Chapter 22
The Epiphany.
It’s now been over a year since the “slice ‘n’ dice” occurred. I can’t say that time has gone by quickly or slowly, I don’t really remember... It’s just gone… That’s Probably a good thing, it means I can get out and be normal again right??? Wrong… The physical scares may be healed but the emotional ones are still very raw. It’s kind of hard to explain… For such a long time my life has been dictated by Doctor’s, Physio’s, and trips to the HOCA unit for my infusions. This is all about to stop. I was told at the beginning that it’s common for patients to feel lost at the end of their treatment because their life is no longer consumed by these people. That I can handle… I’m actually very excited by the prospect that my life is now my own again, to share with whoever I want, to do whatever I want with no time constraints. What I am struggling with is the emotional artifacts. The whole cancer deal didn’t really phase me much… That part was O.K. because I knew, well I had faith that my medical team would fix me and that I would be fine. After all, my Mum survived and so have many others. What did rock my boat a bit was the loss of my boob. As superficial as it may sound, this is my story and my boobs are very important to me. I thought that I had finally come to terms with that, but for the last twelve months every time I look in the mirror after a shower I’m reminded… Every time I get dressed I’m reminded… Every time I go clothes shopping I’m reminded… There was also the loss of my hair very early in the piece... Not once but twice… A year and a half of wearing a scarf or a wig was not my idea of fun let me tell you. The constant fear of falling over and my head gear falling off to expose my bald head was constantly running through my drug ravaged brain. Then when I thought all the nasties were behind me, my nails started to break and become extremely soft. I had always had long hard nails and although I was told this may happen as a side effect of the chemo it is yet another reminder. What I don’t understand is why now??? I haven’t had the drug responsible for eight months… I thought I was going to escape that one… Just shows you how long these drugs stay in your body to screw with it I guess.
I had an epiphany the other day… I realized that I don’t do too many things on my own anymore and when I do I hate it! I feel anxious... The enjoyment of window shopping, wandering around taking the scenery in, exploring new stuff has all but gone. I couldn’t believe it. This “journey” has not only taken my boob, my hair and my nails as well as my eyebrows and eye lashes, (all of which are coming back by themselves except my boob!), But it’s also claimed my self confidence. I have this mental image of myself (O.K. my hair is nowhere near as long but I can deal with that…) But I have this image of my hair with a beautiful soft curl, a slim correctly postured body sporting perky boobs and beautifully sculpted eyebrows with thick long lashes framing my eyes and skin befitting my age, just a few laugh lines. Then the moment of truth, unfortunately the mirror doesn’t lie. Who is this person standing in front of me staring, who are you? And what have you done with… well… Me? The face looking back at me is this older face that gravity has taken a shine too. Although my hair has grown back thick, the mirror me’s hair is wirey and just sticks out all “rang-er-y” with no real style or curl… you know, kinda like an Orangutan. In the mirror, her eyebrows are patchy and with eyelashes that can barely be seen. She is larger than she had hoped and with bad posture causing the one remaining boob to be “no so good”. As I stare back at this stranger in the mirror it is no wonder she is slightly cracked, no wonder her confidence has been somewhat displaced, no wonder she hasn’t had the courage to go back to work. After all, this was a girl who traveled the world one her own, who had no need for someone to hold her hand or lead the way… How did she manage to get into this mind set? Or more to the point… Why did “I” allow it? I like having these little epiphanys… They wake you up, give you a slap in the face, and shake you back to reality. It’s now time for me to, “suck it up sunshine” and get on with the next phase of my healing… dun dun dun daaaahhhh... Reconstructing not only my boob, but my mindset.
It’s all go!
Sleep didn’t come easily last night… The worry was too great, my mind wouldn’t stop ticking over with mindless garbage and useless “what if’s”. It was the eve of my pre-op appointment with my plastic surgeon Dr. Anthony. The man that was going to make me a new boob and give me back the thing that held my confidence… I was extremely nervous. What if I was too fat and he couldn’t do the operation? At our previous appointment Dr. Anthony had said that there was only just enough fat on my stomach to make me a new boob, don’t go losing weight he said. With this knowledge tucked away in my tiny brain, I was determined that this was not going to be an issue. Believe me when I say I have been looking after that new boob I have with gusto! Have I given it too much love and nurturing? What if something else was wrong?
I felt sick walking into Dr. Anthony’s office. He gave me a warm smile and caring handshake with two hands and I immediately felt a little better. We sat down and he went over the procedure again with me and asked if I had any questions. My reply was a hasty “no”. He laughed and said “of course you have questions”, but again I said no, then added “I know I’m going to be in a lot of pain, I know this is a big operation of about six to eight hours. I have studied the video’s, surfed the net, done the research, and I also know that you are very good at what you do… This is why we are here and not in some other doctors surgery”. Dr. Anthony nodded and stood up and asked to take a look. Apparently with all the nurturing I have given my new boob it still was only just enough and that there is a possibility that it will be smaller than the other one and he would have to do a reduction later on my good boob… Who cares, it’s a friggin boob, a lump of flesh hanging from my chest wall, a piece of skin that I can fill a sexy bra with… I said “Seriously, I’m happy with anything”. As Dr. Anthony laughed his reply was very reassuring that I had picked the right man for the job. He simply said, “I wouldn’t be”. The man is like Greg. When a job has to be done, it’s done with annoying perfection. With just fourty two LONG sleeps left before the big day, Dr. Anthony sent me away with truck loads of paperwork to fill out, waivers that needed to be signed, scans to be preformed so he knows where all the blood flow vessels will be… don’t want any nasty little surprises now do we? He finished with “I’ll see you on the day” and I left feeling sicker than I was when I walked in. It’s not because I think I’m doing the wrong thing or I have chosen the wrong surgeon, it’s because I know I will be in a lot of pain and the recovery time will be long. I have wanted this operation from day dot, but until now it wasn’t possible. I’m looking forward to looking in the mirror and feeling whole again, to having my womanly figure back, to wearing nice clothes with lower necklines, sexy bras that have matching bottoms again and the most important… Gaining my confidence back and being Lou again.