So the euphoria of the surgery going well, and me feeling remarkably well afterwards, has worn off. As I write, I’m waiting to go and see my surgeon to find out about the histology of what they removed, i.e. has all this treatment got rid of the cancer, or is there still some there? Whatever they tell me, I’ll have to come to terms with a new reality. A reality that I can’t prepare myself for, because I don’t know what it’ll look like.
I’ve shed some tears over the last few days. There’s obviously the loss of a boob, which has been replaced with, what appears to be, a disproportionately large flat section of chest. It looks like more than half of my chest is empty, while the remaining boob hangs forlornly next to it. Weird.
I thought I’d cry when I came round from the surgery and looked down and saw a dressing in place of a breast. In actual fact, I was fine and pretty pleased with it. The mourning set in a week later when the dressing got soggy in the shower. I’d avoided removing it any earlier because I was afraid of seeing the “naked” wound. I had wound clinic later that day, so I knew the moment would come, but I’d have my husband with me and I wouldn’t have to face it on my own. The dressing was sopping and I sobbed as I peeled away at the edges that were still well and truly attached. Thankfully there was a smaller dressing along the suture line, which is still there now. Apparently they will remove that this afternoon, so the naked-scar viewing still awaits. To me, seeing it will be part of my new reality.
The other thing that has made me cry and feel sick, in equal measure, over the last few days, is numbness. I currently have no sensation in my armpit, parts of my affected arm or either side of my mastectomy wound. To me it’s grim- especially the armpit bit! I’ve tried two deodorant-application tactics: my husband doing it and me not looking. Made me feel sick. Me looking in a mirror and doing it. Made me feel sick. I guess I’ll get used to it and there’s a chance the sensation could come back, but for now this is my reality. It’s making me pull a face just writing about it.
So here I am, in limbo land. I don’t know what I hope they’ll tell me later today. I’ve now been undergoing cancer treatment for six months. I’ve got used to a new world of appointments – tests, treatments, results. I’ve got used to living life in constant anticipation of the next thing that will happen. I don’t feel like I’m battling cancer, but my doctors are. Waging a series of war-like tactics to rid my body of a deadly imposter. But what happens if they win? How will I feel then?
I’m worried that, if they do give me good news later, I won’t be suitably elated. I have no idea how I’ll feel if they tell me something else. Right now, I don’t know what the something else could be or what it could mean. In any case, both are temporary. Good news now means I will soon be out of the comfort blanket of constant surveillance. Who will be looking for if it has spread or presents as a new primary in the other breast? If they have found active cancer in the nodes they removed, what will that mean? In the flesh, I don’t know what I hope for. I guess I’m feeling numb from more than just the surgery.
My melancholy musings remind me of one of my favourite Bible verses.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain about what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)
Here is where I’m grateful to have a faith in all of this. In the flesh I hardly know what I think or feel today. But, spiritually, I’m sure about what I hope for and it can’t be taken away from me. God loves me and my hope is in Him. For deep joy in whatever this life throws at me, and glory that is beyond my imagination in eternal life with Him. I read this, this morning & it lifted me:
If God is for us, who can be against us?
(Romans 8:31)
I know He is for me. My hope is in Him to carry me through the next few hours and whatever ensues thereafter.