Low

 

 

Sunday was a very rough day. I woke up feeling incredibly fragile and completely overwhelmed with the enormity of having cancer.

That seems strange doesn't it...feeling that way after the worst of the treatment is over.

I grieved the loss of my right breast and the future loss of the left. Not just for myself, but for my husband. He loved my boobs and always had his hands on them but can't bring himself to touch my reconstructed breast. It doesn't feel real or nice to either of us, just plastic, hard and unrelenting to the touch. Perhaps in time we'll adjust to my reconstructed self as the implants settle into my body...I hope so, I miss his hands on that part of me.

I felt so angry and resentful that the Tamoxifen has caused such rapid weight gain. At 72kgs, I've never been so heavy or uncomfortable with my weight before and despite a healthy diet and exercise I'm getting bigger. I feel trapped between not taking Tamoxifen (therefore increasing the risk of cancer returning), and taking it for the next ten years with the constant battle of keeping obesity at bay. A self pitying voice kept whining in my head that I'd been through so much already without this insult to injury. Losing so much of my feminity already not enough for you Universe...sure...smack down what's left why don't you!!!

I didn't want to go out in public because I loathed the way I looked with such short hair. It felt like it was going to take a tortuously long time for my hair to grow to the length I'm comfortable with. I just wanted to look and feel like myself again, instead of looking like a cancer patient...or a truckie.

I was in such low spirits that the insidious fear of cancer showing up elsewhere in my body made me feel panicky and anxious. Most of the time I forget, or choose not to think, about the fact that cancer could come back in more treacherous forms, and next time I might not be so lucky. On Sunday the thought of leaving my boys behind was suffocating.

And on top of all that I was exhausted. So physically and emotionally spent that I went to bed just after lunch and didn't wake up until 5pm.

 

I really struggled with all those monstrous feelings on Sunday because I KNOW just how lucky I am. I am grateful that we've caught the cancer early and I have a pretty positive prognosis. I am grateful for a good medical team, the support and encouragement of family & friends and the immense kindness of strangers. I feel so lucky...I have a husband who loves me and two beautiful little boys to nurture. I am recovering well and have so much to live for. All the annoyances and challenges that lie ahead can be dealt with, if I face it with a kickass attitude. Don't let the bastards get me down right!

I'm fine now. Monday dawned bright, the weight of those emotions lifted and its been a wonderful week. My beautiful boys have made my heart sing.

I have loved watching them play together with their Daddy's old matchbox cars and a makeshift ramp on the back deck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loved listening to their infectious giggles as they bounced like lunatics on the trampoline and raced bikes up and down the path. And I loved watching them sitting on the back step together after dinner, eating their frozen yoghurt pops for dessert.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I guess there are bound to be days when it all feels too much. I'm just glad that that those days are few and far between.

 

 

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Feeling Female

I went out to dinner with my husband tonight, first time in...oh gosh, I can't even recall...I think last September maybe? Talk about well overdue! Our wonderful neighbours came over to babysit, pushed us out the door and told us not to come back until we'd had a good time. We are so freaking lucky to have them living next door! And so we did have a good time, just the two of us talking about life, the universe and everything over a glass of white and a bloody fantastic pub meal at the local hotel.

It felt nice to put on a dress and a pair of heels. I can't confess to feeling glam or the least bit sexy but it did feel good to be out of pyjamas.

For the past four weeks I've felt like pieces of my femininity have been stripped away from me. Losing my breast was hard but it was having all my hair cut off that affected me far more than I thought it would. I know that seems utterly ridiculous because there are a gazillion completely gorgeous women out there sporting short hairstyles. Maybe it's because the choice to have my hair cropped wasn't really mine. Chemo is on the horizon and it is threatening my vanity big time. I don't love how I look. My hair used to be one of the features I'd always felt good about. Now, it's just a constant reminder of what is happening to me.

My husband on the other hand is taking everything in his stride. He told me tonight that he's never felt closer. And I not only believe him, I completely agree with him. How I feel about my appearance is something I will have to work on. He still loves me, in fact he's never loved me more than he does now and that makes me determined to get over my vanity and try to embrace this ever evolving version of me. I have to, because if I can't handle a pixie cut then going bald is going to be a real bitch!

I suppose its just part of the process. Some things are easier to adjust to than others.

 

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