Survivor. I’m a survivor. Never did I expect to be a Pink Survivor. Ever get so many things in your brain at once that the only solution is silence? For months the silence has been violent. It has been very frustrating to come to terms with this new me. A river of fast flowing emotions has eroded new perspectives. Some decent and some cynical. At the beginning of this, I was most afraid of who I was going to be left with when it was over. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m now at the end and I’m so overwhelmed with it all that I can’t exactly find the words to describe how I’m doing now. The silence is numbing.
I’ve been waiting for some magnificent exclamation to notate the conclusion of this episode of Cancer. My doctors seem to be more thrilled about this than I am. I’m overwhelmed and can’t seem to find the actual point. Spoiler alert, there wasn’t one. I guess that’s why I’m unable to locate any celebratory emotions. I’m still looking at this situation like WTF? It still blows my mind to pieces to say out loud, “I had cancer.”
During these months of solitude, thinking is something I have had ample time to pursue. I’ve conversed with fellow survivors, read medical journals, watched vlogs, interacted with others going through the same thing at the same time, and a myriad of other vehicles of thought. One message that hung around is her perspective on her approach. She said, “I don’t have to, I get to.” Instantly I understood the mantra. There is absolutely a choice in whether one fights cancer. That is such a shiny way to attack chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries, etc. I’ve written about my own tendencies to find the silver lining in all things.
My life was exactly where I wanted it. The boys were just beginning their spring season on baseball teams. I was ecstatic to spend those three-four months at the ball fields with my kiddos and getting to make more friends for them and for us. Work was going full throttle, but in a mostly good way. I had just really settled into our house. My life was showing every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears. Crisis cares not for timing or convenience. Today, the boys are staying with their dad full time, work has slowed down so I can heal, and my house is full of evidence that more than just myself live here. In the matter of one doctor’s appointment, everything was gone. By the end of March, I slept alone in my house without truly knowing what the conditions were going to be when the kids came back.
My heart broke when I had to send the boys away. I have zero regrets of that decision. There is no way I could have successfully completed the treatment I have and maintained the levels of parenthood they need. There isn’t a time of the day that I am not weighted down by immense guilt. I know I did the right thing. It’s a real challenge to tell yourself to think a different way when the past 25 years of my life has revolved around the kiddos. Now that I have time to be selfish, I feel bad about doing anything without them. I feel guilty for missing every detail of their day right now. This one is going to continue to pain me for a while yet.
Guilt. Let’s talk about that a little bit. I feel guilty for not having a harder time dealing with cancer. The nightmares that I’ve known dear friends and family have gone through, I feel awful sharing anything about my lack of real nightmares. I tolerated chemotherapy very well. Was I tired and weak? Yes. Honestly, that’s the extent of most of it. The preparations I went through anticipating the side effects leave me feeling embarrassed at this point. I have unopened packages of supplies that I never needed. I’m beyond grateful that it wasn't harder. Please don’t mistake this as arrogance. The guilt has found a way to minimize my experience. Like, I don’t feel appropriate complaining about anything because so many have had it wildly worse.
For years I have had the ideology that idle hands are the devil’s playthings. Being unengaged in something productive has truly intimidated me into action. While I have had many days and weeks where I have done nothing, the guilt is its most vigilant. If I have time to be this “lazy,” I have time to be doing something to better myself or my situation. Well, here’s the shit of cancer treatment: there is a LOT of idle time. It’s been hurry up and wait since February. Since my last infusion, I have been battling frustration with wanting and ability being at odds. I have plans. But I’m just not quite able to commit yet. I’m still healing. Yet, I feel guilty for needing a day or three to be spent laying down and resting. It’s rude.
Today I am done with the hurrying up. Surgeries have successfully been completed. I have my new pair of boobs that I’m waiting patiently to heal. The surgery on Tuesday last week was quick and I have been recovering very well. I went to my post op appointment today and they’re very happy with how the healing is looking so far. The swelling is still significant and I’m uncomfortable, but I’m way better than I was with those god-awful expanders in. The liposuction they did for shaping and contouring my new boobies was a surprise! But someone recently told me there’s not much you complain about in this life. Extra liposuction isn’t one of them.
My hair is growing back and it’s super soft. I was hoping that my hair would come back all white. So far, it looks like it’ll be the same color it was before. The texture is the next adventure I’m waiting for. These days I’m just tickled that I can shape the hair with pomade! I’m more and more comfortable not wearing a cap anymore. Just in time for beanie season!
I’ve lost all the weight I gained during chemo. It was about 15 pounds from the steroids. Right before this past surgery, I was actually wearing jeans again! I should be able to get back into fitted clothes again by next month. I plan on getting into the gym again. Gotta get this body looking better to match my new boobs!
This first Breast Cancer Awareness month as a survivor, I get to tell you you’re capable. It’s hard. Life is. It’s unfair and uncalculated. Cancer is unique to each of us. Yours is not mine. Mine is not yours. What worked for me may not work for you. What was easy for me, may not be for you. What I know for certain is cancer will level you. Cancer took away a giant piece of my peace. What cancer didn’t take away was my life. I get to keep living albeit under new conditions. What my next challenge is figuring out how to incorporate those conditions into what peace feels like now.
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