sustained depression and defeat while on the outside trying to clamor to the top and appear put together and desirable. OR I can claim God's promise and look for the amazing that is always present in the awful. Amazing might be hidden and disguised under a rock, but God gave me hands didn't he? And I surely know how to move a rock.
Claim that God wants Amazing, even in chaotic circumstance. Find hope and maybe even some humor. It's often life changing.
(And if you want someone to talk to about putting your faith in God through Jesus, contact me!)
Sept 1, 2012 - Day # 24 - Family time.
Ron was needed at the farm so I got packed up, boxed, taped, and stamped and mailed to mom's for the weekend since I wasn't farm ready yet. Grateful for the new walls and some sister time. First time with Amy in over three weeks!
Must-have-new-mattress STAT. Slept in my childhood bed last night with a firm mattress and it changed my everything as far as having been miserable at night. Guess I know what our next outing will be.
Me (left)chillin and relaxin with my sis (right)... Good times!
Must-have-new-mattress STAT. Slept in my childhood bed last night with a firm mattress and it changed my everything as far as having been miserable at night. Guess I know what our next outing will be.
Me (left)chillin and relaxin with my sis (right)... Good times!
Aug 31, 2012 - Day # 23 - Post recon appt details
Day 23: I realize I never gave you a full update from my reconstruction followup appt two days ago. So here you go for inquiring minds who have a need for details.
I had already mentioned how my mind started wandering in the waiting room. All of these women waiting for their breast cancer appt. Oh how different my journey could have been. These women who have more on their plate and minds on this one day than I may have in years of my own (much longer than my silly 23 days). A shout out to those readers who have struggled with this very challenging battle. The Sarahs and Rachels of my life. My hat off and heart open to you. And my apologies for not supporting you more than I did in your journey. And anyone else facing a cancer diagnosis. I've been there and I know that it sucketh! Each day is a battle itself and the mind lay heavy. But cancer is meant to be conquered! And when not, no doubt, purpose comes from heart break. I see that first hand in my career.
So there we sit among these incredible women and I'm quickly reminded why I chose the crazy choice. Why this ever so frightening decision to move forward with a mastectomy became much less frightening than the alternative. These women reminded me of the value and intent of my choice.
"Sally McCollum?"
Well, here we go. Back to the intake room for a weight check (Again for the umpteenth time. It hasn't changed, people! Well, ok so it has.) Blood pressure check. Temp. All well except for the weight. Then, move to the patient room. "please slip on this gown, open in the front, and remove everything underneath." Truly, my favorite part of any appointment. At least I won't be embarrassed by someone seeing my new granny bra. But a quick reminder that yet again there is absolutely no dignity in this adventure. Slip on gown and wait. Well slip on gown seems way more simple that the actual. It's a lengthy process getting dressed and redressed with four drains coming out of your side. And a chest wall that feels like you just completed training for iron man. It's a very strategic maneuvering of this and that to change clothes. Painful! Ron and I have it down pat by now, but still it's a process with many organized steps involved.
I'm actually a little excited to see lead plastic surgeon. I haven't seen him since the hour before reconstruction surgery when he came in with his little black marker to practice his Picasso techniques. I wanted to hear his thoughts of how it went. Well, knock knock, and in he walks with this huge grin on his face.
I actually think he was just as excited to see me. (From the get go, I think he had considered me his challenge. His Goliath. My radiated damaged chest his rival and foe that needed to be put in it's place. His chance to get it right and prove to the plastic community that this can be done.) "Sally, before I say anything else, I did my very best work just as I promised."...."and sorry about the four drains." I laughed but gave him ample ragging about the pesky little suckers and how I wanted to throw something at him when i woke up and saw not 2 but 4. He was very sneaky.
Sally: "Ok, now let's see the masterpiece." Then, I drop my gown and wait.
Silence.
Sally: "Ut oh, what?" I've been worried about the viability of the skin so I'm sitting there worried he sees something wrong. To break the silence and tension I ask him to pay me a dollar for having the opportunity to see the imposters. (I figure if I had charged people all along I would have enough for that bora bora trip we've been wanting to take.)
Then he just grins. A big ole slap happy grin. "My very best work!" It looks great. Better than I was expecting considering all the risks we had. Tissue looks great. No redness. I ask him about all the swelling and tightness and was that normal? Lots of dialogue I won't bore you with her. (Remember, I've never had reconstruction before, so who knows how it's supposed to feel or look). He says that yes, it seems a little tighter than normal so I should now go bra less for two weeks.
