I’m beginning to realize that Todd was right, that my plastic surgeon must’ve been exaggerating when he said I’d feel like skiing after three weeks. He obviously doesn’t know I will probably never feel like skiing. Surgery doesn’t have anything to do with it. So I guess that’s where my vision was, expecting myself to be myself by week three, to resume most of my normal life’s activities. And maybe a bit extra what with the holidays and all. So I went back to school, mopped, shelved, cleaned the bathrooms, swept, cooked, exercised, hosted gatherings here and there, had Thanksgiving company for a week, just regular life. Only I’ve hated not feeling like regular.
I hate that I’ve been able to do various activities, merely teasing myself that my body could handle them. Because I’ve been sore the next day or two. It’s just hard because there are no real guidelines. And I told my navigator that. Make a list for the next patient. Taking it easy means all sorts of things, depending on who you are. For some that means taking it down a notch and maybe walking rather than running your usual ten miles. But for those who are used to lounging on the couch for the past three weeks, maybe it’s time to get up and make your own toast. I haven’t known how to judge if the pain is normal or not because every day I’d seemingly add a new activity. Was it that I pushed myself or is it just normal to feel tight and prickly, like a case of shingles or a bad sunburn? Into week four. I never got a hand-out on that.
So I’m still not sure I know. I know I’ve been able to walk miles at a time from very early on without a problem. My legs work fine. I spent a good chunk of Saturday shopping after leaving the hospital on Thursday. And it’s felt good to be with Todd on early Sunday mornings, to walk amid the Christmas decorations at the mall with various friends during the recent weeks. It’s nice to feel a bit proactive, to combat all the sedentary days. And treats of the season.
Sleeping is getting better. I’ve been on my back the whole time. Except the past week or so I’ve been trying out my sides for a few minutes at a time, which hurts still. My torso is tender and so it’s an effort to turn over to get to my side and then the pressure of being there hurts. So I don’t last long. But I do eventually try the other side just to even things out. Sometimes I wiggle a bit and lie on my wingtips just to take the pressure off my back. The first two weeks I rested propped up a bit on the couch. Still getting up early-ish (5:30-6) mostly because I’m excited to get going again and also because by that time I’m so sore and stiff I just want to be upright. This is still my most painful time of day. Stiffly, I remember. The tight band around my back is slowly easing. I wonder if I will always greet that feeling from now on. And yet, looking back to even last week I feel a little softer, like the sharpness really is fading.
Sitting seems formal, but it kind of hurts to lean back against my incisions. Some arrangements are better than others. Prickly church chairs hurt more through thin blouses than my van seat with a puffy coat. So sometimes I sit up real straight and look a little rigid. It has felt better to sit up straight because it stretches out my tight back muscles. So I look like some prissy girl who’s trying to fake good posture. It’s nothing like that, but it looks like it. It’s getting better. I still can’t turn around that great. I feel like a girl with a neck brace when I try to back out of our driveway. In parking lots I look for spots I can pull all the way through in. But you know how easy that is to find at this time of year. I’ve been driving for the past three weeks, the truck steering wheel is a little stiff sometimes, but it’s been totally fine.
I haven’t napped much. Of course the first week or two I would rest for an hour or so a day. But it hurt so much to lie down, and getting up was worse. By the third week I’d all but given them up. I’d just try to go to bed an hour or so earlier. I’ve tried to rest on the couch occasionally, but inevitably the kids get home before I really get to sleep. I’m glad to give my body a little time-out even for a few minutes though. It makes me feel like I’m taking care of myself. But then again, I think a nap is good for everybody. Recovering from surgery or simply a busy morning. Like kindergarten in olden days, a little rest time is good medicine.
I’ve felt strong emotionally, completely thanks to your prayers. I’ve occasionally cried unexpectedly though. For a moment or two. Because it’s frustrating to not be able to do my whole regular life. Because even recently I’ve just hurt so much. Just the other day I was having to deal with the triangle of insurance, doctor, and lab offices, wondering if I was the one messing everything up, and after going in circles I just started crying out of nowhere when I hung up with one gal. This really isn’t too different from real life, I think we all have exasperating moments, times when we wonder what we’re doing, it might just overwhelm us all at once. I get it. I just did some cleaning to clear myself for a moment before I started calling again. It’s no one’s fault. I do my best to be kind to the person on the other end. Because I know most things can be worked out if we just communicate rationally and as friends. I think your prayers are what help me stay calm.
In some ways my family notices. Like they’re careful when they hug me. Occasionally I’ll ask one of them to help me with my coat sleeve or to lift a heavy box from a high shelf. But mostly they see me doing my stuff and assume I’m the same as always. I think they forget I’ve ever even been in the hospital. Five weeks ago was last month. Old news.
This would be easier to talk about if it were bone cancer maybe. The word breast changes things. Because they’re such a hyped-up part of society. I walk a thin and wobbly tightrope, wanting to be frank but respectful, to be real but not inappropriate. I’m sorry if I get it wrong.
