Ouch!

Well, I made it through thanks to the skills of my surgeons, teams of wonderful, hard-working nurses and assistants, and the love and care of my friends and family. I will admit that typing is still a little uncomfortable for me though, so this will be brief.

For anyone else who may be approaching a similar experience to mine I would like to recommend they pamper themselves a little. Not too much, but just enough to help take some of the pressure and stress off during the pre-surgical waiting period. The extra pampaering afterwards helps a lot also.

I'll get back with more info, etc. as soon as being at the keyboard is more comfortable.

Hope any who happen this way are doing at least as well.

Izzlebug

A Day of Reckoning

This week is the week I will be having my surgery. Although I know that, in the long term, everything is likely to be just fine, it is the short term I find so difficult to confront right now. With the preparations for future plastic surgery procedures, I will likely be in the OR for around five hours, give or take, according to my surgeons and I am feeling the usual, and presumably "normal," pre-surgical jitters most people in like situations would tend to feel. This is a very stressful week for me, but I feel as if I am surrounded by the love of family and the best wishes of many friends and acquaintances and, if those of a more somber faith will forgive me the impertinence, have even managed to rate some very gentle attentions from God Himself, not only in the appearance of certain rather interesting cloud formations, but also this evening in the simple little shadow cast by my keys on the wall as I headed out the door - the shadow looked like a little angel hovering quietly in front of me. I have never had any doubts as to the presence or existence of God, merely doubts as to the depth of His interest in me and my life. Still I find comfort, humor, and some degree of thankfulness in such small reminders, whether others might choose to debate them or not. For me they have had meaning and have helped me during a time of distress. I am grateful.

Tomorrow will be a day spent with my sister and, later on, my niece also. Hopefully we will be able to find some place mutually agreeable to have an early supper and then all head home (or back to our hotel, in my sister's case) for an early bedtime and a good night's rest, although I do not know if I will be able to sleep much since Thursday is "The Day" for me.

I will try to let anyone reading this know how things went as soon as possible following my surgery in case they might be facing the same type of surgery anytime soon. I have been told that it is not an especially painful recovery, although there will obviously be pain involved, and that I should be able to return home the day following the surgery. I know each person's experience is unique but, just in case any of mine might be of help to someone else, I will try to convey the information ASAP.

One thing I would heartily recommend to anyone approaching this type of surgery is that they take the time to allow themself to have a good cry here and there. I was crying earlier this evening (I hid in the bathroom) and likely would have done so earlier but the day was too busy and there were too may people around and too much activity - all necessary - to allow me the release of grief, fear, and whatever else I needed to cry out of my system earlier in the day. Being reminded that you are loved helps in this process and, whether in an ethereal sign from on high or in the simple hard work given so willingly by a younger sister or family friend, it all means a great deal when faced with the ordeal I am trying to cope with at present. I am loved. I will always have that and that will always be with me where ever I am; where ever I may find myself.

There is a short song about being loved that I learned many years ago that I think of once in awhile. I paraphrase it here for you now. I do not recall the author or the composer, however:

"I am loved, I am loved.
I can risk loving you.
For the ones who know me best, love me most.
I am loved, I am loved.
Won't you please take my hand,
We can learn to love each other;
We are loved."

As I write this song out (or type it out, for the more literally minded), I am reminded of the terrible troubles of the Middle East between the Israeli and Arab peoples; the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim believers. Why are we so determined to hate and destroy that with which we do not agree; that which we fear, for whatever reason?
I know I will never be able to adopt the beliefs of either the Jewish or Muslim faiths, yet I cannot say I feel threatened by either of those sets of beliefs and, whether any of those beliefs shakes me in any of what I believe to be true, certainly not to the point of wishing anyone evil merely for disagreeing with me in a matter of religious choice. Part of the price of having religious freedom is found in allowing others that same freedom as they see fit and according to their own choice and conscience, not someone else's, otherwise the commitment means little or nothing and anyhting they may have to say is merely learned by rote and never spoken from the heart. Peace has to start somewhere, if not with me then with whom? If not now, then when?

Perhaps humanity will never be ready to commit to peace. Just as peace begins to seem possible one place, the cry of war and the ugly lust for power and attention breaks out elsewhere - witness North Korea's thrashings, shoutings, and demandings. If ever a nation was crying out to be heard, for good or for ill, it is this one with its hostage population and its maniacal, if self-delusional, leadership's determination to become what it thinks of as a "player" in world politics. No one lives forever and no nation will forever tolerate the conditions the poor citizens of North Korea have been forced to endure under the current regime. Their lives are little better than those of most prisoners in other nations. My heart goes out to the people of North Korea and I hope they may soon be free of their oppression and able to lift their heads once again, proud of their cultural heritage and proud of their nation.

