Inside

“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...