Thursday, May 23, 2013

Words, Movement, Shame and Reflection

Finding time to write has become a little more difficult as of late. Part of this has to do with making jewelry and redoing the Etsy and Facebook pages. I'm not sure if it's going to take off the way Bri and I need it to, but for now I'm just enjoying the craft. It has been keeping me sane and calm.

I've had a surge in anxiety since the removal of my ovaries. This along with brutal hot-flashes has made sleep difficult. Being post-menopausal at 36 is really quite strange. It's not all bad though. No more monthly “visits” from Mother Nature, and eventually things will even out and maybe I won't need so many medications.

I have a dark secret. I was ashamed to admit it for the longest time, having survived cancer twice. I used to be a smoker, which in itself isn't the worst thing I could do. I've been officially cancer-free since my breasts were taken off, and the radiation made sure it stays away. However, I've only been smoke-free for three weeks. I felt like such a hypocrite! I tried to hide it from everyone, save my husband and a few friends. I just couldn't stay away from the cigarettes for some reason. I've been on welbutrin for a while now. I've heard people say it doesn't work, but I seem to be just fine! No cravings, or anything! So I've shed the shame, I'm owning up, and I'm moving past it.

Moving...moving...moving forward. Even though it often feels as though I'm stuck in stagnation, I realized as I was digging through the dryer for pajama pants, that there is no stopping the progression. It's a little frightening, but also a good thing. Breast reconstruction starts in July. I almost burst into tears in Dr. Gabriel's office because up until now, it has felt like a distant dream. As I was standing there, the day after I quit smoking for good, in an open hospital gown, it began to really sink in. I'm entering the home-stretch. I've walked this dream-scape for a year, now. The cancer is gone, but I still don't feel complete. Some days I feel like a broken doll awaiting assembly. But there I was, my barren chest exposed, as he explained the procedure. There I was, shaking like a leaf. It still feels too good to be true, but perhaps the reality will sink in as the date gets closer...July 3rd. I really don't mind spending the 4th in a hospital. It's never been a big holiday for me anyway.


Reality. The realness of this. I've had so many people praise me on how I've handled this. I've had people ask me how I've stayed so positive. I'm honestly not sure why it hasn't crushed me emotionally. Sometimes I wonder if it will all hit me long after it's over. Maybe I'll look back and be reduced to tears, maybe I won't. Sometimes I stop and examine last three years of my life; the death of my brother, the disfigurement of someone I care about, the financial fallout, the cancer, and some other things that are too personal to talk about. Once in a while I realize that I've really been through a lot, and it's so strange when I consider the scope of it. In the midst of all this however, my beautiful daughter came into the world. Cancer meant painful and weakening treatments. It meant doctors, surgeries, feeling weak, sick and sore. It also meant that I got to stay home and watch Violet grow. I've been there for almost all her firsts: laughing, sitting, crawling, walking, and talking. Her personality is really showing, and I marvel at her beauty and mystery every day. Even at this moment, as she's riding her rocking horse backwards, I can't help smiling. Cancer sucks, but it allowed me to be with my most cherished treasure and greatest joy. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything.

Look, HAIR!!! Excuse the color. Lol!

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