A couple of things have happened that have reminded me that I am still a bit frail. Definitely not as frail as I have at various moments during this past year, but certainly frail enough that I still need to treat myself with care and pay attention. The first problem is that I have an infected big toe. Sounds gross to say but it is true.
I was told that while I was in treatment, I should not have a pedicure. I understood why that was – to prevent any unnecessary infections – but I also felt that I was beyond the time where it would be a problem. I had a pedicure – from a salon that I’ve gone to for many years – before I went to Houston for Labor Day. After I returned from that trip, my toe began to bother me. I freaked out at first but then, calmed down and figured I was being dramatic. Well, a month and a half later…I finally dragged myself over to my primary care doctor’s office and found out that I should have adhered to my oncologist’s advice – no pedicures. Period. My toe hurts – still – and I have to see a podiatrist in order to have the infected part cut off. Just gross.
And easily avoided if I had not been so vain and had taken my situation more seriously. I just had to have cute toes before I went on my mini-vacation. (sigh) Now, my toes look worse than ever and probably will for some time.
Some of the admonishments that you are given as a cancer patient really just seem like overkill… like getting a pedicure. I mean, really? I’ve been getting my toes painted and whatnot for 20 years and have NEVER, ever had a problem. Get a little cancer and bam! More doctors, more problems…
It’s very frustrating.
My second issue is more serious. I am back to an emotional place of fear about my breasts. I don’t know if that fear will ever fully go away, now that breast cancer has entered my life. But in this situation, the fear is about losing my breast – again, which also brings up concerns about losing my life – again. I’m scheduled for reconstruction in a few weeks. I’m still debating cancelling that surgery. Though I don’t really know why.
I received a voicemail the other day from the plastic surgeon who will perform the procedure and her message left me weak and scared. What scared me was that she wanted me to get the genetic testing before my surgery date so that I could know whether or not I carried the breast cancer gene. Since I have a family history, there is a possibility that I carry the gene. If I have the gene, it is her recommendation that while I am in the operating room having one breast created, that I allow the other breast to be removed and instead have two breasts created.
Sigh.
I cannot have the procedure I’m having for reconstruction twice. It is a one-shot deal. So if it happens that cancer returns in my remaining breast, and I have to go through all of this all over again… I can’t use my own tissue to reconstruct a second breast. I would have to have implants. Assuming, of course, that I even make it that far.
When I heard her message, I simply broke down into tears. The fear of losing my second breast is HUGE. I have just gotten to a place where I can sort of deal with having just one breast and now – with one message – I’ve been pushed back 10 months in emotional growth to the scary place where I have to accept giving up a portion of my body.
I thought I was over this. I thought I had dealt with this. I thought this was behind me. And yet, here I sit, tears in my eyes and fear in my heart. I discussed it last night with my parents (well, my mother… my father sat there looking like a deer caught in headlights) and my mom could not understand why I am stuck on keeping my breast. Her logic and mine differ greatly.
The way I see it, the likelihood of cancer recurring in my breast is slim. And there is no assurance that if I lose my natural breast that cancer will not come back to me in some way. To me, cutting off a perfectly fine boobie is ridiculous. And wasteful.
My mother’s logic is…why take the risk? Even a small chance of recurrence is a chance. Breasts aren’t that important in the grand scheme of your life and if it saves you from going through all of this all over again, it is worth the loss.
Truthfully, I had not thought about going through chemotherapy and radiation again. I really had not considered all that cancer recurrence could really mean in my life. I just instinctively felt protective over my body. MY body… MY boobie. MINE. (yes, I realize I sound like a petulant child, but that is how I feel)
Like I’ve said in the past…having cancer is hard because it’s so invasive in your life. Strangers just start telling you all sorts of things about yourself that you didn’t know. And that you can’t feel. You have to trust and take them at their word that what they say they know is true. (Scary)
Cancer strips you of a lot of things; your looks, your strength…your dignity. It takes away your ability to care for yourself as an adult and sometimes it takes away your dreams for the future. Now…in fairness, these things do come back to you…but the taking-away part is really difficult to get over some days.
It’s MY boobie. My very fabulous boobie. And while it’s not as pretty, not as perky, maybe even not as sexy as it was in my younger days… it is all mine. But maybe, it wasn’t meant to be mine forever… I mean, its partner tried to kill me.
I have to make a decision. And I need to make it…like right now…because time is running out. And no decision is still a decision…it’s just not the best decision.
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