I always think, "It's not so bad" when I have it done. But by the following morning, my body is mad all over again. I can not wait for the madness to end. Maybe I worked out too much. My strength has always been a source of pride, happiness, and my stubborn "I can do anything" vibe.
Maybe I worked my pecs way too much. Because my left one, the one that is being manipulated by this blow-up sac of saline, is really pissed at me. And it constantly reminds me. It's like listening to a seashell. If you put your ear to my reconstructing breast, you can hear a faint "F*ck YOU!*
But, we did manage to do laundry this morning, realizing that we hadn't done it since I left the hospital. No wonder my sock and underwear drawers were so manageable. But, the tank tops that I've been wearing, the ones I can step into, were all in there. Today I ended up wearing a stretchy tank that is more meant to be worn as a camisole. I threw (of course I can't throw anything now, but you know...) it on before hitting the laundry room, when I realized that even though I had on my handy dandy stretchy bra with two pads on one side and none on the other, I still looked a bit circus freakish. That expanding boob looks weird under a tight top. Like the nipple is on the side. And it is stretching far up and to the side, to create my future amaze-o-breast. But now? I look like half bubble boob, and, well, half not. As much as I hate the thought, if I had them both removed, I'd be symmetrical. Of course, this whole process would be twice as suck-ass. And whenever I am in pain or uncomfortable or unable to do something with my left arm, which was entire days, and now is still quite a pile of moments in each day, I am grateful that it was only one side after all.
I wonder where my breast and nipple are now. I wonder if they miss me. Seriously, what happens to that stuff when they're done with it? On second thought, I don't really want to know. At least, not until I'm back to feeling normal again.
So, I wish I could go to the gym, but am not feeling it. I want to actually curl up in a ball and cry, but it would probably hurt (I yawned not long ago and it was not pleasant). So... even though I'm trying to not gain any more, I really want to bake cookies. Because I am also hormonal. It's probably best that I bake. I will feel useful and will create something that will satisfy the screaming hormones that are way confused now. My breast area is sore, but my hormones can't really trigger that. I think it's compromised by shifting that usual pain to my mood. I feel way too cranky to be me right now.
I have strange desires to do things I rarely do. Go ice skating. Run. Jump rope. Do handstands.
All the things I can't do. Stupid.
But one of my goals after all of this is to get back on the trapeze. Yup. Swing through the air, grab the arms of some trapeze dude, flip through the air. I promised my daughter that as soon as I'm able, we are GOING. Husband too. Nothing says crazy family like an afternoon of trapeze!
I like my goal. It's not about my career, social crap, vanity, or anything other than FUN and being able to jump off the platform and trust that my arms will hold me, my abs will hoist my legs over the bar, and the breath will be knocked out of me for just a second as I feel a combination of terror and sheer happiness.
Is summer a realistic goal? I won't know until I know if I have chemo or radiation in my future. But I like to think that by this summer I will have a breast, and I will be back on the trapeze. And I won't worry about anything while I'm up there. If you've never tried trapeze, do yourself a favor. The feeling applies to so much in life. Jump off the platform and trust. That's how I have tried to feel through this whole ordeal.
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