There has been a growing unrest between the daily headlines. I can read it in the new creases of my brow. Lines have been drawn and the artillery of offensive acts and politifacts carefully stacked. I am armed to the teeth and ready to face the enemy.
That is where my story ends. Really I am too passive for battle. Thanksgiving Day looms and I already feel too full of it. I imagine hiding behind mounds of carved turkey and a bottomless glass of wine.
So many hurtful things have been said, and the resolution still remains. I conjure up foggy pageant images of Pilgrims and Indians breaking cornbread, sitting around an obscenely overflowing cornucopia. Meanwhile the gesture was wrapped in Friendship Blankets, murderous diseases hiding there.
My Gratitude, oh Gratefulness! Are you there?! I don’t want to wear you like some gaudy holiday sweater. I want the real thing, the healing embrace, your kindness and a softening heart. See me in the warm candelabra light of our shared feast.
I am not your sworn enemy. I am human. We are family.
What will it take to smooth out all your hurts, and mine? We can not take back and unravel all the stories told between us. I’m weary and calloused and seeking shelter from the hostility of the world. This world that gets smaller and smaller, as friends and family are picked off one by one, cozying up to our polarized Truths and the divisive voices that back us into corners, stoking anger, prickling with righteousness.
I want warm buttery rolls and soft trailing laughter. I want extra whipped cream on my pie and your acceptance of how tenuous and fleeting our time is together. Our holidays whipping past, our aging bodies giving way to the turning of the earth.
Please pass the gravy. I am not your sworn enemy.
Tell a Mom not to use her right arm. Tell this to a Mom with a 4 year old and watch her face. I am one of those people who is never content to do just one thing at a time. While the onions are sauteing, I can get the laundry going, start a fire, wipe a nose, answer a text and find my husband’s wallet. I will get back just in time to perfectly translucent onions ready to proceed with dinner. Multitasking is an art.
For those of you following my journey, you may recall that soon after my double mastectomy last July, I developed an infection in my right breast. I had this major operation and was booted out of the hospital in less than 24 hours by a cold and unfeeling nurse with no real discharge instructions. No one told me that I had to stay on antibiotics for the full length of time that I still had drains protruding from my sides. Coincidentally, the pharmacist only filled my script for a 6 day supply of antibiotics. (Never heard of that before and not sure why they didn’t give the full amount I needed.) I was suppose to have drains in for 2 weeks, but this was stretched out to 4 because of the infection. Was this an oversight by the surgeon, the hospital or the pharmacy? YES!
So, fast forward almost 8 months…. here we are. My right side is filling up with fluid and is quite painful. I saw the plastic surgeon last week and he ordered an ultrasound. The only way to fix this problem is to have another surgery to redo the breast that never healed properly. In case you are wondering how this works, the breast is recreated with a layer of Alloederm which is intended to adhere to your skin, and creates a pocket to hold the breast implant. In my case, the Alloderm didn’t properly adhere on the right side and my body is reading it as foreign material, creating all this extra fluid. Aside from the pain I look pretty lopsided, with one side looking fairly normal and the other teetering on being Pamela Anderson-esque. For the short term, the surgeon suggested I not use my right arm. Pshaw!
My second and hopefully last surgery in this breast cancer saga will be on April 8th. I am told it is way less invasive with a shorter recovery time than the mastectomy, which is great news. I also got the approval from my oncologist to have my port removed at the same time. Usually they like cancer patients to keep them in for a year after treatment, but given the particulars of my case, I’ve been given the green light. I am thrilled about this and see it as a big thumbs up to close this chapter of my life and move forward with the rest.
I know my blog has been fairly quiet, but as you see I’ve had quite a lot on my plate. In case you are wondering, I’m still writing. In fact, I am currently taking a writing class with Martha Frankel and I am starting to comb through the work I generated from this blog. Many people have suggested there is a book somewhere in here. At first mention, it was hard for me to look at this body of pain and suffering as a book that could help others. The more people began to reach out to me, the more I realized that my journey is about more than breast cancer and my particular brand of struggle. There is a unifying pulse that speaks to the human condition and our thirst for something more. I don’t know what else to say about it right now, but if I write it… will you help me share it and bring it forth to the world?
a splinter of light against a vast dark.
What can begin to take hold in this barren yet fertile ground?
Chemotherapy strips you down, like paint thinner washing out the last self portrait. On a cellular level, diminished as each and every dark internal corner is washed in an acrid bath. It seeps out of you at night while you’re sleeping, soaking your PJs and making your urine bubble and fizz.
I count time in treatment windows, 7 days apart. One day off, then four daily shots of immune boosting Neupogen. Each day, one foot in front of the other, I count down to NOW… to Four treatments remaining. I am weary some days and optimistic others, with just a crack in the door beginning to open to the Rest of My Life.
On day 6, just before returning to the Oncologist is when I feel best. I can sense an inkling of normalcy in my system, which is a thing vastly taken for granted by most in good health. My hair is newborn fuzzy, and my nail beds near the little half moons are starting to look pinker and healthier. I am returning to a new version of myself.
I’m eager to feel good again, to really feel myself in this tired, achy body. She has been through so much.
This second birth is so different than the one that brought me forth all new and pink and screaming 37 years ago. Loaded with experience, expectations, and all my stories, I feel edgy and anxious to turn this page, to take a sharp turn and never look back. I wonder if there is a handbook called, “How Not to Burn Out in Your First Year After Cancer”? This next part of my life feels like a gift, a do-over. You get to live Melissa, now what are you going to do with it? I have a year to make up for, and just want to START.