What??? Did he just say "bra less?" In my 37 years of existence, I've never once been able to go bra less. He has lost his every living mind. But he is insistent that I need to reduce the pressure on the chest so that the tissue underneath gets enough blood supply to stay viable and not damage the implant. He's concerned, but not worried. So bra less it will be, but it's freaking me out. I didn't have the heart to tell him my mom had just purchased SEVEN new granny no support no frill no fun bras. Note to self: break this news to mom gently after the appointment.
"Sally, I couldn't be more pleased with how the tissue has adjusted. Now we just wait."
"Lead plastic surgeon, I have to take your word for it. I have nothing to compare it to. You did a beautiful job, but they still are odd, weird, and awkward." I inserted the story about how it feels getting new hands (see previous post). He said that was the perfect analogy he could now use with patients. "I love you're work, thank so much, but I'm still adjusting and it's gong to be a while before I love, or even like, your work."
"Sally, no lifting for another week. Then, on Monday, start these exercises. We need to get your strength and mobility back. I'm very pleased and optimistic that we've passed the worry point, but I want to see you back in two weeks." (paraphrased)
Sally: "Doc, now there's the matter of these pesky little drains that make living absolutely miserable." - I can be a tad dramatic. Smile. "Well then, let's take them out!" (I did try and talk him into the complementary liposuction, but he want budging. Maybe if I remind him my abdomen had been radiated to he might find liposuction an equally fun challenge. At that point at the confirmation of drain removal, all of heaven opened up with sound of the hallelujah chorus. David pulled out his harp. Peter a harmonica. I personally saw Moses grab Ruth's arm for a celebratory fox trot across the cloud covered floor. Jesus himself tapped a foot in rhythm. Even my Ron sitting next to me had a smile (he's not known for getting super excited about stuff). And God simply winked an eye at me, him fully aware he himself had orchestrated this perfect moment. (I will spare you the details of hyperventilation that occurred during the drain removal).
Long gone are the drains!!! Long gone is the gore! Long gone is my screeching when we milk the tubing. Long gone are my tears where we clean the sight. Hello, freedom! He promised provision. There hadn't been a single glitch since August 7. My course could have gone every shade of bad. It had every earthly reason to. He doesn't promise the Christian the perfect life or even a good day. He just promises his hand in every twist and turn. But he does love to shower his children with blessings. And blessings galore have I. I'm not worthy, therefore, I'm immensely grateful. So whatever his purpose and intent in giving me the easy road, I promise to make it worth while. So we aren't completely out off the woods, but i can see the river ahead. Praise the Lord that both surgeons are so pleased considering where we started. He said I may need some revisions, that we will know more in a few weeks, but for now watch and wait while the tissue continues to heal and settle. Hopefully, the pain will start to lessen soon, though I'm not sure with the exercises, and the swelling will become less. Stay tuned! There's more to come in this journey for sure. I wait with baited breath.
I had already mentioned how my mind started wandering in the waiting room. All of these women waiting for their breast cancer appt. Oh how different my journey could have been. These women who have more on their plate and minds on this one day than I may have in years of my own (much longer than my silly 23 days). A shout out to those readers who have struggled with this very challenging battle. The Sarahs and Rachels of my life. My hat off and heart open to you. And my apologies for not supporting you more than I did in your journey. And anyone else facing a cancer diagnosis. I've been there and I know that it sucketh! Each day is a battle itself and the mind lay heavy. But cancer is meant to be conquered! And when not, no doubt, purpose comes from heart break. I see that first hand in my career.
So there we sit among these incredible women and I'm quickly reminded why I chose the crazy choice. Why this ever so frightening decision to move forward with a mastectomy became much less frightening than the alternative. These women reminded me of the value and intent of my choice.
"Sally McCollum?"
Well, here we go. Back to the intake room for a weight check (Again for the umpteenth time. It hasn't changed, people! Well, ok so it has.) Blood pressure check. Temp. All well except for the weight. Then, move to the patient room. "please slip on this gown, open in the front, and remove everything underneath." Truly, my favorite part of any appointment. At least I won't be embarrassed by someone seeing my new granny bra. But a quick reminder that yet again there is absolutely no dignity in this adventure. Slip on gown and wait. Well slip on gown seems way more simple that the actual. It's a lengthy process getting dressed and redressed with four drains coming out of your side. And a chest wall that feels like you just completed training for iron man. It's a very strategic maneuvering of this and that to change clothes. Painful! Ron and I have it down pat by now, but still it's a process with many organized steps involved.
