I used to be an infrequent poster on my blog because I was always grappling with what content to post in the first place. It was a rare occasion that my thoughts, planning and actions fell into line for a good blog post. Then, I found out my mother had breast cancer, found out that I have the genetic mutation that causes breast and ovarian cancer, made the decision to have a mastectomy and oophorectomy (ovary removal), I became a PREVIVOR and I had something to write about.
When I had the mastectomy, everything changed. I suddenly didn't care about sharing recipes or posts about parenting. I didn't want to empower and inform. I only wanted to "shelter in place" to endure this whirlwind of emotions that loosing your breasts while watching your mother battle breast cancer whips up.
Some people have called me brave for having a mastectomy as a preventative measure. Some people have said that I've inspired and encouraged them. All that makes me feel good. I really did it because I love life...more specifically my life and I want to be able to enjoy it for as long as possible. So, I suppose I don't see myself as all that brave because self-preservation was my primary motive. I just want to be here to experience my amazing family and lovely friends.
My mother is fighting this fucking cancer. I mean she is grappling with it. How can I possibly lament loosing my breasts when she is going through this? I feel guilty. Now SHE is brave! It's torturous to know that she is sick. I love her so much and I just want her to have peace in her mind and healing in her body. Knowing that she is sick and that there is nothing I can do about it creates a misery within me that I've previously never encountered. No one loves me like my mama and no one ever will. My heart quakes even as I write.
Here I am on the heels of another surgery. This time, I get breast implants, my bulging latissimus muscles get tucked into place (back muscles that were used to reconstruct a breast mound...Google it. It's interesting) and my remaining ovary is going to be removed. Menopause is knocking on my door begging to come in. I know it's not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. However, when I envisioned age 32, that shit wasn't on my radar. So, I'm being brave again. Enduring the knife again. When my linens are clinging to my body after enduring a deluge of night sweat and my personal inferno leads me to the freezer to stand and enjoy the cool air, I will try and remember that I am brave. I sacrificed the very parts that make me a woman so that I could have a full life with those that I love.
But, I'm brave though...
When I had the mastectomy, everything changed. I suddenly didn't care about sharing recipes or posts about parenting. I didn't want to empower and inform. I only wanted to "shelter in place" to endure this whirlwind of emotions that loosing your breasts while watching your mother battle breast cancer whips up.
Some people have called me brave for having a mastectomy as a preventative measure. Some people have said that I've inspired and encouraged them. All that makes me feel good. I really did it because I love life...more specifically my life and I want to be able to enjoy it for as long as possible. So, I suppose I don't see myself as all that brave because self-preservation was my primary motive. I just want to be here to experience my amazing family and lovely friends.
My mother is fighting this fucking cancer. I mean she is grappling with it. How can I possibly lament loosing my breasts when she is going through this? I feel guilty. Now SHE is brave! It's torturous to know that she is sick. I love her so much and I just want her to have peace in her mind and healing in her body. Knowing that she is sick and that there is nothing I can do about it creates a misery within me that I've previously never encountered. No one loves me like my mama and no one ever will. My heart quakes even as I write.
Here I am on the heels of another surgery. This time, I get breast implants, my bulging latissimus muscles get tucked into place (back muscles that were used to reconstruct a breast mound...Google it. It's interesting) and my remaining ovary is going to be removed. Menopause is knocking on my door begging to come in. I know it's not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. However, when I envisioned age 32, that shit wasn't on my radar. So, I'm being brave again. Enduring the knife again. When my linens are clinging to my body after enduring a deluge of night sweat and my personal inferno leads me to the freezer to stand and enjoy the cool air, I will try and remember that I am brave. I sacrificed the very parts that make me a woman so that I could have a full life with those that I love.
But, I'm brave though...
The biological parts that identify us as women are only that -- 'parts'. I cannot identify with losing them so I will not pretend to understand your emotions; however, I'm sure it is devastating--that along with watching your beloved mother fighting a ravaging battle. After two breast surgeries, and a few ovarian and uterine surgeries, I know the mental and physical hell I've been through. I'm not strong and I'm certainly not as brave as some would assume--My faith has kept me somewhat sane and stable. I realized in my early 30's that it would be nearly impossible for me to have a child--my life continued but inside I was psychological mess with murderous intent toward my husband. (tmi?) We divorced a few years later. I did adopt as a single parent. In spite of my reproductive/female disappointments, I've since learned that my 'woman-ness' is not the sum total of my body parts and if they work correctly--It is the wholeness of who I am as a human being, my identification within my birth gender population, and all the little nuances that add significance to my journey. Be brave if you must, but most of all, allow yourself to be you.
ReplyDeleteSeriously you are a solid ROCK. . .I am still cheering you on over here and look forward to more of your posts.
ReplyDelete