Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again

Pain: noun “Physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury. An unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential damage. Pain is not only a physical sensation.” International Association for the Study of Pain

It’s been 72 hours since my last surgery. I can feel my body trying. Having a go (we’ve been watching Mary Poppins a lot lately) at healing from the inside out. 

My skin stretches. It feels tight across my chest matched with a sharp tinge over the incision with every breath I take. The pressure on my ribs ache. I look down and expect to see blues and yellows spreading across my torso. Instead I see the attempt of a bosom masked by surgical tape and gauze. A slight bosom but an attempt nonetheless. 

I didn’t know what “pain” felt like before now. Even though I’ve threatened my children with the notion of adoption rest assured both turds sprang from my loins. I felt pain during birth but that was different. Firstly I received an epidural so that masked most of the misery and secondly once they arrived any semblance of discomfort was forgotten and replaced with a living, breathing, majestic distraction. 

I’ve felt emotional pain not knowing if Steve was going to make it through the night when he was battling necrotizing pancreatitis. But this… THIS type of pain I was not privy to. 

This irritation is large, stabbing, sharp, all encompassing, intrusive. And there are no spanking new, sparkley babies to divert me. 

This pain has changed me. My innocence has been sprung from ignorance. 

I’m shocked into the reality of pondering HOW people living with pain live their lives on a daily basis. The experience of dealing with pain while attempting to “live my life” has been a mother fucking JOURNEY. 

Which leads me to ruminate, what is our role here? How do we define our journey? Do we set our own standards and strive to uphold? Or do we look to the left and attempt to mimic?

Having cancer while being a mom to two young kids has forced me to look inward. Cancer has given me the opportunity to prove to that even if we have blockages in the road the journey must resume. 

Pick yourself up, dust yourself and start all over again. Repeat. 

 

Bring on the pause

  

I’m having surgery on tomorrow to place tissue expanders. This is the step before implants. They essentially sew in deflated balloons and pump them with saline over a 2-4 week span. Although an additional surgery will be required to place the permanent implant I’m looking forward to some temporary pumpage. It has been a mere 2 weeks since my bilateral mastectomy and although doctors typically like to give more respite in between procedures, I require radiation so it’s best to get these bewbs ready for “show time.”. 

Another tit (see what I did there? ;) bit of knowledge that has been recently relayed is due to the fact that they removed 4 cancerous lymph nodes and because one of my cancer “feeds off of estrogen” (isn’t that a strange way to phrase it and don’t you immediately imagine a giant, teethy monster gobbling up ovaries?) I will officially be placed into menopause.

Menopause. Hardy fucking har comedic blog gods. Move over flat stomach, testosterone gut here I come. No more estrogen based hormonal explosions, no more periods and all THAT entails and no more babies. 

That one stings. 

I’m not going to say it “kills” but the idea of not having more children definitely warrants a big time “bummed out.” Also and yet again it’s the reoccurring theme that the decision has been taken from me rather than it being a personal choice. 

So you know what?

Fuck it. FUCK IT. I have 2 beautiful, wonderful, fucking fabulous babies. I HEAR BY DECLARE THAT IT IS MY MOTHER FUCKING CHOICE NOT TO HAVE MORE KIDS. YoU HeAr That MaSS GeNeRAl AnD My ReCeNTLY DepaRTed TuMORS??! I’m steering this ship.

But in honesty, how will this effect me? Will my character change? Do I go into menopause or do I become a menopausal woman? Do I get a pin or some sort of recognition of achievement? How will I know I have officially arrived at said meno-pause? I’ve never been a menopausal woman before so there will be an adjustment period but I’m a quick learner.

I’ve often heard that menopause is the chapter in a woman’s life when “she puts put men on pause and herself in the forefront.” It’s a shame that the common pattern is not to put herself first FROM THE START but alas here we all are.  

If menopause allows women to gain knowledge and freedom that was once forbidden then sign me the fuck up. This entire journey has been a rediscover of myself. Realizing who I truly am. It sounds like menopause is the perfect destination stop on my drive home. 

Lilah asked me to buy her a shirt that says, “Black and Proud.” I said, “Sure baby if you want it I’ll buy it but you’re not black.” She answered with a combination of shock and disappointment, “I’m not?!?” 

So where does that leave me? A 37 year old menopausal mom to a formerly Caucasian, 8 year daughter and a 5 year old son who repeatedly sings the lyrics to “whoop there it is.”

Right fucking here that’s where. Bring on the pause.