If you have ever lost someone close to you, especially a family member, you know that those first days are full of arrangements and busy-ness, not leaving much space for actually processing the pain of the event. Several days later, after everything has been taken care of, you find yourself feeling suddenly alone, with no more tasks and just the weight of your emotions to deal with.
I feel a little bit like that right now (on a much different scale, of course!). The days leading up to my mastectomy, the time in the hospital, and the first weeks after the surgery were full of appointments and plans and arrangements. The day I got my second drain out was joyous, and it was the last appointment I had for a while. My parents left. I had no appointments to occupy myself. All I had was my reflection in the mirror, and the reality of my new normal.
In many ways, that was much harder.
I'm well enough to take care of myself, but not well enough to go to work. I'm still in a bit of pain, but nothing quite as painful as the image of my new body and the recognition that my old body is not coming back. I have kept myself pretty distracted, but now I'm stuck having to actually process all the emotions I haven't had a chance to touch yet.
Part of what has brought these to the forefront is the knowledge of my next steps. Dr. Skinner had told me that whether or not I go on Tamoxifen for some amount of time, it was a good idea to wait to get pregnant. So I called my GYN to discuss this with her. She recommended an IUD, a reliable non-hormonal birth control method that would not interfere with the Tamoxifen and put any extra hormones into a body that has produced three hormone receptive breast cancers in six months. She also suggested I get tested for the now-famous BRCA gene mutation (that's the one Angelina Jolie has). I probably don't have it, but with my recent history it's not a bad idea to check, and if I have it, it has an effect on ovarian cancer risk, and of course the possibility of passing it on to any possible offspring. I made an appointment for the IUD, and got the info for the test.
I know it's only temporary. I know none of this is as bad as it could be - I probably don't have the BRCA gene, and even though an IUD is designed to stay in for 10 years, I don't actually have to wait that long. There is still a possibility that I could have a child by the time I am 33 or 34. But remember how I said that after all the immediate stuff has passed, I was faced with the emotions I hadn't dealt with? So the big one that came up was about child-bearing. I'm kind of over losing my breast - wish I didn't have to, but so it goes. I'm even over losing my other breast in the near future. I'm even over breast-feeding - again, would have loved to, but it isn't the end of the world. But throughout all of this has been the nagging fear that I won't be able to bear children at all. I saw a fertility doctor, and a blood test said I was probably fine. Even if I'm not, we can always adopt. But there are other factors that are more personal than I won't get into here. Sufficed to say: I am more worried about this than I would like to be.
Last time I saw the gynecologist, I joyfully checked the box that said, "I'm planning a pregnancy in the next year." She had told me there are some prenatal vitamins I should start taking two months before we start trying (aka the wedding night!). June 3rd is two months before. But instead of getting prenatal vitamins on June 3rd, I went on a birth control that is intended to be long-term. I wasn't looking forward to it, so I watched some episodes of The Office to cheer me up. And which episode should come up? The one where Jim and Pam get pregnant. Seriously?? I cried all the way to the doctor. I sat in the car for a few minutes trying to pull myself together. But I got into the room and was lying on the table texting Michael and lost it again. The doctor walked in on me quietly weeping. "Are you ready?" she asked. "No!" I squeaked out. She said, "Oh honey, what's up? Talk to me." (She knew from an earlier appointment how emotional I was about this.) She listened to me wail on about all these things on my heart, things I'd only really told Michael, big things and stupid things like Jim and Pam. I told her some of the things I had heard about IUDs, and she calmed my fears.
When I had composed myself a bit, she asked again if I was ready, and I said okay. The procedure was much more painful than I expected, but her demeanor was gentle, which helped. I pulled myself together and got in the car and cried all the way home. I was still in a fair amount of pain, and the only position that usually helps this pain was not one that my recent surgery allowed. Life is so unfair.
When Michael came over, he soothed me and made me tea and listened to me cry and went to the pharmacy to get me things to make me feel better - a hot pack, a sunflower-in-a-bucket, a green lei, and even a toy for Klaus, all in a cute green tote. It helped, but I still pretty much cried all night, and even cried myself to sleep (again).
But you know what? I felt better in the morning. Sometimes you just need two solid days of crying and a cup of peppermint tea and a nice hand to hold to make you feel better.
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