My sincere apologies for such a long hiatus from blogging. I’m actually quite embarrassed by my last post too. My best friend, Martin, and I have dinner every Wednesday and we celebrated that Wednesday a bit more than I had planned. Good company, good conversation, and good wine mix well, but wine and blogging don’t always mix well. Again, my apologies.
It has been a little over four weeks from my surgery and I am doing quite well. The incisions are healing and I’m getting better every day. I’m slowly getting back my range of motion and strength in my arms and I’m also slowly getting used to how I look in the mirror every morning. I still have moments when I feel like fracking Frankenstein, but I really do value the peace I feel when I think about how the road ahead will be easier ahead, given the hard choices I have made about my surgery.
My doctors confirmed that I will not need radiation treatment. Whoo hoo! That also means that I can have implants for my reconstruction. Although it’s been several weeks since my surgery, I can’t really focus on the reconstruction yet. I’m still adjusting after the bilateral mastectomy and will need a bit more time to really process what has happened.
A moment I had in the airport last week reminded me of the impact of what has happened to me and that I have a lot more sorting through to do before I can mentally move on to the next step. I was on my way to San Francisco to visit friends for Halloween. Standing in line to go through the metal detector, I took off my coat, shoes, belt, and emptied my pockets. My friend, Stefan, helped me with my carry-on luggage that day, because I was still having difficulty lifting stuff. The woman on the other side of the metal detector looked at me and yelled at me to take off my sweatshirt and hat. I didn’t understand why I needed to take off my sweatshirt and hat, given that I had not yet gone through the metal detector. Nonetheless, I tried complying with the woman’s requests. I struggled with my sweatshirt for a long time. Although I’m much better now, at the time, it took me twice as long to dress and undress as it had taken me prior to the surgery. While struggling with my sweatshirt, I noticed the long line of travelers watching me, wondering what the hell was going on and why I was taking so long to take off a simple sweatshirt. I started having an anxiety attack when I realized that not only was I feeling rushed, but that after taking off my sweatshirt and hat, I would be fully exposed. My t-shirt under my sweatshirt would do little to hide the fact that I no longer have breasts and my almost bald head would expose the fact that I am sick. I felt more vulnerable than I had been in a long time. To make matters worse, the stupid TSA lady on the other side of the metal detector was unsympathetic. She continued to yell at me to get my sweatshirt and hat off so that the line could proceed forward. I thought about saying something to her or asking for her manager, but didn’t want to be detained by TSA because I complained. When I finally got through the stupid line and was able to get my shoes on, I started to cry. And I couldn’t stop crying. The TSA lady’s lack of sympathy, crappy attitude, and ignorance represented everything I have tried to avoid since my diagnosis. Add to that my lack of control — hell, of course I’d love to take my stupid sweatshirt off like any normal human being — and what you get is a bawling wreck.
Thankfully, my friends were very supportive for the remainder of our trip, and it was amazing to see all my friends for Halloween. Though the trip started off on a very bad foot, it ended on an uplifting one. Receiving even more support from my extended family was the best thing for my recovery. I do recognize though, that moments like that with the TSA lady may continue to pop up here and there and that I need to own them as they come along. My journey is not over yet and there will be many more obstacles along the way. I just hope I’m more prepared in the future than I was with the TSA lady.
