The cancer gala was very nice. It was also a little boring. Not drastically so. I didn't yawn, or even fidget much. But, it was a bit dry. The food was... eh. Not stupendous but okay. The room was FABULOUS. The event was at the Ritz Carlton and it was well coordinated but it just wasn't "fun".
sigh.
My oncologist (the ever so wonderful Dr. Siegel) was one of the speakers for the evening and it was great seeing him at the podium. I didn't get the opportunity to speak to him -- I didn't feel up to navigating all the tables to find him -- but it was reassuring that he was there. Other than my mother, the only person I recognized in the room was Mayor-for-life Marion Barry. And he was sitting several tables from us as well. Not that I know him to strike up a conversation with him.
Let me go back to the beginning of the evening.
My hot flashes must be triggered by stress because I could barely put my makeup on and get dressed in a timely fashion because I was sweating like an overexerted athlete. There is a special frustration when you take 15 minutes to carefully put on your makeup, only to watch it disintegrate into nothingness because of relentless hot flashes. I had to leave the bathroom several times to go into my bedroom and stand (in my underwear) in front of my fan trying to cool off.
It was not amusing.
My dress, while nice was just a shade more "ordinary"... um conservative?... okay boring... than I would have worn prior to cancer. It was a perfectly fine "little black dress" but it wasn't sexy (not to me) and it wasn't fabulous and I didn't feel sexy or fabulous in it. The extra large rectangle of burned/discolored skin presents real challenges for me to dress around. Adding to the dilemma is the issue that one breast does not make cleavage. And many many outfits are designed to show off very feminine and alluring cleavage.
The dress was a sleeveless black dress with a sheer-ish fabric covering my chest area. The top had just a sprinkle of crystals to give it some shine and a drape in the back to provide just a hint of sexy. It stopped just at my knee, and it had a little "flow" to it at the bottom. It wasn't a bad dress at all... in fact, it would be the perfect "work dinner" dress because it covered everything. It just wasn't the kind of dress you wore with an extra bounce in your step because you KNOW you look amazing.
I didn't look amazing. I didn't feel amazing. And the reason why I cried in the dressing room on Friday was because there were dresses that I really thought were gorgeous but I knew I would be too uncomfortable to wear in my current state.
Tonight was one of the first times in my life that I noticed other women's cleavage and/or dress designs to the degree that I did. Normally, I notice just the dress and sometimes the woman in the dress. Tonight, every woman I saw, I found myself looking at more closely trying to "see" if she also was a breast cancer survivor. I looked for scars, lopsidedness, radiation scars. I couldn't tell. (laughs) And I suppose that it was for the best.
I never longed for cleavage before my mastectomy. With larger breasts, I never had to. I did have to learn to embrace those curves and appreciate the beauty in their very obvious femininity. And I did learn to love my breasts, and my cleavage. I am having a more difficult time than I imagined learning to love my new body. I imagine that after my reconstruction, I will have another learning curve to accepting the new breasts as well.
But tonight, my emotions were in overdrive. I felt like an imposter - pretending to be comfortable in my skin and confident about who I am. When I felt nothing like that at all.
All of this is pretty shallow but not truly so because it affected the way I felt tonight. I didn't feel "pretty". I looked fine but not "Nic-fine"... if that makes any sense at all. When I walked out of the house tonight I simply wasn't feeling fully myself. I felt like a pretender and that feeling dogged my mood all night.
So, I'm sitting with my mom and we only know each other. The other people at our table seemed to be just as uncomfortable as we were and they weren't very chatty or personable either (at first - they warmed up by the end of dinner). We are sitting in a vast ballroom of strangers, unable to mix and mingle because we arrived just at the beginning of dinner. That didn't help. The program was long and rather tedious, I felt "un-sexy" and a bit uncomfortable... and the food wasn't great.
I will say this though, my appreciation for the cancer center increased exponentially tonight. These folks do great work for a lot of people and their hearts are truly into their work. Its a beautiful thing. I am grateful that I had the chance to go to the gala tonight. Normally, a formal event gives me reason to reflect on my life and how lucky I am. But tonight's reflection brought tears to my eyes and a stab of fear into my heart. One of the evening's award recipients was a phenomenal sister who is going through her second bout of cancer. She had breast cancer in 2002 and it returned last year with a vengence. Her smile during her acceptance speech was absolutely electric. By the time she got up to speak, I learned that I was sitting at the table with several friends of hers and her neice and nephew. I was the only cancer patient at my table.
Her family and friends adored her. She received several standing ovations and based on what was shared about her life, I could see why. She was a very accomplished woman and by all accounts, a very warm and generous spirit. She was truly inspirational. And yet, looking at her small frame, and her shiny bald head made me sad in ways that I can't express. Her current reality is my nightmare. For all of her accomplishments, she could not stop cancer from returning to ravage her body. She spoke about how blessed she was to even have cancer, how much she gained because of cancer -- the people she had met, the awards she received and the outpouring of love from the people in her life. I understood her words but I honestly thought to myself that I would give all of it back (in my own life) if it would keep cancer from returning to my body.
By the end of her speech, close to the end of the evening... I was beyond ready to go. I no longer felt like the event was fun and a light-hearted way to spend a Saturday evening. I felt exposed and vulnerable. I felt afraid and angry. I wanted to go home. Now that I'm home and revisiting how I felt throughout the evening, I'm realizing I had less of a good time than I realized at the time.
I have so much work to do to get back to a level place emotionally. I didn't have a horrible time tonight, not at all. But as I review the evening and try to be honest with myself... my dissatisfaction had a lot to do with how I felt about myself, moreso than how the event itself went.
My next "event" is on Saturday; my birthday brunch. I realize now that I have to do whatever it takes to be sure that I FEEL fabulous, so that I can fully be in the moment and not in my head. It should be better because I will be surrounded by people I love and who love me. Instead of sitting in a vast room of strangers, feeling too timid to speak up, and too bored to have a great time.
My 40th birthday is Friday, May 1st. If you get a chance, send me an email saying "happy birthday". Right now, I'm not planning to go out on Friday. I may go to work, but that's about it. And even that is up in the air. (smile)
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