To catch you up on things, I had my bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction surgery, that's 2 surgeries, the first in September and the second 3 months later in December to finish my breast cancer treatment; 4 surgeries in total. I have really been exhausted and struggling to return to my previous self; some say that is an impossibility, and, perhaps, that is a truth I have to reckon with yet. Everything about my cancer experience was as perfect as one could hope for, so YES, I feel pathetic for feeling pathetic. My friends, most of them, and some I never expected, showed up for me in ways I never imagined; they cooked for me, they prayed for me, they massaged me and gave me healing treatments, they brought flowers, cards, they visited and took me on walks, drove me to appointments, and in every way possible, they let me know they were ready to do whatever it took to carry me through this in the most loving ways. I was blessed. My husband and daughter took tender care of me. I could write an entire blog on the wonder of my husband's love during this time. What's more, I meditated and prayed and asked for perfect surgeries with perfect healing and a beautiful outcome, and I received. Let me say that again, I received. I meditated and visualized a mastectomy minus gas anesthesia and steroids, minus infection, and minus pain. I wanted my doctors to speak to me during my surgery about healing well, and having zero nausea post-op and being hungry. I wanted to listen, unheard of at my hospital, to music that soothed my soul. I wanted only female doctors working on me. The day of my mastectomy, my husband and I showed up at the hospital at the required time of earlier than dawn, or as The Grateful Dead would say, "It must be getting early, the clocks are running late." (That's a good song for this occasion as a matter of fact.) What do you think happened? A female nurse anesthetist walks in and says she will administer my anesthesia and I asked for all my stipulations to be met. She said without hesitation, "that's fine, we can do that." Imagine, I mean visualize, that! My surgeons were also female and, now, I can say that they are humanitarians and artists as well. I was given perfect results. I suffered little. Truly, I managed my pain with advil and valium. I had no infections. My diabetes remained well managed. I was blessed. I am blessed. My reconstruction is wondrously beautiful and this I am told by completely objective practitioners. Cancer did not win, I did. I won in the realms of the physical and spiritual, and love, LOVE rocked my soul. I kept reminding myself that which I truly believe: Worry is the opposite of Faith and it is a Denial of the Divinity within. I believed.
Today I do not feel blessed. I'm sad. For the first time in my life, I question my every move up to my cancer diagnosis, and I feel really down about feeling this way. Why can't I just appreciate without returning my sight on the cancer with all it's how's and why's? Who is this person in my head? This is what it is to be human. Being unable to focus on my blessings seems much like an act of cursing the sun to me. I struggle.
I took my pup on a hike today to get away from myself.
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