Monday, February 21, 2011

Mirror Mirror, You are Not The Boss of Me

For those of you who have been faithfully following my story since my diagnosis last spring, you will probably remember this post.  It was late September.  I had just finished chemo.  My bilateral mastectomy AND BREAST RECONSTRUCTION were scheduled for the end of October, when the equivalent of the Titanic hitting the iceberg happened to me.  Or so I thought at the time.  Here's the post.
 
Fortune Teller


It was a dark and stormy night.

Why do I feel as though this passage in my life is turning into a bad novel? The worst case of fiction ever.

Can't I just have one thing I want? (She whimpers.) Can't I just have one thing, in this thing I did not ask for, go the way I WANT IT TO GO? Damn.


Get ready for the anti-serenity prayer, prayed by God's favorite donkey girl. Hey. No laughing. I'm gonna rant now and whine like a baby and stomp my feet. And spit.


I'm too mentally exhausted to recount how the plot thickened today, but let me put it to you like this. Ever ride Space Mountain at Disneyland? Rockin rollercoaster, right turn, right turn, right turn, right turn,


THEN BAM, FREAKIN SHARP LEFT TURN YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING AND YOUR WHOLE BODY, WHICH HAS BEEN LEANING INTO THOSE RIGHT TURNS, IS VIOLENTLY THROWN LEFT AND YOU SCREAM BABY SCREAM.


Let me put it to you like this. It's like a damn roux now, headed towards gumbo or jambalaya and I ORDERED SOL MEUNIERE.


Deep breath.


Are you ready for this?


True North had a scare with the twins yesterday. Everything is fine except HER DOCTOR thinks she is overdoing it, and wants her to drastically reduce her work week and surgical schedule. Especially the surgeries over five hours on her "Babies Onboard" feet.


What does that mean for our heroine?


Another twist of twisted, gosh how much more of this, fate.


Am I tied down to the railroad tracks and just don't realize it? Take a look at me. Is there a sign on my back that says "kick me?"


If I'd like True North as my plastic surgeon, I will have to wait till after her return from maternity leave to have my reconstruction. February. Oh no, wait, it gets better. After being radiated, I have to wait six months before reconstruction. That really makes it June. Kinda makes the whole who-tee-do dance I've been who-tee-stewing about regarding plastic surgeons moot.


Let's review. A breast cancer diagnosis. Five months of chemo. Double mastectomy. Five and a half weeks radiation.


Iced with months and months with no boobies and dragging this thing well into 2011?


Deep breath. Blow it out like a dragon. Scorch.
Let the record show that in addition to all she is, Da Good Witch is a fortune teller.
Somebody, get my Fay Ray outfit and cue the JAWS music please.
Shit.


Well you all know how the story went, and I've been living for four months now with the scooped out, deflated, flattened and partially radiated version of my former fat bunnies, Flopsy and Mopsy.  At this point, and I'm sure from all points forward until I do get my reconstruction, they don't behave much, as in, I can't wear a bra or really anything resembling one.  I usually don't wear anything underneath my shirt, but occasionally on special occasions I will try to lift them up a bit and will wear a tube top sports bra.

Today I went with Husband to Kohl's, early birthday present for him, some new shoes.  My Husband takes more time shopping and making a selection than a seventeen year old schoolgirl shopping for her prom dress.  (Yes, 6C, I'm also talking to you.)  Actually I get a kick out of it, it's kinda cute, like having a GBF, gay boy friend.  It's a good thing Husband is usually a few days behind on reading my blog, and going out of town on business mid week.  He's really going to complain about that one.  Anyway, I knew he'd be occupied shopping for some time.  I wandered off, bravely deciding to try on swimsuits as my skin is just about ready to enter the pool again.

"Oh hell no" I'm sure all the ladies in the dressing rooms next to me heard me say in my most disgusted voice as I tried on the first suit.

"Good luck with that" as the second suit shimmied on and was ripped off.

"In your dreams" was number three.

I never made it to number four.  Heavy sigh.  I stood in very bad light, panties only, and took a good hard look at myself in the full size dressing room mirror.

When did I get so short, and so fat, and so so

boobless?

I was thinking tonight about how absolutely devastated I was that I'd have to undergo surgery for my cancer, and not wake up with my new boobs.  I was devastated.  It was something I had to work through, and it was not easy, adjusting to life without two of my personal favorites, my boobs and my hair.

I have evolved now.  I feel differently about myself.  I'm not saying that what I see in the mirror I am happy with.  In fact, I'm very unhappy with it, but more like when you were hoping for mint chocolate chip ice cream but all they have is chocolate chip.

What I see in the mirror is not the sum of me.  Not even remotely.

In fact, even though I could have my reconstruction in just a few months, the truth is,

I'm not ready.

After all the hurtin and healing I've been through and still going through, I am not ready to sign up for the next big can of whoop ass, even though I will get boobs and a flat tummy out of it.

I'm not ready.

I don't know when I will be.

I'll let you know.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Finding a bathing suit -- not a fun experience under the best of circumstances but when one is boobless even less fun! I ended up buying a regular (who can afford a mastectomy suit) and altering the bra. I don't wear falsies so cut the rounded peaks of the foam bra in the suit, flattening it out and resewing. Now it's flat like me and fits! Now if I could just make my stomach flat to match . . .

As always enjoy reading your posts.

Martha said...

Replied and hit enter before adding my name (reply was about bathing suits). Anyway, enjoy reading your posts. Thank you for putting words to what so many feel.

writergirldreams said...

Thank you Martha, for listening, and then sharing how you got crafty to solve your booblessness. Thank you Sister.

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