Who'd'a Thunk It?

Arizona Desert Highlands

You know, if I had given it just a little thought - perhaps half a second's worth, I'd have realized that if one inserts a couple of drainage tubes under the skin, and leaves them there for, say, sixteen days, and then yanks them out - the nerves surrounding where those tubes had been might just be a little bit irritated.  A little.

It wasn't enough to send me back to full doses of the pain meds, but it certainly caught my attention.

That minor detail aside, I'm feeling MUCH better with the tubes out.  The remaining feeling is rather odd.  It feels like I have a band of something wrapped around my chest.  Put it this way; if I was going through airport security, I'd be worried about being pulled out of line for smuggling cocaine in that band.  The mirror doesn't reflect the feeling - thank goodness!

I haven't yet decided what I think when I look in the mirror.  It's certainly different.  But, I'm in a stubborn mode these days, and refuse to wear big floppy shirts just to disguise that I'm missing parts that were there just a few short weeks ago.  People look, but that's OK - they're curious looks, not hostile ones.  And, unfortunately, it's not as if disguising they're not there will bring them back.

My dreams these past few nights have been about having to give up my babies - I wake in tears.  (Doesn't take a degree in psychology to figure out the meaning behind those dreams.)  When I waken, I remind myself that keeping them was NOT one of the options.  'Tis better to have them lost than to lose life entirely.  So, I bring up some memories of the real baby in my life - rumor has it that she's just days away from actually being able to crawl - say goodbye to that part of me once again, and let the tears fall until they dry on their own.  I've come to believe it's important to allow oneself to mourn; to say good-bye, and good-bye again as needed.

As an aside:  There is something more than ironic in the timing of my fight with cancer.  One of the reasons I went on the camper van trip was to try to get in touch with some of the parts of life I missed as a teenager,  because instead of getting to be a teenager, I was being a caregiver for my mother, who had cancer.  The journey to get in touch with those elusive emotions was interrupted by, as you know, my own bout with the disease.  Maybe there are some things I'm just not supposed to know about myself. ???

I'm a bit nervous about my visit with the oncologist later this morning.  I don't think it's a matter of if, but when and how much chemo I'll be getting.  I'll let you all know soon what the answer is...