Yes. That was today’s morning motto.
I was feeling pretty sassy, to say the least. I had a follow up visit with my breast surgeon yesterday and after soaking in the reality of the fact that my mastectomy is taking place in precisely 25 days, I wasn’t exactly in the best mood.
To be completely honest – I’m struggling. A lot. I find my thoughts replicating a ping-pong ball more and more these last couple of weeks. My emotions seem to hastily reroute themselves every few hours, ricocheting rapidly from one end of the spectrum to the other. I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m motivated and inspired but then I’m envious and pissed off. I’m patient and understanding one day but indignant and discouraged the next. I’m starting to find it difficult to come to a real, honest understanding of what I feel at the end of the day – when it’s just me and no one else. Is it bad that I can’t seem to differentiate how I truly feel and how I think I’m supposed to feel?
My sister, Heather (currently in recovery from her mastectomy), is one of the strongest women I know. In a bizarre way, I’ve been extremely lucky to have her to mirror in this situation. She encourages me. She keeps me on my toes when I feel like I’m slipping into a rabbit hole. She’s strong. She’s always strong. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m battling. Constantly battling. I’ve put a great amount of effort into wondering why I’m not more like her. %@*!%#*@&^$%$(@!!!!!! <— Keepin’ it classy.
BUT – at the end of the day (today anyway), I realize that this miserable, futile war of words between me, myself and I is just plain stupid. Dumb. I’m so blessed that I have her to look up to. Just because we’re a little different in how we muddle through a tough situation doesn’t mean that one way is right or the other way is wrong. Me talking myself into oblivion every third day is a waste. So I’m thinking I’m gonna just stop it.
Aaaaaaaaand cut! The venting is officially over. For the moment, anyway. Gotta save some of that ranting for the post-op posts! The truth of the matter is that this is happening. It’s a decision. A decision that I proactively made. No one forced me into this. I think being around for another 50 or 60 years sounds swell! I mean, who doesn’t want to experience grandkids? Or wheelchairs? Or the extra 10% senior discount at Kroger?!?!?!?
25 days. 25 days until I can start the rest of my life. A life without constant worry. A life without the heaviness of an undiscriminating disease lurking around my shoulder. A life with a less than 1% chance of getting breast cancer. THAT, my friends, is amazing. Let’s just end it on that…
Breast wishes –