Renewal / A Day in the Life Post-Mastectomy

I sat here, ready to write about endings as this year came to a close. Life as I've known it no longer exists.  I was ready to write about confronting mortality, about the stark realization that I am not invincible. I have cried many tears since my mastectomy for the loss of my health, my breasts, my sense of normalcy. I am no longer physically independent. I feel weak in the areas I used to feel strong. There has been so much loss and sadness in the past month (42 days, really). It would be easy to sit here and write a melancholy contemplation of all that is wrong in my world. And while that might function as a window into a small aspect of my world as 2013 comes to a close, it hardly reflects my daily reality.

Most mornings, I wake up before the sun. I'm usually in pain, but Doug and I have been smart enough to leave a pain pill and a muscle relaxer on the night stand, along with an already opened bottle of water. I don't have enough strength in my arms and hands to twist off the caps from the medicine and water bottles, so leaving them out and at the ready has helped to ensure I can get to my meds and get relief quickly (and Doug gets to sleep). Don't worry. Charlotte knows the dangers of touching pills that aren't hers.

I check on Charlotte and Clover every morning. This usually ends in wanting to take a picture because my two girls (human and canine) sleep and snuggle in some of the most hilarious positions I've ever seen. Most days I resist the urge to capture the image, kissing their noses and covering them with blankets instead. I head downstairs for coffee and to enjoy the morning sun breaking from its slumber, casting a cool light on the marshy area that sits just beyond my sunroom. Though this isn't our forever home and it's still in a bit of disarray from the move, I really love it here. It's cozy. Something about that sunroom makes me feel peaceful, calm. Not a common feeling in my life. I imagine sitting there, writing and drinking coffee and the literariness of that imagined scene makes me really happy. One day, that will happen. I will sit there, drinking coffee in the morning light and write something that will change the world.

This morning was the first I was able to take something close to an actual shower. I've been washing daily from the sink and giggling in my mind because I used to pretend to be Laura Engels from Little House on the Prairie when I was young and bathing in the sink reminds me of those hours of play. Ok, maybe I don't giggle so much as wince in pain most days, but each day was better and today was great. I showered! Doug helped wash my hair and Saran Wrapped me to help keep my final drain (Yes! I'm down to one!) from getting too wet. I think he's beginning to understand my love/hate relationship with my hair. I think he's developing one of his own with it, having had to brush and wash my hair on several occasions. It's thick, curly, unruly. A beast. I'm thinking of hacking it off to make the days simpler, but it will likely fall out someday soon anyway and I'm torn about it. Might as well enjoy it while I can. I really do love it more than I hate it. Plus, I think I've hacked off quite enough lately [insert dark laughter - that was a joke =)]. 

Update: I did it. I've met a wonderful woman at Great Clips in Leland. Vanessa is kind, great with hair, & has made me feel great each time I've visited, even when only for a shampoo & style. She was so blown away by how much hair we cut off in the first attack, she recommended I photograph it for the blog. I should've taken a 2nd shot of the hair that fell when she actually shaped the rest of my cut. Nearly as big as this first pile. See for yourself: 

I shaved my legs today and I'm pretty sure my armpits actually got clean. The removal of my lymph nodes has really taken a toll on my left arm/armpit. I can hardly lift my arm from the side of my body and simply touching the skin in my armpit and on my arm is incredibly painful. I'm not exaggerating here. That pain is worse than the bruised ribs I endured from the deck collapse. We've attempted, daily, to clean that area, but it usually ends in tears. The right side hurts too, but I have more mobility there and can actually, on occasion, stretch that arm out to reach for things when I need them. This failed, of course, the other day when I was reaching for a coffee cup in my cabinet. I could not reach far enough, though I tried to stand on my tippy toes and reach out as slowly and far as I could muster. No mug=no coffee. It was a start to a bad day. But, we are learning lessons. Now, much like the meds, we leave a mug on the counter each night so I can have coffee in the morning.

Doug has to help me get dressed most days and each day starts and ends with him milking my drains and measuring the output of lymph fluid. He doesn't complain. We are newlyweds, mind you. We should be in the hot and heavy stages of passion. I suppose, though, that our passion just looks different right now.

Most afternoons are filled with happiness. Friends come and go. Delicious meals are dropped off. Charlotte's been able to play with a friend (or a few) nearly everyday. My parents and Doug's mom and brother have spent so much of their time caring for us;  helping clean the house, keeping things running smoothly, looking after Charlotte's needs and mine. Our fridge and cabinets are full of food, nutritious and treats. Lots and lots of treats. I'm so grateful for all the help and the distractions and really overwhelmed by everyone's generosity of time, spirit, gifts and meals.

I'm exhausted by 8 or 9pm. I've been going to bed before Charlotte most days. The (very low dose) Ambien has helped me sleep, though I seem to wake up instantly when it wears off (around 3am).

Most days are mostly the same, though something simple happens every day that reminds me I am healing. I am getting better; a simple task that most of us take for granted I can do today that I couldn't the day before. Shower, reach a mug, chop a small onion, scramble an egg, shave my legs. Such joy in the simplest of tasks. Though each day seems to start with pain, I am reminded of these simple joys when I reach for the pain meds I've learned to leave within reach, when I hear from friends and family calling or dropping in to check on me. When I look in their eyes or hear in their voices their desire to take this away from me, to shoulder this pain, to rid me of cancer.

As we put 2013 to bed, there are a few things I know. I know tomorrow I will wake up in pain, but it will be less than I felt today. I know relationships will be challenged in the coming year, and likely grow stronger. I know I will have some of my worst days in 2014, but I'm hopeful to have some of my best. I know I will look, sound and feel different. I know there will be fear and uncertainty, but I also know there will be strength and joy and a level of closeness I've never known.

Cancer is a curse, but it's also a blessing. I will know renewal unlike ever before. I hope each of you reading this post will find blessings in the coming year. So many of my close friends are fighting battles they don't deserve, that could destroy their very spirit, but they are strong and they are fighting.  I hope and pray for a positive outcome for each of them, for whole hearts, stability, pregnant bellies, honest love, for everything they hope and pray for. And for each of you, battles unknown, may 2014 be the year that brings you the peace, love and joy you yearn for.

I'm going to sip some bubbly with my family and crawl into bed well before the ball drops tonight. I hope to fall asleep tonight to the same image as last night. Doug holding my hand. Charlotte snuggled between us, wiggling her hand between ours, the three of us bound together, holding on to one another.