What would your old-fashioned slide show look like if you were only allowed to use the mind’s eye pictures of your memories?

*Post 927

Space for Reflection :: 10/18/17 :: Post 51

I had a much better day today. Whew. I needed a good day. Big time. I needed it for my body, heart, soul and mind. That said, my new normal is such where while I experience some good, there is always [this].

Good: No meds today! At all! No anti-nausea, no pain pills, no over-the-counter remedies for unfortunate side effects.
Not so good: My mouth is a disaster – my tongue feels burned all of the time and my cheeks and gums feels like I’ve sucked on a sugary candy for too long on one side.

Good: I had energy to get ready today (shower and all) withOUT sitting down once!
Not so good: My nose is now an issue. You don’t realize you have nose hairs until you start to lose all of your hair. I go to blow my nose and in the kleenex, there is a bunch of little tiny nose hairs. And if that isn’t bad enough (cuz it’s just sad), my nose is so dry that it’s always on the verge of bleeding. Oh, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a sneeze. All.Of.The.TIME. *eye roll

Good: I had such a great day at work. I had enough energy to get through seeing clients, problem solving the crazy job of crisis intervention and management, and working together with amazing teammates.
Not so good: My chest wall hurts with every breath no matter how many weeks post-op I am….it’s not getting much easier with time.

Good: For 2 nights straight, I’ve slept in my bed all the night through!
Not so good: I have to reposition EVERY.HOUR and I wake up extremely sore…because I had both boobs cut out of me and I now have plastic tissue expanders filled with saline creating pockets behind my pectoral muscles for another future surgery.

That said, overall – a good day.

A good day brings with it some introspection. There is space for it when I’m not just trying to get through this moment to the next…when I’m not just in survival mode. The space to be reflective today has brought about a few specific insights:

1. That even in the good days, where I’m feeling *almost* 90%, I still have the not-so-gentle reminders of what I’m fighting. That even in the good days, I still have the not-so-gentle reminders of my new normal where some really crappy things are constantly there while other things are in constant flux.

2. While this is all “temporary,” it’s a very permanent temporary. SO much of my post-op time at home was spent on this fact. I will forever have this as my story. This will define me. I will have scars and memories that will not fade with time. Forever.

3. The decisions I have had to make throughout this journey are decisions that hold so much weight. Life-altering weight. Life-and-death weight. Decisions around things that I never…in a hundred years…saw coming in MY story.
Remove one breast or both? Mind you, the removal part was NOT an option nor was sparing my nipples….those were decisions made for me.
Chemo and radiation or natural and dietary interventions? Is one better than the other? Do I have time to do the research…my cancer is aggressive?
Reconstruction or prosthetics? Will I want to go through 2 surgeries and more in the future or will I just want to wear a bra that makes it look like I have boobs?
Body tissue or implants…or both? B? C? C+? D? Smaller will make me look like I’ve lost weight, bigger and it will feel more like I was before this.
Hysterectomy or potential for future cancers that thrive on estrogen? Another scar. Another surgery. Another recovery. Hormone replacement therapy once the ovaries are removed. But…the elimination of 3 different cancers is significant.
Extravagance for a $3000 wig or frugality for a $350 one? I have to lose my hair……….I should get what I want. But I also don’t know if I’ll even like wigs because, well, why would I know this about myself? So, therefore practicality wins over impulse…
How to tell our children their mother has cancer? Do we tell them over dinner? Do we wait until there is an actual diagnosis or do we tell them when we have a suspicion? Do we open in prayer or no? Do we try and not cry, or do we let the tears flow? Do we put on a front of strength or do we show raw fear? Do we tell them individually or collectively? How do we do all of this because each holds value?
How to ask for help when I am stubborn and independent? The vulnerability it requires to ask for help is in a whole new light now that I literally cannot do certain things.
Do I take a leave of absence from work or try to work throughout this “temporary” health crisis? Will I be able to show up and be present at work or will I be a distraction? How awful to think of myself and my battle with cancer as a distraction and yet, when it comes down to it, it IS that. How do I work in normal when nothing is normal?
Do I get a port put in my chest, arm or choose to use my veins? Will I want it noticeable? Will I want to hide it? Will I care? My veins are hard to find on my right arm, will I want them digging around every time I have an infusion…….18 times, every 21 days, for the next year?

4. The emotional, physical and spiritual toll this has taken on my body, heart, soul and mind is overwhelming. How tired I feel. How TIRED I feel…….

5. My reference point of perspective is radically different and will never be the same. Vulnerability will never look the same. Intimacy will never look the same. Crisis will never look the same. Community and support will never look the same. Marriage and parenting will never look the same. Doing my nails will never look the same. Doing my hair will never look the same. Eating will never look the same. Working and professionalism will never look the same. Personal boundaries will never look the same. Talking the talk vs. walking the walk will never look the same. Truth will never look the same. God and faith and trust will never look the same. Gratitude will never look the same. Authenticity will never look the same. ….RADICAL change.

Wow….

Revision #2 :: 10/18/18 :: Post 400

Now I remember……. The pain is significant. And once again, Dr. Chris had to do quite a bit of work. And once again, he seemed frustrated with how my body is behaving through this process. December’s surgery is a definite. February’s is highly likely.

As far as today’s surgery goes… while I have done it before, it was different in a few ways.

First, the IV was most unpleasant. The anesthesiologist had to do it because the nurse wasn’t feeling confident about my little veins who have taken quite the beating. And it hurt like hell.

Second, I took a big longer and I struggled a bit more to come out of anesthesia today, and I was shivering uncontrollably for quite some time (which also hurts like hell). And I was much more lightheaded and dizzy than before. And I was more nauseous today than I remember being for past surgeries. I even needed throw-up bags for the way home just in case. (Thankfully I did not have to use them because my momma is the queen of peppermint and that did the trick.)

Third, for the first time in all of my surgeries, I distinctly remember thinking to myself that I didn’t want to wake up this time. As I was coming to, I was desperate to go back to the nothing of anesthesia. To the pain-free, unaware, no-battle nothing. I didn’t want to wake up to my very opposite reality. And then that thought kind of scared me.

So I slowly woke myself up. And allowed the pain to set in. And allowed the emotions to flow. And allowed the difficulty of my reality to come into consciousness.

I was home by 5. It was a long day but I’m in my bed so that’s a win. No chair for me tonight… We’ll see how I fare, but so far so good.

And I’m beyond exhausted. I’m not sure a word exists to truly hold the meaning of just how tired I am. How tired every bit of me is.

October 18 of 31 :: 10/18/19 :: Post 763

I have had an incredibly long week. By the end of the day tomorrow, I’ll have had seven straight days of 7am – 7/8/9pm….

Yikes. 

While I was driving from the training I had been teaching all day to the Dig Pink volleyball game that I was going to be coaching all night, it came to mind that I was so grateful that I have had the capacity to hold all that I have had to this week. There have been a lot of really hard things and there have been a lot of really good things.

By God’s grace and by taking one step in front of the other, I’ve gotten through this crazy hard week. This time two years ago, I was barely able to put on my own mascara because chemo was draining me of everything I had. And this time last year I was recovering from surgeries and barely able to make it through a work day just to come home and crash in bed by 5pm. 

So while I’m still battling and hurting and trying to figure out this survivorship business, I am able to do more than I did then. And again, I’m grateful. 

Breast Cancer Awareness Month…

…Day eighteen – I haven’t had the option to stop life outside of cancer. I’ve had to battle while parenting, wife-ing, working…and while showing up to what each day has held. And at no point has it been easy. But the people in my life have been incredible to walk with me in all of it. Thank you for your patience and your presence.