Anger is Part of the Healing Process

Today I feel betrayed. Pissed off and betrayed. I know it's not true (gotta let that rational mind speak for a moment, but the rest of this is going be a free-for-all of irrational ranting at the universe... there's your warning for this journal entry.)

...I know it's not true, but today I feel like my body has failed me.

For the greater part of my life, I have not been in love with the way my body looked, but for the most part I could focus on the body as process and be proud of the things I could DO, on the function and ability and health of my body. And there have been a few times in my life when I was really proud of both the form and the function of my body - first when I was doing yoga and pilates 5x a week - this was when I first realized I was and could be physically strong. And more recently when I started running and was amazed that for the first time in my life I was actually involved in a sport/activity that was challenging and I did it because I loved how it made me FEEL rather than worrying about whether or not it would make me look better. People were amazed that I willingly woke up at 4-4:30 most mornings to run before the day got too hot, and I know if I woke up those days and thought, "I have to go for this run or I'll feel fat" I wouldn't have gotten out of bed most of those days. But the fact that I got trim and toned from doing this activity that made me mentally and emotionally feel stronger too was just an incredible bonus.

I felt like my body was really doing and looking pretty damn good. Especially for a 35 year old mother of two.

Then - dun dun dun (yes, that's music, trust me) - CANCER.

And for most of the last 5.5 weeks since my diagnosis, I have still been proud of my abilities. We got the cancer early and got it out. I was healing well, had my range of motion back immediately, felt pain, but nothing too extreme or really even requiring too many medications.

Last Monday the drainage tubes came out. Dr. Jacobsen said I could wear my (incredibly uncomfortable and hot - temperature-wise, not sexy) compression vest a bit less, but I was mostly just looking forward to NOT wearing it to the VL32 orientation event on Wednesday evening.

As I was getting in the shower on Wednesday, a day I remember as being particularly high in "wow, my post-mastectomy body is pretty cool looking!", I noticed my left side was a bit... squishy. I called Dave in to look at it and asked him to email the doc about it. Dr. J had warned I might get a little fluid build up after the drains were removed and he'd just drain it off at our next appointment on Monday (ugh, the thought of what this procedure might entail just makes me queasy) but once I saw the squish, I realized I had no idea what constituted a little fluid build up versus something to worry about. And whether or not it was concerning that I already had fluid build up only 2 days after the drains were out or if I'd need to be drained (uuuuuugh) before a week had passed.

And then of course, I had to wonder if this meant I would need the drain put back IN. Even more ugh, and possibly some almost-vomit at this thought.

Dave sent an email to the doctor, I showered, went to my event sans-vest and had a great time. When I got home, the doctor had replied that I should just keep the vest on and he'd see me on Monday as planned.

Since then, the fluid build up has continued. I still have no idea whether it's a normal amount of build up or not, but when I woke up this morning and realized my left arm feels like it weighs 30 lbs and my fingers were going numb from having my arm curled around a stuffed hedgehog, I had to wonder if all this fluid might be pressing on a nerve or something. I have not taken the damn vest off for longer than a shower in 4 days, so I haven't been checking the progress of the build up too much, but just from the different ways I have to adjust the compression pads in there now, I know things are different and not so cool.

So this morning Fin asked for banana bread for breakfast. This is one of those foods that is right on the line of being dessert or an acceptable breakfast food, but I agreed with him that it sounded good this morning, so I said I'd get some for both of us while Dave and Greta went on a bike ride. I sliced a couple of pieces of homemade (Thanks, Jean!) banana bread and turned to get plates from the cabinet... and realized I couldn't reach to the top shelf with an arm that felt like a lead weight.

I got bowls from the bottom shelf instead and cut the bread in half so it would fit, which of course then led to a hysterical screaming fit from Fin because he didn't want his cut and he didn't want a bowl OR a plate and daddy let him just eat it in the living room from his hand and it was unfair that mommy said he needed a bowl and he wanted a piece that wasn't cut anyway and and and... and I grabbed the bread and threw it across the table.

The mommy guilt over not being able to interact with them regularly has been growing steadily for the last 2+ weeks. I'm either too tired or unable to pick them up or just don't have the physical capacity to help them build forts (can't lift couch cushions) or push them on the swing and even when they just want to crawl in my lap for a book or want to play tickle monster... I have to be so cautious that most of the time, they'd rather just play with Daddy anyway. I used to be their favorite, at least some of the time.

Stupid fucking cancer.

