It’s been almost two and a half months since I first got my diagnosis. In two days it will be one month since my mastectomy. In some way it seems a lifetime ago. I am who I was and yet I am not.
Each day I look in the mirror and then look down at where my breast once was to apply a healing salve to help minimize the scarring. I look at that space and see so many things. There have been days when some dreamy part of me wonders, “when will it grow back?” “wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was some magic powder to help that happen?” I opted to forgo restruction because it just didn’t feel right for me to recreate my breast. It felt unreal and just, not me. Some days I look at it and see my mother with the scar on her chest. These days I feel almost gifted. From my child eyes, she seemed so wise, so beautiful, so strong, and now I can look in the mirror and see her standing there through me. The other day I looked in the mirror and understood why some people choose tattoos over their scars. I don’t think I ever will, but what I saw felt so good. I looked at the angle of the scar, how it forms a sort of picture of a hill and it took me back to Appalachia and memories of dear friends from that once home of mine. I am still coming to know my scar and expect that I will be for a long time to come.
My journey continues up and down, but mostly up. The meeting with my surgical oncologist went exceptionally well. I’m only at stage 1a, won’t need radiation, and am healing well. We’re still waiting on some reports to confirm that I won’t need chemotherapy, but it seems likely that I will just need to use hormone blockers for the next few years. It’s a strange look at cancer. I’ve seen way too many people lose their health and sometimes lose their lives to this monster. Yet, most days right now I feel generally just fine, like I am still me even if I am a different me.
Cancer scares people so much and it has scared me and may again. But, I am strangely thankful for the gifts that prepared me. My mom’s cancer taught me that women are strong and that we are more than our bodies. My epilepsy taught me life isn’t a given and it could be gone at any time, so live it now and don’t wait to tell those you love that you love them. There’s much more I’m sure, but it’s getting late and I’m tired. So, until next time…. Be well.
