friends who show the way

I have been thinking today, about friends who have gone through difficulties, sickness and death, and who have shared and shown me the way.

The above is a photo of Darrell Grayson, taken the day before he was executed last July. His grace and his hope – the very call to be – is gift and given to me.

I think of my breast cancer support group (which meets tomorrow night), and how important those women are to me.

morning meditation (counting down)

Sometimes I wish that rather than having this extra time before surgery to “process”, I could go ahead and just get it over with.

There is something hanging over these days – an anticipation, a dread, a fear – that is always with me.

I know that it is way out of proportion, but I compare it with how a condemned man must feel when he knows his execution date and time. I watch the calendar, and know that the time is counting down.

I think of the soldiers and civilians who are wounded in war, and then carry and live with their wounds all of their lives.

I wonder about physical woundedness. And yet here I am whole, seemingly healthy, with a body that I mostly love and cherish.

an edible bouquet

This came today from Susan, my sister-in-law.

choosing

It’s like I have a choice.

I can acknowledge the worry and fear – and sometimes I have to put all of my fear to word - but I can also choose to let my mind go down another path: a path of quietness. But I have to do certain things to better establish this path. Like little times of yoga. Like reading small parts of my “Book of Hours” through the day. Like taking Jubilee for walk or sweeping the back porch. Like writing to one of my prisoner friends. Like just sitting.

making love

John and I have been making love more than usual - and this is probably more my idea. I watch our bodies in the early morning light. I watch my body. I wonder how it will be "after". How will I see myself?

the 2nd wave of sadness

One of the nurses told me that the sadness would come in waves.

This must be my 2nd wave of sadness. It is bigger and deeper than the first, welling up inside me and sometimes spilling over in tears. It is about my particular misfortune – my breast cancer – but it is also about all the misfortunes of life, mine as well as others. It is about natural disasters like tsunamis as well as imperfections and break down of body. Things that happen that are out what seems to be ordinary and that bring suffering.

This is my world and this is my life.

It’s nobody’s fault, but the way things are. I suppose I could get mad at God.

Dr. Rimmer

I met with Dr. Rimmer yesterday. It was the last time I will meet with him before the surgery. In fact, it was only the 3rd time I have met with him, ever. The first time being when I was just coming in for the first time with a suspect mammogram; the 2nd time after the first biopsy came back positive. I have spoken with him a few times on the phone, though, and he told me that I could come back anytime before the surgery if I felt I needed to, without an appointment.

The office was a bit crowded and harried on a Friday afternoon, but Dr. Rimmer was patient and answered all of my questions. Even though I knew the answers, I needed to hear the answers from him. Again I wanted to know why he couldn’t do the 2 lumpectomies with radiation and again he told me that I would end up with a deformed breast that I would never be happy with. He all but implied that he simply would not do it. I wanted to know if he could preserve the nipple area, and yes, he could, but I would have no feeling there and it is possible that the ductal in situ carcinoma could have spread to that area.

He showed me where and how he would cut across my breast and lymph nodes, and told me that he would use the “skin preserving” technique so that when Dr. Lickstein puts in the “expander”, I will start out with a little mound of a breast, rather than being totally flat chested.

He has a nice style for a man who cuts off women’s breasts.

His hands are warm and he unabashedly touches – touches your breasts, your hands, puts his arm around you. Ordinarily I would find this a bit off-putting, but in this situation I find it somewhat reassuring.

I had been a bit confused about the type of reconstruction I would be having – silicon implants rather than the more complicated “trans-flap” surgery where skin and tissue is moved from the abdomen to the breast. They make an effort to not influence your decision and just give you the facts, but I saw Dr. Rimmer wince when I mentioned the abdominal surgery, and the nurse later told me that she felt the expander/implant technique was a good choice.

Dr. Rimmer says that I am going into the surgery with good prospects – the DISC (ductal in situ carcinoma) is a larger area, but has supposedly not reached the invasive stage; the invasive stage cancer is small. It is possible that the lymph nodes will not have been affected.

Finally, the nurse made the final arrangements with the hospital. The mastectomy will be done at 9:30AM with the plastic surgery phase following at 11AM. Hearing these times made it all a bit more real, like this is really going to happen. I’m still scared but am getting better I think.

Next week I go to get the blood tests, chest x-rays etc. that they need before surgery.