So after Fin and I got our yelling at each other done and he decided he really DID want a piece of banana bread cut in half in a bowl (yep, Mommy's right again) I realized I should shower while he was momentarily entertained by Wall-E.

Since the drains came out almost a week ago, I have been aware of the pains from the drains (and I like to rhyme some of the time). I haven't spent much time checking their healing because, well, I've been keeping the vest ON as instructed, and because honestly, they're hard to get a good angle to see. I can feel them, but I'm never sure if what I'm feeling is... scabbing?... or leftover adhesive from the bandages that ripped off skin every time I changed them. Either way, I didn't want to pick at them too much.

But today I was concerned about my healing - between the squishiness that actually almost looks like a BOOB when I have the vest off and the numbness and lead-like feeling of the left arm, I figured I should make sure the drain spots weren't getting weird on me, too.

So as I prepared for my shower this morning, I tried to get as close to the mirror as I could with the bizarre angle necessary to see the side of my ribcage while holding up an arm that is unnaturally heavy at an unnatural angle. I was pleased to realize that the drain spot is actually smaller than I'd been thinking it was and most of what I was feeling really was just leftover bandage adhesive on my very sensitive and tender skin.

But as I tried to carefully clean my skin before the shower, I realized that this particular position also gave me a very good and up-close view of the scar from the lymph node biopsy. Dr. J had removed the steristrip bandage from the lymph node area at the same time as the drains, but again, it's a part of the body that is just kind of hard to see unless you make an effort. Obviously, I could see and feel the scar from one angle (hmmmm, how close does one want to shave her armpits to a healing scar???) but seeing the actual scar in the mirror up close was a bit surprising.

It is much longer than I thought. And the stitches are dark black, the skin between stitches is angry and red (though not infected looking in any way, I just know I tend to get keloid scars - fun) and it's about 3 inches long. And it will almost always be visible in any tank top or cap-sleeved shirt for the rest of my life.

And of course I realized that once the steristrips are off my chest, I will have similar ugly and angry welts and stitches and scars that cover almost the entire span of my chest. Dr. J can tell me until he's blue in the face that my new breasts are going to be perfect and absolutely beautiful, but I've seen too many pictures of reconstructive surgeries and had a few too many survivors say things like "My new boobs look great with clothes!" or call their tattooed nipples "Pepperonis" to know that they will never really look like I want to imagine they will again.

And I know I'm cancer-free and healing and appearances don't mean shit, but damn it, I have to go through all this and will never feel my nipples again and the scars are just too big and too ugly and too REAL today. And I want to fucking be able to feel my left arm and not have it go numb from holding up a book.

And I got into the shower and cried for the first time because of how my post-cancer body looks. Because I haven't run in over two weeks and I already feel like I've lost my muscle tone and shape. I don't have anything close to runner's legs anymore (they were just barely starting to show up after running for two months) and I just feel squishy and flabby all over. And too sore from healing to get back to working out again.

And I know I'm healing and that's where my energy needs to be going, but I really considered just going out for a run today anyway because I can fucking handle physical pain, but I'm not sure I can handle the mental and emotional crap without some release. But I knew that wasn't rational, so I just cried instead.

And I skipped the birthday party because I knew I would be no help at Chuck E. Cheese when I couldn't pick up the kids or play any games. And I called my amazing friend Steph and she let me yell about all the things that were making me mad and she made me admit what I was REALLY mad about and who I was really mad at and what I could or should be doing to get the help and support I need. And I was hungry and unable to make myself lunch and I hated it, but I called my mom and sister to ask someone to come bring me food. It was one of the hardest phone calls I've ever had to make.

If it's this hard for me to ask for help from my FAMILY, I am in trouble. And I'm not even really sick yet. I am angry that I got cancer at 35 - I was plenty busy with my life before this. I am angry that a body I was taking damn good care of decided to go bad on me. I am angry that the doctor keeps telling me everything is fine, but I can barely use my left arm and I don't know if that's normal or a problem that needs to be addressed before tomorrow (he hasn't returned this morning's email yet). I am angry that my house is a mess and I'm not allowed to clean it up and I'm angry at myself for doing it anyway.

Today 3 different friends called up out of the blue to ask if they could bring something by to me. I told them all no because I was in such a bad mood and the house was too messy to let anyone see it. But I can't clean it, either. And a 4th friend just showed up at my door unannounced with a giant basket of gifts from my work friends that is too heavy for me to lift (even if I was allowed to lift things, it's a big heavy basket).

