I spent a lot of the day relaxing and watching Grey’s Anatomy. I have just started watching this show, and that seems impossible given there are 16 seasons on Netflix. I wanted to watch a medical show, and I’ve watched all 8 seasons of House, MD multiple times and watched ER religiously for at least 8 years. One can only watch so much.
Anyway, it’s nice to watch surgeons. Ok, TV surgeons. But still, the story of surgeons and how they think and well, operate. I’m about to have two surgeons opening up my right breast and pulling out a chunk of it next week. I’m curious about what they do.
I’m feeling weird. I’m feeling like I need to have a goodbye party for my breasts. That sounds ridiculous.
But the truth is, they are about to exit the building. After around 40 years of having some sort of breastish body parts, things are about to get even weirder.
I keep taking pictures of them. No. You won’t see said pictures. I hide them never to be seen by anyone. But I want to document the bruises and the gouges. I have a scar from a HOLE on my breast. And it has a very obvious dimple which is not attractive at all. I mentioned it to my plastic surgeon…and I’ll be mentioning it again before the anesthesiologist makes me go to sleep. I have ridiculously high expectations. Like a lot. Huge a lot.
For coping at present I am fixating on the cosmesis (cosmetic) effects of excision (lumpectomy). I’m trying not to think about the final pathology report of my excision. I’m trying to just fixate on the way my boob will look later, as that is easier to think about.
I am very very attached to my body the way it is. This is a shocker in some ways, because culturally most women, including me, have some major body issues based on social expectations and social attitudes. I am not a big fan of this. But I’ve managed to distract myself greatly over the last week and so therefore thought I was okay to be in the world the last two days.
I made an appointment to take my trailer in to get winterized earlier this week. I knew the likelihood of it snowing today was great, but it was the soonest they could get me in. It was fast and fine, but driving my trailer in the snow was a new thing. When I brought it home I had been ruminating on having a cancerous breast…and I was not focusing well. I backed my trailer in but had it angled weird and I managed to take out 3 of my fence panels. I felt sick to my stomach seeing my fence get hurt, but I have already fixed it since. My trailer will need a trim replacement, but it’s just cosmetic.
However, just cosmetic is a big deal.
It’s everything. EVERYTHING.
I know that many people may think this is shallow. And maybe I’ll move out of this space of fixating on it. But I really want my breasts to look good. I just do. And I want my fence and trailer to also look good. It’s about more than looks. It’s what that projects out into the world. I don’t want to portray to the world that I don’t care about my appearance any more than I want to portray to the world that I don’t wear masks. I wear a mask to pump the gas. I wear a mask walking to my car from my front door. WHY? Because others will see me. I am trying to lead by example.
No, having a breast that doesn’t look mangled isn’t leading by example per se. No one is going to see it but me and my lover. But, I honestly feel that I (and any other humans) deserve to have the best possible cosmetic results post surgery.
I don’t know why the cosmetic surgery situation is bugging me so much, why I feel like I need to qualify it. I feel like it’s kind of narcissistic, I guess. When I was talking to the surgical nurse yesterday to schedule my surgery for the 23rd, she was like “Oh! Dr. Plastic will be there, too? Even for just a lumpectomy…Ok, thank you for letting me know!” Yes. Even for a lumpectomy Dr. Plastic will be there. But. This isn’t usual.
The thing is…this is me masking fear. I don’t give a shit about any other scars on my body. I scar easily and bruise easily. I have a birthmark the size of my thigh on my right thigh. It used to be dark brown and now it’s just a few hues deeper than my regular skin tone.
I’m scared shitless of the cancer, ok? I’m scared it is going to cause an eruption and fissure in my life so deep that I don’t recognize my life anymore. So I’m focusing on being irritated at my oncologist for giving me shit about alternative medications, I’m preoccupied with how my breasts are going to look, I’m anxious about sex after this, I’m worried I won’t feel sexy anymore. I’m nervous I’m not taking enough time off to heal. I’m worried and worried. I want to do whatever I can so I can get through the week after the surgery without losing my shit. I’ll be healing and waiting on the final pathology report, and that is going to be SO A LOT SO MUCH.
Yes. If you want to make me food and bring it over I will eat it happily. Thank you. No nuts so I can share with Jess.
I am at home from October 23-28, but I’d appreciate it after that, too. I go back to work the 29th, but I’m already nervous I won’t be ready so that may change. I will extend my recovery time if needed, I just don’t know yet. I do know that after the biopsy I was super super sore, but going back to work helped immensely. I will want to be normal as possible.
Dr. Surgeon told me that recovery is 6 weeks, no matter what. I could cut my finger badly or have a major surgery to recover from and it’s the same. It’s all about 6 weeks, that’s just the way it is. Made me feel slightly calmer to hear this.
I’m nervous and masking it with Grey’s Anatomy, organic vegetables, hummus and feta, a few beers and some tea. If I had bought myself cookies I would eat them, but that’s why I didn’t buy any.
I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. I”m going to be okay.
If you say it often enough you believe yourself and you create your life.
Ok, that’s what I plan to do.