I've kept busy while I've been waiting, I'm just a little tired now. My tissue expander's hurt.
It's October 26, 2016 and I awoke this morning. As always I gave thanks but then I broke down and cried. It wasn't the normal heavy cry one has after withstanding months of pressure physically and emotionally. The cry was stunted, interrupted by strained and bruised chest and back muscles. Although my tears were still warm, and flowed evenly, distributing the salty reminder that all not right, I could not gasp for those deep breaths of air needed to exhale hard, thus releasing me on the side of relief, because I'm not finished.
Am I to stay in perpetuity, trapped in the world of the grateful yet incomplete? Or I to remain prideful, semi strong and the cheery eyed, breast cancer advocate that I've slowly become. I've been told put no faith in man, only in the higher power, but I've got to call upon him to help free me from this physical box I've been cornered in.
Yes I know, you've allowed me he freedom to make my choices and do whatever it is with my time this past year, while I wait. You've given me the calm and awareness to embrace the spring breeze caressing my skin, ever so slowly on a sun kissed morning. You've provided me with the opportunity every day to make a difference, whether big, or small. And while I understand the sacrifice of being stripped of my beautiful brown breasts, or a singular powerful kidney to the evil better known as cancer, I realize that it does not define or tell my whole story. Within the large realms of despair, you provided a vast array of opportunities that were insightful, inspiring, educational, funny and exciting. You allowed me to partake in these encounters as often as I wished, chock full of teaching moments (some of which applied directly to me but most better shared unselfishly with the world).
With the of the quiet, hard earned wisdom of my fellow survivors, the educational abilities of the community farmer, to the bare bones realistic compliance from the super talented biologist, I push on. From every hand I've held, every call that was taken, every interview written to every event that was spotlighted it's been some of the most honest, funny, heartbreaking, powerful and enriching time I've spent in my life. Yes, 2016 has truly been an enlightening year.
But the tightness in my chest, or the inability to sleep for eight hours consecutively are grim reminders of unfinished business. The inability to lift over 30 pounds, the limitation in my upper body movement, the overexertion of back muscles and the constant pain are starting to take it's toll. The weight of the temporary tissue expanders that simulate silky, bountiful breast are wearing thin on my existence. I'm ready to move on. When will I finally get my second surgery and be free to surge forward or at least walk gracefully into the future? So I ask again, have you forgotten about me?
I know there's an election to be decided, and famines to be relieved. Yes, I'm well aware that Black Lives Matter, women make less than men, there's a refugee crisis in Europe and the honey bees are dying. But I've been patient, willing to wait my turn and have taken action to move things along, whether it be in my life or other's, I have not stood passively by.
I've forgiven my breast surgeon who forsake me in the name of nothing but the almighty dollar. Tossed aside like a piece of crumpled paper, I know that sometimes man can make grave mistakes, misguided by their own sense of importance and forgetting the golden rule: They are not god, and way are they practicing medicine? I've moved on from the super talented but soulless, greedy plastic surgeon, who dismantled and crushed my hopes of a speedy, dignified recovery. Snatching all dreams of returning to my former life, I've had to learn that despite the bitter and raw betrayal spewed in an ugly fashion by these doctors, I've somehow managed to recapture the true essence of resilience, patience, giving and understanding that comes from a wealth of support I've been shown by each and every individual whose read, participated, encouraged and embraced my life this year via my blog. Oh, and how could I forget the message you sent me, that fateful day last November when on the verge of the last surgery to exchange the tissue expander's for breast implants, someone had a heart attack in the operating room, right before I was supposed to go in. The back up plastic surgeon, I pleaded with to take on my case after divorcing the wretched, deceitful plastic surgeon called it a day, imploring sadly, but emphatically, "It must be a sign"! Yes dear lord, I believed him, popped up off that chair, headed straight for the pre-op dressing room, gladly pulled on my clothing, kissed the air and never looked back. Thank you for keeping me safe.
But now as the year is coming to a close and I've come no closer to closing the chapter on my life (although I'm pretty sure having been diagnosed with breast cancer has changed me just a little) I'm just wondering, with all the hard work, self forgiveness an unselfish fortitude displayed, is their a lesson missed, or have you deemed me not ready yet, for the full transformation? I'm just wondering.
With respect to all you have on your plate right now, I await patiently. Just wanted to let you know, I'm still in line.
Yours truly and grateful