And I realize that even when I'm so damn angry at the universe because I can't make myself a fricking sandwich and can't reach the plates because I got CANCER...

people love me and want to help and are thinking of me. And I HAVE to get better at letting them and asking for what I need.

WHY is this so hard for me? I HATE that my sister had to come over to make me a grilled cheese sandwich today. But I love that she did it at the drop of a hat. And she took out the garbage and cleaned the table off while she was here. And then my mom showed up to help Dave with the kids after the birthday party. And I got brave enough to call one of my friends back and say she could bring dinner over after all - because she won't care if the house is messy, she just wants to come hang out with me.

I am working to deal with all this crap. And more crap that I'm not posting about because it's just too damn much on top of cancer already. I am really, really hoping that whatever draining needs to be done tomorrow isn't as bad as I think and that I get the feeling in my arm back soon.

Because right now, it's just pissing me off. And anger doesn't make healing any easier. But love from you guys really, really does.

<3
-B-

Some Days Are Just Hard

So - three days post-op and today got hard. It wasn't a bad day, really - got great news from the doctor, but it was just somehow harder than it's been up until now.

Of course, I'm writing this as I'm physically and emotionally exhausted, but I figure that's all part of this roller coaster, huh?

My kids went back to school today. First day back for both of them and I had absolutely zero role in that. I couldn't even tell you what they wore, what was packed for their lunches or if anyone even took pictures. I just missed it entirely. Because of stupid cancer. I didn't get to drop them off or pick them up and by the time I saw them tonight at dinner and asked how school was and what they did, they just said they played. Which, granted, is what they say most days, but I felt like I was missing out.

Today was also my first post-op visit with Dr. Jacobsen, my plastic surgeon. He has a fancy schmancy office in the Biltmore area and his office is always so packed there are never enough seats. My appointment was at 11am and I usually take my pain meds and valium around 10, so I only took a half dose so I'd be awake enough to actually have a conversation with the man. I was fighting that half a valium the whole time I was in the waiting room.

We didn't get called back in to a room until after noon. The visit went well, he said everything looked exactly as it should, I'm healing even faster than average and already have my full range of motion back. He gave me an A+ for being 3 days out of surgery, so I was pretty glad about that. We go back in a week to have the drains removed.

After that we ventured out to lunch, which was nice. We spent a good part of the meal guessing women's bust sizes and I actually even went up to one of the employees before we left to ask her about her breasts. I figured it really was kind of a once in a lifetime conversation, so why the heck not? I explained that I was a few days post-mastectomy and contemplating my reconstruction surgery.

She was slender but not skinny and had a nice figure, so I was curious if she would tell me what size she was and if she was happy with her size, able to be active, etc. She very readily said she was a 34B thought they were great. She said she could still go braless when she wanted, but she could also dress them up and make them more noticeable, too.

Who knew having breast cancer was a license to just go talk to pretty women about their boobs? LOL

By the time we eventually made it home, we'd been out about 5 hours and I was quite sore from all the prodding and probing and moving about. I took a half a codeine, passed out and proceeded to have drug-induced nightmares for a while.

Really not fun.

So, I'm physically more sore than I've been in days, drained and having nightmares. I figured a shower might be a good idea.

...except for the fact that even the pressure of the water on my bruised chest was painful. I could wash my hair by myself, but rinsing it was a challenge. Dave was there to help hold the drains, but even just the logistics of trying to figure out how I could turn around or reach the soap or rinse off was frustrating. And painful. And stupid.

I know I'm not the best person at asking for help. And I know I'm not always that good at accepting the help even when it's offered. I am working on these things and cancer is MAKING me work on these things. But when it hurts to brush my hair, I don't want to ask for help, I just get pissed off. Because why the hell can't I raise my arms long enough to brush my hair????

And when I'm brushing my hair and say out loud, "Crap this hurts," why isn't that enough for anyone to realize I could actually use some help even if I'm not smart enough to ask for it on my own?

I really have not been putting on any sort of facade about my reaction to cancer. I have laughed way, way more than anything else in the last few weeks. I have felt great since Friday - sore and tired, of course, but mentally and emotionally I've been really good. But today was hard and I felt like I'm not allowed to admit that because it's too much for everyone else for me to be having a hard day.

I have been apologizing to everyone for weeks for getting cancer. I know it doesn't fit into anyone's plans for the next few months. But today I was actually told that even though my cancer is really inconvenient for everyone, no one blames me for it.

I guess that's supposed to make me feel better?

My body and mind need rest now. I will be more chipper about this again tomorrow.
-B-