Baby's In The Corner
I've got some pretty good circumstances going on for someone who is about to do this.
1) I have DCIS, the "good cancer". The one that's in my milk ducts and isn't supposed to have gone anywhere else.
2) At this point, they don't think I will need chemotherapy.
3) It's Stage 0. Pre-cancerous.
4) I'm going to live through this.
I'm 45; relatively young. I feel about 28. However, if I'm honest, I have to say that I have just reached a point in my life when that grey hair and crinkles around my eyes aren't so funny anymore. Up until about a year ago, I was still pretty happy with how I looked in a swim suit. I was lucky and I knew it. It's not that I didn't think that something like this couldn't happen to me. I expected it. But I didn't expect it to come crashing in when I was dealing with other life crisis. But yeah, life is unpredictable and all that. Cue the violin. Poor me.
I saw two plastic surgeons a few weeks back. Both took a look at me and complimented me on my breasts. I'm telling you that because when I was growing up, I was skinny and shy about my body. In high school the only the thing I prayed for more than a nice boyfriend was bigger boobs. When they finally showed up, those ta tas did not let me down. They were perky and firm and happy they stayed that way. The surgeon I chose to construct my replacement boob said I have "ideal breasts". Take that, old high school guys!
So, of course, I'm sad to lose one. Though I doubt any of you reading this will ever notice the difference, I won't ever look the same or feel the same.
Not long after I announced that I would be going through this, someone commented to me on social media, "It's just a boob." He meant well. I have no ill feelings toward him for saying that. But when I read it, I felt like ripping his testicles through his ear canal and shoving them up his bum. A boob is a visible thing. It's a sexual thing. It's a mothering thing.
How about we cut off the right side of your face? Don't worry, a surgeon will give you a new right side and do his best to match the left one! You will lose feeling in your face and part of your lips (except for sharp stabbing pain that may or may not go away in a few years), but they can tattoo a new lip! No big deal! Just a face!
Again, I was not in a good place when I read that. I will probably never be one of those women who jumps at a chance to prove my deep inner strength. You can ask me about this in 5, 10, 30 years and I am likely going to tell you that it SUCKED. I am one of those women who gets shit done, but I don't pretend the shit smells good.
Am I happy that, from what we know now, I will survive this? Hell yes! So much Yes! I am still pretty freaking lucky. Life could be worse. Life has been worse. I am not writing this down for the women and men who smile through the pain and bless the mess. You guys should be your own Olympic event. I am writing this for the ones who answer me honestly when I ask how they are; the ones whose humor is as dark as my soul. And I am writing about this because it's what I do. It's true information and somebody, somewhere, needed me to say it.
This SUCKS, ladies and gents!!! But I'm going to get through it by watching a lot of Netflix and reading terrible books and drinking enormous amounts of tea while I hit "Hide This Post" on all your FB political rants. For the love of all incapacitaed people everywhere, please post something worth reading this month!
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