So, it's been a little while since I've written. I've been busy slurping coffee, sipping wine, gorging on mom's pasta sauce and meatballs, walking my dogs, running about on errands, driving around, and doing all sorts of things that chemo and surgery put on hold.
To catch us up on goings-on since my last blog, chemo is done, surgery (mastectomy) was a few weeks ago, and radiation starts next week.
The BIG AWESOME news is that examination of the pieces they cut out and off during surgery (one boob and a bunch of lymph nodes) showed NO CANCER. Go chemo.
I still don't have any hair, my hands are still numb, I'm slowly regaining my muscle strength and stamina, but no cancer. I can live with that. Eventually I'll get back to whatever normal looks like.
This blog is about nakedness and boobies. Since I’m not going to show you any of that, here’s me in a velour cat hat.
But, this blog is about nakedness.
Actually, it’s more about lack of nakedness.
There have been plenty of unpleasant, wacky, embarrassing side effects on the chemo and surgery show. But, one thing I didn't anticipate and no one really warned me about was how completed weirded out I'd be about what I look like after mastectomy.
Everyone (and all the things I read on the internet and all the multitude of pamphlets I received) talked about how traumatic losing my hair would be. Not just for aesthetic and self-esteem reasons, but because it's such a daily shocking reminder that you have cancer.
But, I didn't find it all that difficult to adjust to and have no issues looking in the mirror or sporting the shiny head in public.
But, after the mastectomy, I felt afraid to look at the bandages, let alone what was underneath. I was wheeled into an OR whole, put to sleep, and without any sense of time even passing, woke up with pieces missing.
I didn’t want to change the wrappings or remove he corset they bind you up with for support. I just didn’t really want to see what was there, or not there. Tom saw it up close and personal many times before I could even think about taking a sideways glance (his calm demeanor and lack of shock helped, as did his refrain from Frankenstein jokes since I had an incision that went from the center of my chest to under my arm).The first time I got completely naked, I ignored standing in front of the mirror. Didn’t want to chance a mistaken glance. I hurried into the tub, pulling all the bubbles (thank god for bubble bath!) towards me and covering my upper torso. Whfew, didn’t see anything I’ve glanced down a few times at it when getting dressed. It’s not so bad I guess. But, I’ve yet to really stand in front of a mirror and take it in…FULL. FRONTAL. NUDITY (and how many of you jumped to that phrase before reading the context and thought WHAT?!?!?!). I have however enjoyed pulling out my fake boob and showing it to folks in public places. I love these knitted knockers several friends and family made for me. Though, I have to be careful to make sure it’s even with the other boob, doesn’t have too much or too little stuffing…don’t want to look unbalanced after all.And, my new normal now involves phrases like “Are my boobs even?” Or, sometimes, “Oh shoot! I forgot to put the boob in!”