Stage 3, Step 3

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. ~Barbara Bloom (I'm not sure this quote goes with this post, but I like it anyway.)

It dawned on me last night that I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer. Oh shit...how did I not know that? I reviewed what I know about breast cancer staging, just in case I'd jumped to a hasty conclusion. No. Stage 3. Then I called my mom this morning and told her I'd just realized I have Stage 3 cancer.

"Well, they told you that at the time," she said. "I don't think you could handle it then. There were too many things happening too fast to deal with it all."

Well, hell. I wish someone had mentioned it more than once. Seems a little silly to be terrified now. It actually seems kind of funny. Or maybe that's just the hysteria talking. Epiphanies. What a riot!

Today, I have step 3 of the new plan. I thought of it last night in between panic attacks.

What do I know about suffering?

I know that, no matter how good things are, we are never satisfied. We're filled with a restless hunger. Have the perfect job? If only we liked our kitchen more. Have the kitchen redecorated? If only the sun would come out. Sun shining? If only we were having a better hair day.... It's endless, this longing.

We want to push change away, halt time in its tracks, because with change comes loss. We don't like loss; it never feels good.

We yearn so much for feeling good (in all its possible manifestations) that we are unable to accept each changing moment as it comes. That is the solution to my suffering. I have to relearn it every so often. I thought I'd gotten it down during chemo, but no.

I am mourning the loss of my breast. The breast is gone and the new one is scarred and hardened in places. I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer and now I'm afraid. Things are as they are.

I can let go and experience these truths without judgment, holding close to me in loving embrace the sorrow, anger and fear. I can stop rejecting the breast and love it. I can stop rejecting the body and love it. It is my oldest friend, it will be with me until I die. I can feel some empathy for this skin that carries me around in it.

I can remember that, as much as I don't like this moment, it's perfect, nonetheless.

One More Thing...

I'm not angry with my beloved Dr. Ross. I still have him penciled in my datebook to elope with whenever he has time enough to think about it. Well, time and...you know...interest.

Jingle jingle.

Steps One And Two Of The New Plan

" 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 Faulkner

After 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.

Searching for a New Plan

There will be no more surgeries (aside from nipple reconstruction on the new breast). That means the hard, necrotic tissue will remain where it is, perhaps for years.

Dr. Kronowitz did inject steroids into the chelated areas on the new breast, navel and donor site. That may help with the way the scars look.

I started physical therapy today in hopes of improving strength and range of motion in my left arm.

There's not much else for me to say right now. I'm coming up with a new plan to come to terms with this new, permanent reality.