I'm actually a little excited to see lead plastic surgeon. I haven't seen him since the hour before reconstruction surgery when he came in with his little black marker to practice his Picasso techniques. I wanted to hear his thoughts of how it went. Well, knock knock, and in he walks with this huge grin on his face.
I actually think he was just as excited to see me. (From the get go, I think he had considered me his challenge. His Goliath. My radiated damaged chest his rival and foe that needed to be put in it's place. His chance to get it right and prove to the plastic community that this can be done.) "Sally, before I say anything else, I did my very best work just as I promised."...."and sorry about the four drains." I laughed but gave him ample ragging about the pesky little suckers and how I wanted to throw something at him when i woke up and saw not 2 but 4. He was very sneaky.
Sally: "Ok, now let's see the masterpiece." Then, I drop my gown and wait.
Silence.
Sally: "Ut oh, what?" I've been worried about the viability of the skin so I'm sitting there worried he sees something wrong. To break the silence and tension I ask him to pay me a dollar for having the opportunity to see the imposters. (I figure if I had charged people all along I would have enough for that bora bora trip we've been wanting to take.)
Then he just grins. A big ole slap happy grin. "My very best work!" It looks great. Better than I was expecting considering all the risks we had. Tissue looks great. No redness. I ask him about all the swelling and tightness and was that normal? Lots of dialogue I won't bore you with her. (Remember, I've never had reconstruction before, so who knows how it's supposed to feel or look). He says that yes, it seems a little tighter than normal so I should now go bra less for two weeks.
What??? Did he just say "bra less?" In my 37 years of existence, I've never once been able to go bra less. He has lost his every living mind. But he is insistent that I need to reduce the pressure on the chest so that the tissue underneath gets enough blood supply to stay viable and not damage the implant. He's concerned, but not worried. So bra less it will be, but it's freaking me out. I didn't have the heart to tell him my mom had just purchased SEVEN new granny no support no frill no fun bras. Note to self: break this news to mom gently after the appointment.
"Sally, I couldn't be more pleased with how the tissue has adjusted. Now we just wait."
"Lead plastic surgeon, I have to take your word for it. I have nothing to compare it to. You did a beautiful job, but they still are odd, weird, and awkward." I inserted the story about how it feels getting new hands (see previous post). He said that was the perfect analogy he could now use with patients. "I love you're work, thank so much, but I'm still adjusting and it's gong to be a while before I love, or even like, your work."
"Sally, no lifting for another week. Then, on Monday, start these exercises. We need to get your strength and mobility back. I'm very pleased and optimistic that we've passed the worry point, but I want to see you back in two weeks." (paraphrased)
Sally: "Doc, now there's the matter of these pesky little drains that make living absolutely miserable." - I can be a tad dramatic. Smile. "Well then, let's take them out!" (I did try and talk him into the complementary liposuction, but he want budging. Maybe if I remind him my abdomen had been radiated to he might find liposuction an equally fun challenge. At that point at the confirmation of drain removal, all of heaven opened up with sound of the hallelujah chorus. David pulled out his harp. Peter a harmonica. I personally saw Moses grab Ruth's arm for a celebratory fox trot across the cloud covered floor. Jesus himself tapped a foot in rhythm. Even my Ron sitting next to me had a smile (he's not known for getting super excited about stuff). And God simply winked an eye at me, him fully aware he himself had orchestrated this perfect moment. (I will spare you the details of hyperventilation that occurred during the drain removal).
Long gone are the drains!!! Long gone is the gore! Long gone is my screeching when we milk the tubing. Long gone are my tears where we clean the sight. Hello, freedom! He promised provision. There hadn't been a single glitch since August 7. My course could have gone every shade of bad. It had every earthly reason to. He doesn't promise the Christian the perfect life or even a good day. He just promises his hand in every twist and turn. But he does love to shower his children with blessings. And blessings galore have I. I'm not worthy, therefore, I'm immensely grateful. So whatever his purpose and intent in giving me the easy road, I promise to make it worth while. So we aren't completely out off the woods, but i can see the river ahead. Praise the Lord that both surgeons are so pleased considering where we started. He said I may need some revisions, that we will know more in a few weeks, but for now watch and wait while the tissue continues to heal and settle. Hopefully, the pain will start to lessen soon, though I'm not sure with the exercises, and the swelling will become less. Stay tuned! There's more to come in this journey for sure. I wait with baited breath.
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