26 March 2012

Another Milestone

I'm three days away from my next surgery.  On Wednesday, Two-Drain will cut open my chest, remove the hard saline-filled silicone balloons I've been lugging around, and replace them with my permanent silicone implants.  I'm feeling rather indifferent.  I was going to say ambivalent, but I don't have mixed feelings about this one.  Instead I'm not feeling much of anything. Except, perhaps, inevitability and acceptance.  I will be glad to be rid of the tissue expanders, because they are uncomfortable. And I really hope the implants will feel better, but I have no illusions about them feeling natural or me feeling whole. That's a real misconception and disservice to mastectomy (victims? recipients?) patients.  (Telling them to consider reconstruction ”to make them whole”). The truth is that whenever you lose something, there is a hole left, and while you might get used to having the hole there, and it becomes the new normal, the hole never gets filled in.

Cancer has affected my life many ways.  It has given me the opportunity and strength to say no to stuff I would normally (and sometimes begrudgingly) do.  It has forced me to look at mortality with a different view, including evaluating my parenting.  Have I given my kids the tools and taught them the lessons they need to be happy and healthy productive citizens?  It has shown me both my physical limitations and boundless potential.  And same for my emotional restrictions and infinity.

I am seven months (plus) from my diagnosis.  It's a small interruption, an aberration in my life.  By the time I'm a year out, my surgeries will have healed and my body (mostly) recovered from the chemotherapy.  I am currently trudging forward steadfastly. My stepping stones are more apparent, laid out before me and I'm working my way across them.  One more surgery, one more recovery. Working my way back to and beyond my fitness level when I was diagnosed.  Making the lifestyle changes required to lessen my risk of recurrence.  Improving my health overall. Continuing drug therapy for the next five years.  And taking what I can get out of this experience that is beneficial, while leaving the fear, pity-party and anger behind.