Another war torn nation is Mexico, although for different reasons. With the drug lords determined to keep their trade routes to the US open and the determination of the US and, finally, certain members of the Mexican government to make sure they are prevented from continuing to use those routes or to create others, Mexico is in a bad way. Most likely it is those caught in the cross fire that suffer the greatest losses, so again, my heart goes out to the citizens, the common people, of Mexico, those whose lives will likely be forever altered by the direct consequences of the violence taking place while those who direct from a distance will still be able to sit back in their exquisitely appointed mansions, enjoying their perfectly brewed cups of coffee or tea, and never fully realizing, or caring, what sort of pain and devastation they have initiated for thousands of their fellow countrymen because of the greed, corruption, and savagery that gained their wealth for them in the first place. It may seem like justice to wish them what they deserve, but to me it would be too horrible to imagine putting even someone so viscious through that and I refuse to wish it, no matter how well deserved or just.

There, I have had my rants for the week, I just wish I could somehow help make all of the efforts at peaceful resolutions between nations, as well as individuals, come to fruition but how when even the UN is botching the job so sadly of late?

Whatever the state of the world's population at large, may each of you find the unique blessings in your own lives and may you have the opportunity to feel the gratitude and love there, as well, at least to the same degree I have gotten to find such things in my own.

Love,
Izzlebug

Laughing Even Though It Hurts

Something occurred several days (a couple of weeks?) ago and, as everyone I have mentioned it to has found it amusing, I thought I would share it here as well.

It was just after we found out I had breast cancer. I was driving over to our vetrinarian's to pick up supplies for our aging pussycat population when, on the way there, I spotted an unusual cloud formation. It is not unusual for me to enjoy imagining what certain clouds resemble, but this particular cloud formation was rather arresting in its appearance. I was NOT the only motorist to notice it, by the way.

I was approaching my exit when I glanced out the car window to my left and saw some rather wispy clouds that had taken on the contour of a pair of breasts. I looked away and mentally shook myself knowing where my mind obviously had been since the news, etc. But when I looked back there was another aspect to the formation not present before, it looked like the face of a man (to me it strongly resembled my boyfriend Ross) kissing one of the breasts!

I did a double take and then noticed out of the corner of my eye that a young man in another car had also noticed the cloud formation and was gazing up at it rather attentively. (It really was quite an erotic cloud formation!) When I got back onto a less busy street I called my Dad on the cell phone and told him about the clouds and also that that was one of the reasons I have such a problem dealing with God. Dad laughed and said he was glad to know God had a sense of humor and I told Dad I really didn't see anything funny about it under the circumstances. I felt rather huffy about things just then. Anyway, when I got home later I told Ross what I had seen and what Dad had said. Ross looked at me kind of bug-eyed and said, "You told your DAD?!?!?" (For Pete's sake, we're in our fifties!)

I said, "Well, in our family it's Dad who's had the mastectomies!"

So the lines have become a little blurred for us on some issues. Not our fault. Blame Mother Nature and God who have thrown so much at us in such odd and painful ways yet also have provided us with so many amusing moments during that same pain with which to share with one another and to distract ourselves!

Hope any who read this are also able to find the same humor in the story that has had myself and several others chuckling when it has been recounted over the past couple of weeks.

Perhaps Dad is right. It is a good thing God has a sense of humor. It is rather comforting, in retrospect, to think so.

Much Love,
Izzlebug

Worries Aplenty Abound

It always seems to work out that whenever one thing goes south several others follow suit. I know I am not the only person to feel this way, but I do feel my family does seem to have a slightly more tragic bent during some of these times than many others (and not as tragic as some, as well!). My personal time is extremely difficult but survivable in and of itself. It is just when it looks like other disturbing things maybe added to the mix that it begins to feel so unbearable.

So anyone reading this will know what I am referring to,I learned earlier today that my grandmother was supposedly not doing too well. That then led to tears and depressive thoughts about making that last trip up to see her for the last time, etc. It was not until I spoke with my stepmother and learned my grandmother was, at that very minute, beating the pants off the both of them at Mexican Poker that I was able to relax and cease worrying, at least for the time being. Having cancer sucks! It takes my mind away from so much I need to get done and so many people I love and want to spend time with! It makes me want to scream or rant or something!

