Post-Op Day 4
Today it has been 4 days since having my surgery. It has been a hard 4 days… When I started blogging I promised myself my writing would be an honest account of my experience through breast cancer. The following is my current experience…
When I was first diagnosed, I cried for about 6 days. Not all day every day, but I would have intense waves of grief and heavy tears would just come from out of nowhere without warning. I was so sad and scared and mad and worried, but then I found my courage and I began to feel stronger, hopeful, even brave. There were moments when I forgot. Long, liberating moments when I completely forgot about my diagnosis. Wonderful moments when I was just living my normal life, taking for granted the extreme bliss of my normal. 4 days ago, those moments were taken away from me. For 4 days, I haven’t had one minute where I’ve not been painfully aware that I am a breast cancer patient. I might find those times in my future again when I will forget, but that isn’t going to happen for quite some time. Since surgery, the reality has hit so hard and feels so raw. My mutilated chest, the pain and discomfort, the drains coming out of my body, the port protruding from under my skin, the inevitable scars… all of them serving as constant reminders. Reminders of what is becoming my new normal. I move from feelings of extreme thankfulness that my cancer was found early to feelings of complete and total despair to feelings of embarrassment because I feel sad and don’t have it all together yet. This is just the beginning and I know what awaits with my treatment. I’ve had some hard hours the past few days when I’ve just felt overwhelmed and no matter how hard I’ve willed myself not to cry, I just couldn’t keep my tears from coming.
Life certainly has a way of humbling us. In addition to feeling like an emotional and physical train wreck, I feel deep sorrow for what I’m putting my family through. My patient, loving, gracious husband who is caring for me, stripping and emptying my drains of blood and body fluids several times a day, making sure I get my arsenal of medications on time, taking valuable time from his work to be home with me. I feel horrible that I am putting him through this. That he has to see me this way, so broken. That what is changing me is also changing him. I hate that my kids and grand babies have to see me this way. They have been so caring, unselfish and present. My daughter has taken time away from her husband and infant son to help me shower, buy groceries, clean my house… I’ve never felt so vulnerable or out of control in my whole life, completely at the mercy of everyone around me, depending on them to help me with the most basic things that I wish I could do for myself, and most of the time I can’t articulate to them exactly what I need…
I am being surrounded with so much love and support. Beautiful people who love and care about me. I know I’m enormously blessed and have so much to be thankful for. I know it could be so much worse. I know it won’t always be like this. I know it will get better and my good days will again outnumber my bad days. I know I am strong and healthy and in good hands, and I absolutely know it will all be okay. I was truly at peace going into surgery, but this has been rough. I’m having a tough time finding my song right now. I’m having a tough time even praying. I feel as though my heart is shattered into a million pieces and my spirit is anxious about what is ahead. Tonight I am clinging to the truth that God is near, holding my broken heart and crushed spirit, and that He will bind up my wounds and protect me, just as the scripture says. I’m glad He knows my needs because I don’t even know what to ask Him for right now. I am trying to just be still. Leaning on His promises and just focusing on embracing each moment of each day honestly and with faith that the next day will be better.
I don’t share this to invoke feelings of pity. I am in no way fishing for reassurance, affirmations or pep talks. This is a time when there simply are no words. Cancer isn’t pretty. It’s brutal. It’s humiliating and life altering. It is a thief of security, joy, comfort and peace. I’ve known this from a clinician’s perspective, but it is a whole new experience as the patient. It is a humbling road to walk and I am relying on God’s grace for each step ahead of me.