I don’t even know how I’ve looked on the outside, I’ve just been more intent on what’s sore and what will make things hurt more or less. Except that I’ve had to be a little careful because my t-shirts haven’t always been this tight. My plastic surgeon doesn’t believe that I will want to remain the conservative, well-covered, middle-aged mom I am. He and Todd laugh. I just think it’s a mess and hope the swelling will eventually subside so I can put my arms down by my sides more naturally (the part under my arms has been so tender), it’s getting so I can. I’m also glad it’s winter and can get away with sweatshirts and other comfy fashion statements. I honestly think I look the basically the same as always on the outside. Maybe my dark eye circles are more pronounced, who knows. I do know my grays are longer than I like them. Waiting to hear about chemo, I didn’t want to waste money on coloring when I’d most likely lose the whole color job. You know I hate wastefulness.
This is the technical part, so close your eyes if you’re squeamish or prudish. I meet with my plastic surgeon next week. It’s been a month since I was in, when the last of my four drains was finally removed. He tells me the incision lines on my back will fade. They look the same as always to me: dried blood crusted under some kind of super glue. Long, nasty, ugly. Thankfully that part of me never shows. Even in a swim suit. Are you kidding? He will eventually (3-6 months out?) create nipples from the skin he grafted from my back. That I can't feel. And then I’ll get my first tattoos. 3-D even. Too bad that’s never been on my bucket list. I figure if I can’t come out of the hospital with a baby, this is something I’ve always thought about, so I might as well be excited and grateful for it, but you know me and you know I’m just regular, so it’s nothing noticeable. I’m sad for changing, to be honest. But there is no point grieving (for long) what I can’t get back. A quote I read today that I’m hanging onto: “Is there a more useless emotion than regret?” Not that I have regrets exactly. Just admitting that change can be hard. We all know that.
I still feel that this has been a minor hiccup in my season. So manageable and small in the grand scheme of things. Five weeks of some sore muscles and a few incisions. Really, does it even count? Looking back, I have felt much more acute pain. And much longer stretches of pain. Heart pains. I feel what I think some survivors of 9/11 may have felt, a bit of guilt. Over having such a small, treatable case. Hardly qualifies in my book. Every test has come back best case scenario. It’s like winning every single game.
Speaking of tests, finally got the results of genetic testing, a panel of 17 genes tested. All negative. Which is weird since my sister and grandma both had mastectomies at 34. My genetic counselor chalked it up to a bit of bad luck. I was elated! They’d also come across some “abnormal proliferation” in the right breast during the surgery that originally didn’t show anything unusual, but that came back benign. Margins are clear, only one node had to be taken, and that was negative as well. Onctotype test showed low chance of reoccurrence, but I will be on tamoxifen for 5-10 years. I just found out tonight that I don’t even have to do chemo—something I’d planned for and emotionally prepared for from the onset. Walking out of the clinic into the dark night with Todd’s hand in mine I finally let the tears out. He thought I was happy. It wasn’t that. Of course I was absolutely relieved. Of course. But it was more than that. It’s just not fair that it’s so easy for me when so many people around me are dealing with hard cancer. I cried all the way home. Guilty may be a useful word. I don’t know for what. So grateful. But not sure why not me. I thought I heard in my mind, “This isn’t your trial.”
I hardly feel like a “warrior sister” when I haven’t even seen a battle. I feel so overwhelmingly grateful. Just not worthy of being classified as a “survivor” when I haven’t even faced death. I feel the same as I did getting my master’s. Like not even attending graduation (which I didn’t). Because my program felt so chintzy compared with those receiving advanced engineering or organizational behavior degrees. Here I am again reliving those same feelings. I think I’ll put this experience in a box with my degrees, tucked away. And yet, no matter how big or small the trial, we all learn some things along the way. So I’m grateful for all the education I’ve been getting. But that’s for another day.
Today I was admittedly edgy, not sure what the balance of the next few months would look like. I had a headache, I was nervous, I'm not usually like that. But I was. All the way downtown in the dimming evening light. I calmed myself by reminding myself we would just do what needed to be done. If this was what it was all about, then we would move forward. I prayed more specifically that I’d be able to have a good attitude. That whatever needed to happen would happen. That we and the doctor would be able to make good decisions about the future. Like a kid praying. I don’t know how to do it fancy. But I also know He would rather have my raw emotion than to wait until I get it right.
I am still having trouble knowing what to pray for. To be honest, I’ve gotten frustrated with Him and the slowness of the healing process and have asked that I can just serve without being sore the next day. I should’ve been praying to know what I can and can’t do. I know He would’ve told me. But I never thought about that. Because the only words I can get out are how grateful I am. Overwhelmingly grateful. To be trusted with this. To have it be so easy. Is that a blessing? An easy trial. Is it even a trial? I haven’t talked to Him about that. I don’t think He sees this the way I do. I’m just so grateful for the many ways He’s shown me He’s near, that He loves us, that He will always be close. And so while I’m not sure what exactly the point of all this has been, that’s something I’m grateful to know intently. I’d do it all again for the reminder.
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