“6:58, are you sure where my spark
is?” Tori asks, when it's really closer to a quarter-to-two. My tea
is still too hot to drink, but I've got the last of the chocolate
chip cookies to keep me busy while I wait...waiting, waiting,
waiting...
Daryll asked me how I'm doing. It
wasn't just the on-the-surface “how are you doing?”. It was much
more like the serious, “what's going on inside you?” way of
asking. I don't remember how I answered, exactly. It was a long
string of verbal thoughts floating, dancing, spinning, and hovering,
and then coming to a halt at a simple “I don't know”.
The operation went well, my hospital
stay was smooth, and I'm healing without a hiccup. I'm at home now,
and I'm doing my part in taking care of myself in the areas where
outside help can't reach. There is so much outside information on how
I'm doing, but none of it sheds enough light to see how things are on
the inside. Right now, I'm living on whispers, hints, and
obscurities, where the truth of how I am is concerned. Even the
microscopic icicles seeping into my veins, don't really clear the
fog.
I won't say there aren't emotions,
because there are, but all I'm getting are fragments. There is so
much happening...so much, that I can't pin it down. The mental and
emotional white noise rising behind the Percoset haze has me aware
that preparations must be made, but I have no idea what to prepare
for. Of course, there is a very obvious element of horror to the
whole situation. My breasts have been removed, along with the
nipples. In their place, are a couple of dents in my chest, each one
with a diagonal scar reaching from one side to the other. Over this,
I am bandaged and bruised, and there are drainage tubes suchered into
my armpits. At the end of each tube, is a squeezy little container
that must be emptied a couple of times a day. Yes, it's a rather
disturbing sight, I suppose. However, I knew this part was coming,
and had been over it countless times, so I didn't go to the surgery
table naive.
As I do with every major situation, I
spent some time comparing it with George's death. Nothing compares to
the pain of watching your baby brother die, but I handled his passing
a lot better than I ever would have guessed. I've noticed for a while
that I have been handling breast cancer with significantly less
grace, at least where the mastectomy has been concerned. Sometimes,
when having a fear moment, I've reminded myself that losing my
breasts is horrible, but George lost a sixth of his brain, and then
his life, the following year. It has kept me in-check, most of the
time.
Perhaps the emotions are so mixed
because this particular cancer story has a lot of events taking
place. Every day, my daughter brings me unparalleled joy. Could it be
she, who is fortifying my spirit with her indescribable beauty and
unconditional love? I am surrounded by support, the likes of which I
never would have imagined, and it has been unbelievably touching.
On the darker side of things, I'm
having to deal with cancer for the second time, and this round is
costing me body parts. Recovering from surgery, so far, has been a
lot better than I anticipated, though it is definitely uncomfortable
and a little gruesome to look at.
So, no...I really don't know how I
feel. I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep my chin up, or if
it's all going to slam in on me when I least expect it. Is it really
of any importance whether I know, or not? I might be doing okay, or I
might be a crumpled mess, tomorrow. Does it matter which, as long as
I work actively toward getting past this? This is temporary. I know
it will pass, and I will emerge from this chain of events as a
stronger, happier, more determined person. In the meantime, I'll take
it all as it comes, and do what I have to do in order to stay afloat.
I've got a long way to go...one foot in front of the other...
