love is health
Too many things to say8/23/2013 There's so much that I want to say right now, and not enough web space in the interwebs to say it all, so I will do my best to be brief. Let me start with:
THANK YOU. Family & Friends: You have been so kind to me. From thoughtful gifts to not judging me as I lost my liquid lunch, thank you for being so wonderful & supportive. I wish I could return the favor some day. There are just so many people who have shown their support in 1 way or another. It's overwhelming, in a good way. My wonderful Luke has been exceptional (no surprise there). He's been nothing short of consistent, comfortable, safe, reliable - exactly all the things I need in my partner for a speedy, emotionally safe recovery. He's on the front lines with me, my partner in crime, my go-to-guy. I am lucky to have such an awesome partner. Roller Derby Community: I love you. For those of you not in the know, Arizona Men's Derby has organized a fundraiser to help out with my medical expenses. Skaters & Refs from all over AZ have signed up to participate. Local restaurants and national roller derby businesses have pitched in for sponsorship. Special thanks to:
My body: You are a lovely machine. Thank you for pwning cancer - LIKE A BOSS. I am healing freakishly fast, with not much pain, and an alarming amount of energy. I won't need radiation. I am cancer-free right now (knock on wood). I will be back to work next week. I will be back to the track in 3 weeks (although not about to play full contact). I almost feel like myself again, but with a bionic boobie.
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Emerging on the other side8/17/2013 <---- I kinda look like that, but with Grenade Drains. Last night I tore off the gauze flap that they place for the purpose of shielding your eyes from the surgery site. I thought I would be more fearful of how I look. However, my curiosity got the best of me, and I looked at the surgery site almost as soon as I could. While days passed before I took the gauze flap off, I figure my acceptance of my chest should begin immediately. I don't know about ya'll, but if I had a friend who just went through this, I would want to ask a billion questions, but would restrain myself for fear of being too invasive. That said, here's a little Q & A for you, in case you are as curious as I am. Also, don't hesitate to ask. Seriously. If you are curious about anything, remember this site is as much about education as it is about entertainment & venting. So ask! Q: How are you feeling? A: Physically, great. I don't believe I will need to take pain killers today, I am eating regularly, and have enough energy to go on walks outside. I am currently day dreaming of getting on a stationary bicycle :). Emotionally, I feel pretty solid. I have been overwhelmed by the show of love and support of people in my life, and have shed only tears of gratitude on several occasions, seeing how well supported I am. I am a little surprised I am not grieving as much as I thought I would. I expected to lament the loss of my breast & nipple, but I emerged feeling whole & healthy. Spiritually, (for lack of a better term), I am filled with gratitude: grateful for my health, grateful for my care, grateful for so much. I can't express enough gratitude. I am a really luck lady. Q. What's it feel like to have a breast gone? A: It's a little bizarre, no doubt. I keep feeling this weird vibrating sensation where my breast was, as though the surgeon dropped a cell phone in there :-P. It also feels like there is something under my skin (the tissue expander). It's hard to get a full, deep cough or laugh because it hurts my chest. (Can you imagine living with Luke and not laughing? Neither can I.) There isn't much pain so much as there is this uncomfortable tugging feeling where the drains are connected to my body. Q: What do the grenade/ JP drains (aka chesticles) feel like? A: Well, I feel like I am in a sci-fi movie and I am the cyborg. It is as hard to imagine as it is to explain. The chesticles are pretty gross, as I can witness fluid leaving my body. They tug at me a little, and are really awkward to deal with. The mastectomy bra given to me, in combination with the drains, makes me (comically) feel like a suicide bomber. This all sounds far worse than it actually is. All in all, its tolerable, and I'm not allowing it to interrupt my mojo. Q: What do you want/ need right now? A: I am happy to report that you have all done such a great job caring for me, and I am lacking nothing. High fives, visitations, and good jokes are all I need :). I hope to see you soon. Call before you come over to be sure it's a good time. Q: Any thoughts on femininity or feeling lady-like right now? A: Let's be real - I wasn't very lady-like to start. Thanks to my derby wife, my mantra through all this has been "whole and healthy", meaning I did not emerge from surgery any "less" of a person or woman, and I emerged healthy, with the tumor no longer in my body. It would be so easy to feel less feminine, especially after not being able to shower for several days, being 1/2 flat chested, and not being able to shave my armpits. But those things don't make me a woman. What makes me a woman is the grace in which I operate and navigate through this transition. So I keep focused on that. The cherry on top is knowing that Luke still finds me sexy, even if I look like a suicide bomber cyborg. :-D Q: Anything else? A: Just more gratitude. I won't be able to thank every individual who has shown me love and support. There are too many people to thank. Your gifts, encouragement, well wishes, thoughts, prayers - everything - has been appreciated and well utilized. I wouldn't be doing this well if it weren't for the support I received from my community. I am a very fortunate woman. I hope I can give it all back some way, some day. Please feel free to post any questions you have about surgery, be it mine or breast surgery in general. The Final Countdown8/13/2013 First, much love to my great friend KPow for flying from Portland to Phoenix mid August, despite hating the oppressive heat. That's friendship. I'm so glad she's here.
