" Man performs and engenders so much more than he can or should have to bear. That's how he finds that he can bear anything." ~William FaulknerAfter physical therapy, my day is almost gone, even though I've been at Crazy Land since 6:15 today. (Purely accidental, I assure you.)
Step one of the new plan has already been implemented. I've been listening to Christmas music and wearing my jingle bell bracelet. Okay, I confess. I always wear my jingle bell bracelet from Thanksgiving until Christmas. I make it tinkle whenever I walk around the office. I do what I can to annoy the natives in Crazy Land. Of course, they'd never mention it to me if they found it irritating, but it's bound to get under somebody's skin.
Step two of the new plan is to sit with the sorrow, to maintain some inner silence while I feel the loss. It's hard to write or talk when I'm listening to the sadness, so I've gone missing this week from everyone.
When Dr. Ross told me that I had to have a mastectomy, his physician's assistant told me that a year from treatment, no one would know anything ever happened. I held onto that prediction as if it were a lifeline. I don't think I ever really dealt with the loss of my breast. I didn't have to; I believed her.
It dawned on me last night that Dr. Ross actually talked to me about the problems I would face with reconstruction. He said he would discuss them in conference with his colleagues and try to find the best way to deal with them. I assumed all would be well.
The type of breast cancer I have is not the kind most women have; only 10 percent of diagnosed breast cancers are like mine. There were cancer cells throughout my entire breast, extending very close to the chest wall. After the breast was gone and chemo endured, there was an enormous amount of radiation to the area. My doctors feared the proximity to the chest wall and the neck. We were unable to save any skin, which would have made reconstruction easier.
I'd rather be alive than dead. I'd rather have this breast than none. Nonetheless, I'm angry and frustrated. And sad. So, so sad. I'm present with the heartache; I'm silent as I mourn.
The new plan will continue to unfold and, inevitably, I will be better. As Julian of Norwich said, "...all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."
Tinkle tinkle.
4 comments:
My heart goes out to you. The emotional scars cancer leaves behind are more than enough without having to be reminded by the physical scars.Still do not give up hope maybe your Dr. Ross would have a special trick for the scar tissue in his knowledge bank.
Thank you for your compassion. ;-)
If this gives you any comfort, I have a friend who was diagnosed with stage 4 breat cancer. Her surgery went clear into her arm, up her neck etc. She lost lots of skin from the radiation. I don't think the doctors thought she had a snowball's chance in hell but she is doing just great and cancer free.
I would be glad to have both of mine gone. Ever since this Fibrocystic breast stuff arrived a few years ago I have been in pain.
G, I am so thankful you are alive.
I remember reading you back when I was Stickers at tblog and have always and will continue to be supportive and your friend if you will let me....it's a boob that was full of sickness and now thank goodness it is gone, YOU are way more important.
Please, please know I am not trying to hurt you here.
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