Don't notice me

I tend to be kind of an introvert, so maybe it's not surprising, but the weird thing about being diagnosed with cancer was the hard to navigate line between wanting to be taken care of and wanting everything to be completely normal.

I read several bloggers who let their bald heads proudly proclaim that cancer wasn't keeping them down.  I can appreciate that, but I reject the converse idea that wearing my awesomely realistic wig and not talking about cancer made me it's victim.  

I believe every woman who goes through this needs to do what she needs to do and for me, not being "that cancer girl" when I didn't need to be was something I needed.

In a lot of ways I was very lucky.  My insurance covered the wig (my state mandates that, I feel like maybe that isn't true nationally, but I'm not 100% sure) and I found the most comforting and talented wig seller (Mary Aframe at The Women's Image Center--if you're anywhere near central Massachusetts, I highly recommend giving her a call!) who helped me select a style and color that were just perfect.  Feeling comfortable about looking "normal" was important to me.

I told my coworkers I was having surgery (hell, I was out 7 weeks) but I only told my boss it was cancer until after the nodes were discovered to be positive and chemo was required.  I know this may seem odd, I understand that, but I just wanted as much of my normal life to be normal as possible.

I did tell my church family, and their prayers and meals were something I clung to.  My family and closer friends, of course, knew and especially my inlaws were incredibly helpful.  I definitely benefited from letting telling some people about it.

Maybe I'm just a wimp.  I never know how to respond to sympathy like that--do I put on a brave front?  Comment and say something that may end up being TMI?  Grin and bear it?  Because really, when I was dealing so much with cancer, the last thing I wanted to talk to people who weren't a) medical professionals or b) people who know and love me, was cancer.

I understand putting a living and surviving face on cancer may have been a great public service and an encouragement to others, but I just didn't feel like doing it.

Even a year later when I did a cancer walk with my husband and daughter, the big pink "survivor" sash felt odd and I didn't really know how to respond to the cheering "encouragers" along the course. It probably says plenty about my social anxiety and lack of reasonable interaction skills, but if I try to avoid uncomfortable situations on a good day, I guess I'm not too surprised about how I chose to deal when you throw cancer into then equation along with it!

If I had my wish, the cancer would have gone away--poof!  Wasn't possible (obviously!) so maybe having it gone away from large swaths off my life seemed like the next best thing.

It is weird, because now that I'm done with everything, I do sort of want a little credit.  I want people to understand what I went through and respect that.  But I only want it to be part off my identity to a certain point.

I don't say any of this to judge people who feel differently.  And I understand that people who act differently aren't judging me (or if they are, too bad, because I'm not getting it).  But I guess I feel the need to put my feelings out there and say, hey, there are all kinds of ways to deal with this and you can do what feels comfortable.  Goodness know there's enough discomfort going with it without pressuring yourself with more.  

A little bit of surgery

I had a little bit of surgery today.  Some scar revision ("dog ears" and something I'm just going to call "one big step towards looking like a human"--I think my fellow BC patients and friends of BC patients will guess what I mean, anyone else who stumbles upon this blog and doesn't understand really doesn't need to.  And I'm certainly not planning to add to their ranks by adding dubious Google terms!

I've come to the point where walk in day surgery has become no big deal, but at the same time, I surprised myself over the past couple of days when I suddenly realized I was really anxious.  Hard to explain how I could feel both at once, but I sure did.

I wasn't really anxious about the procedure itself, but more about messing up my current run of fairly smooth healing and what I consider stellar results.  My plastic surgeon is, I have discovered after my first surgery, extremely gifted. 

I don't live my life in regrets, but I guess if I think on it, I actually do tend to live my life trying to avoid being regretful.  Which actually, when I put it down in words, sounds like one of those slogans that pop up on Facebook and get written in pretty script on walls and wood blocks.  But in real life, or at least in my real life, it tends to be more like, "be really, really careful and don't wish you still had whatever it is you just messed up."

And that, I think, isn't really print-it-on-a-block material!

So here I was with results I was very pleased with and could have lived happily with, at least as far as they went. and going in for the next step, and praying I didn't end up praying to be back to before (well, not really "before" because that's how I tend to think about pre-cancer, but you know what I mean).

But at the same time, I've discovered that it's really important to me to look more like I consider human being more of the time (not judging people who make other choices but this is mine, should also add that my husband couldn't care less).

And the really weird thing?  I'm all wrapped up for 2 weeks and can't even shower, much less see the results (which is really cute given all the surgical magic marker that covers me even under the clear plastic bandage pieces!).  And yet I feel better.  Much better.

I attribute that to two things:

1) My husband, who is exactly the kind of guy you want by your side when the going gets rough.  He was raised with a strong sense of the importance of doing what needs to be done (He emptied my JP drains twice a day the entire time they were in after the mastectomy.  He-man is all well and good, but give me a man who sticks by my side through sickness and health with love and compassion and I feel like that's a win.)

2) My surgeon coming in with his magic marker and carefully studying the placement of things.  His attention to detail and calm confidence helped me remember how it was with the first step.  I guess a little of that confidence wore off.

(Actually, seeing myself type these things, I may also have to attribute it to this morning's anesthesia.  They told me to avoid making decisions.  Seemed a little melodramatic but objectively I may be just a little bit off kilter at the moment so maybe there's more to it?)

So now, I'm trying to see if I can get away with Tylenol instead of opiates (I get very nausious and have headaches, but so far so good!), wrapped up in post-surgical bindings like the bastard child of Scarlett O'Hara and King Tut, and feeling pretty darn glad to have that over with.

Here's to a nice long life of looking more and more like the human I am!

(Now I hit publish and wonder how this post will seem to me when the anesthesia is fully worn off?)