I feel so heavy. Everything just feels so serious, and grave. It's hard to stay present and really enjoy the day. I have as much focused intensity right now as if I were at work, or getting ready to jam. I want today to be so intent - so purposeful, since it's a day to be savored. It will be months before my body is totally healed again - before this process ends. Its crazy to think it's been 2 months since diagnosis, but everything up to this point was simply preparation for the beginning - for tomorrow. That said - I am committing the rest of today to lighthearted, lazy whimsy. Only fun is to be had. I will savor it. I will cherish it. I will PWN today, and then rock surgery like a boss tomorrow. I'm signing out for now. See you later, alligators. Thanks, Pete!8/10/2013 Special thanks to my friend Pete Soloway for drawing these pictures for me. I LURVE them! They're Boobies.... Get it?!??! Yeah, hip checking cancer cells!
Pack is Here. Life is now.8/10/2013 This week has been a roller coaster. Or should I say a defensive powerjam?
The blessing/ curse of having cancer (beyond the obvious) is that it forces you to have to slow down and reflect on that which is most important to you. You can't ignore these things for very long before they burrow their way through the pack of life. Like the most tenacious jammers, the Important Things In Life (ITIL) will force life to go where it wants, at the speed it wants, in the direction it wants, until life scatters across the track, causing a pack destruction. My pack is slowly being destroyed, and reformed. And that's okay. It needs to happen. This week I recorded my tryout for Team USA. Objectively speaking, it was not my best lifetime performance. Frankly, I have de-conditioned a bit since my concussion in mid June. Couple that with my inconsistent practice attendance and a splash of stress, and you have an athlete who gave her all, but fell short of shining. While I am not pleased with my performance, I also recognize I have a lot on my plate, have put a great deal of pressure on myself to perform under stressful conditions (stress begets stress), and I gave the very best that I could, all considered. As I would tell any other athlete in a similar situation, "all you can do is the best that you can, and that's that." I am glad I followed through with this goal, and am still very grateful for my community who has supported me in accomplishing it. Team USA or no - I at least got to finish what I started. It was bitter sweet, but I'm glad I did it. On the lighter side, this week my team received news that we are being awarded the Spirit of Phoenix Women's Sports Association (PWSA) Award. This is very significant for us. For those of you following my team, we've been through a lot in the past 12 months: The drama of transfergate, followed by the beatings we took at regionals, followed by the retirement of several veteran teammates, some hard early season losses, injured players, short rosters, division challenges, and fallen rankings. Nonetheless, my determined dreammates and I pressed on, ending our season with a 3 game winning streak, playing with 10-11 skaters, half of whom were new to the team, and rose to veteran-level skill in under 6 months. We became a machine. We worked our a$$es off (no , seriously - I had to buy new pants and have lost 8 lbs) to rebuild our team. I am DAMN proud of us. It sure feels good that our dedication, tenacity, and "just keep skating"/ work hard-play hard attitude is being recognized. Tomorrow, at half time during the Phoenix Mercury's game, we are receiving the Spirit of PWSA Award. I am so very proud. Meanwhile, surgery is looming. I have done my best to remain present in each day and not get caught up mentally chasing my tail in preparation for next week. Right now is the time to be with Luke, be with my team, see my friends & family, and chill out. Remaining present is a remarkably challenging yet much needed task for me. If you see me staring off into the distance or mentally checking out, hit me in the boob. That should bring me back right quick :). Aw snap. Here comes the serious stuff. Surgery is finally scheduled. After waiting nearly 2 months from diagnosis to scheduling, it's finally going to happen. Come August 14th, my body will be different. I still can't wrap my mind around it all. Breasts are a physical manifestation of femininity and femaleness. The idea of having one taken away and replaced by something foreign is all too uncomfortable to me. Knowing that I will be unbalanced, possibly for the rest of my life, is at times too much to think about, and I just shut down. I just want to skate. So I have been keeping nice and busy. Things are busy at work. Busy at home. Busy at practice. Busy busy busy busy. Intellectually I can comprehend that my tight schedule is just a mechanism of distraction and denial. Emotionally speaking, I can't accept or acknowledge that I need to feel anything other than busy. Oh denial, you feel so safe. Is it practice yet? Yet my body is rebelling. It is trying to tell me everything I have effectively muted. I can't sleep well. I have anxiety dreams. My muscles twitch sporadically - eyelids, biceps, quads. They all quake with a fear that I don't care to admit. For whatever reasons (that I frankly don't want to understand), I have very sufficiently stopped myself from feeling as much grief as is appropriate for this situation. I really just want to skate. For me, there is heroism in asceticism/ stoicism. Only the objective, physical truth that I will be okay no matter what is the only truth I will allow myself to acknowledge. Everything beyond that singular thought is frivolous. Any concern about vanity, sensuality, posture, control, and composure is nonsensical. "But you are human" is what I keep hearing. Yes, but I am a human who aims for excellence and strives to transcend the impracticalities that are often associated with emotions. That doesn't mean I don't feel things. I feel plenty, but I do believe some emotions are superfluous. Sometimes you need a good cry, and then you move on. But to cry, and cry again, and yet again, seems... exhausting (says the girl who can't sleep well at night anymore from all the stress of trying to be "fine"). I hesitated to write about this, for fear of being "that girl", the one who bitches and moans about her feelings in a situation in which you know she's going to be fine. I am not a victim, nor intend to be perceived as one. Yet this song and dance is taxing. It's 8:15 on a Friday night, and I could nearly fall asleep at my keyboard, I am so tired. I am so ready to be done with this obstacle. Consider this post an exercise in therapeutic vulnerability. And at the same time, I can't help but want to strap my skates on and go on like I am not going to lose my left breast in 2 weeks. If not vulnerable, at least I am consistent. AboutSnapshots in time across a span of years managing breast cancer Archives
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