With that off of my chest (soon to be joined by my...ahem!), I have also been wanting to mention for the past two days the redwinged blackbirds I saw in a small field along the highway as I drove home from my appointment with the plastic surgeon. They cling to the dead reeds like little sailors might cling to a ship's mast, only they look like they are dressed as admirals in jaunty black velvet with red epaulets trimmed in gold. They seem to be gazing so bravely into the future it heartens me just to catch sight of any of them, especially on a sunny day with a light wind blowing, bobbing them about in their oceans of dried grasses and wild flower stems. It would not surprise me to see a whale blow in the distance although it might take the shoppers in the mall parking lot a bit off guard.

Another, not unexpected, development is that following the mastectomies and before any chemo would begin should it be required, I will be having another surgery to remove my reproductive apparatus also. As long as my ovaries are in place any breast tissue that may be left will be at a greater risk for a recurrance of breast cancer and there is also a slightly increased risk with our particular genetic mutation of developing ovarian cancer, which is very difficult to detect before it has gotten out of hand and untreatable. Also, if I end up taking Tamoxifin (?spl.) there could be a risk of its causing uterine cancer. The only remedy or prevention is to remove the potential organs involved before this can happen. Even though these particular body parts are not visible, as such, it is still difficult knowing even more of my body must be removed in order to try to prevent this cancer problem from recurring repeatedly. It does seem a small price to pay in the long run, but no less difficult to deal with in the here and now of my upcoming surgeries.

The plastic surgeon turned out to be someone I felt very at ease with and he was very frank about the procedure and the likely results, possible complications, etc., which I appreciated greatly. He did mention one bonus to having the implants versus using prostheses is that you would not be as likely to lose one or both of the implants should you go swimming or be doing anything else sufficiently active to jar the things loose. I did feel some rather wicked amusement at the thought of having to ask the life guard to retrieve a lost prosthesis should that happen..."Excuse me young man, but could you please see if you could retrieve my...for me? I think it's in the deep end of the pool." It would be that or the experience of seeing it float by before one realized it had escaped its moorings. (It should be noted here that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about breast prostheses as this is all very new to me and I have not asked about or seen any of them and have no clue as to what they are made of, how they are kept in place - other than by the brassiere - and so forth.)

(**Note** I realize many women may not see the humor in these potential situations that I am finding. I merely ask them all to remember that I, too, am facing the same surgeries and permanent disfiguration to my own body with all of the attending emotional traumas and issues. I choose to find the humor and laugh rather than feeling ashamed, embarrassed, too depressed, or as if I am somehow being too insensitive to the needs and feelings of others during my own experience. I am not talking about anyone else's body or thoughts, nor am I criticizing anyone else's choices or points of view, merely asking them for the same latitude I give to them for myself.)

A friend went with me to that appointment and it really was so nice having someone else there in the car for the drive up and back and to have her with me in the doctor's office during the discussion phase of the appointment. It really means more to me than I ever realized it would to have that moral support and companionship for these moments while all of this looms so forbodingly near. She also mentioned as many of the good points of the situation as she could, for which I am also grateful.

All things studied from each angle, I feel fairly fortunate overall. I have family and friends who love me and are trying to be there for me as much as possible. My boyfriend has been supportive and very sweet about a lot of stuff he normally tends to not think about too much, and the cats are always a comfort although I hope to discover why Mottle has been trying to sit on my face for the past three days when she does not look sore in the area in question and is not showing any other symptoms seemingly pertinent to such behavior. Where is "Mewzlo" when you need him?

Tomorrow I will be traveling to the state mental hospital to visit my brother. He has requested a cholesterol burger and an artery-blocker shake, but I suspect the hospital may have been overinundating him with healthier fare and he is having withdrawal symptoms. I'll make sure it's a small chocolate shake, and no french fries! It's likely there will be little conversation because, while Mike can talk a blue streak on the telephone, in person the flow of words becomes stilted and, often, nonexistent. A lot depends on his state of mind at the time, too. If he has been taking his medications regularly the chances for a real conversation are greater than otherwise but I will have to wait and see what he's like when I get there. He's aware that I have cancer and will be having surgery but, after losing our sister two years ago, Mike seems to have retreated somewhere he never went before, possibly somewhere where Patty still lives and my illness cannot worry him so much. I hope he is able to return someday and know some of the joys and rewards of living in the "real" world before he too, must join mother, sister, grandfather, and others that have passed before. At least in that world my brother will be whole again. Of that much I am certain

Blessings upon all who venture here. Happiness and much love.

Izzlebug