Denial and Truth

"I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it." --Garrison Keillor


That's kind of where I have been for the last 6 weeks. The whole breast cancer/mastectomy thing is never far from my mind, but it's sort of been out there...sometime in the future...eventually. I only have 9 days now. On May 19th, sometime will become now.

I'm nervous and a little anxious.

I've had to prepare the boys. They have known that I was going to have more surgery, but they didn't really know what that meant. After the lumpectomy, there was no visible, outward change in my appearance. They knew I couldn't hug them on that side for a while because I was sore, but that was the extent of the impact it had.

This is different. Being somewhat curvaceous--maybe more than I need to be according to my six-year-old--this surgery will leave a very noticeable mark. To ready them for this dramatic change, and the extended amount of time it will take me to recover from this more serious operation, I ordered the book, When Mommy Had A Mastectomy, from Amazon to help me communicate what would be happening to me. It's not perfect, and maybe a little young for them, but was a good way to open the conversation about what would be happening to me.

They listened, and giggled every time they heard the word breast, but seemed to begin to understand everything. The Rationalist was the first to laughingly say: "So...you're going to look like this?" He raised his shirt and showed his bare, flat chest.

"Well....on one side...yes, I guess I will."

This was too much for him and he giggled and practiced holding out one side of his shirt, over his chest, and leaving the other part of it flat against him.

"So...you're shirt will look like this?"

"mmmm...sort of."

I had to explain about prostheses, reconstructive surgery, and that other people may not know after a while. He was satisfied with those answers. Intuitive Monkey had many more questions which he peppered me with throughout the day, but even he seemed to grasp what was happening and didn't seem too worried or upset.

I'm not sure how other mothers handle breaking things to their kids. I remember reading a comment from a mother on a breast cancer forum that amounted to,"I don't talk to my kids about cancer or breasts." I don't think I could take that route. Knowledge can wipe out a certain amount of fear, even if it can't completely annihilate it.

We have always been very frank and honest with the kids, and I think that has really paid off. They don't have to fear that there are things we're not telling them. They feel free to ask us about anything they want and know that they'll get a truthful answer...and for that I am proud and content.

Although...I know it's only a matter of time before we get the,"So, how exactly does that baby get inside of the mother anyway,"question. I'm actually surprised it hasn't come yet. Describing that process will incite even more giggles, I am sure. Hopefully, they won't think to ask about it for a couple more years.

However...The Rationalist did make this sign and affix it to our bedroom door, so maybe he knows more than he is letting on!



Gosh, I hope not.

:-)

When I found out about my need for a mastectomy, I asked the surgeon if I could wait until the middle to end of May before having it done. I had several reasons for this.

1. I am the only one who can do my job. My boss can fill in here and there, but not every day until the end of the school year. If I suddenly disappeared she would have to cancel weeks of shows.

2. We need the income from my job. Although my job is only part-time, it helps stabilize our income. Without it we barely make ends meet. It's doable, but very difficult.

3. We need the income from my job. Yeah, I know it's the same reason, but it's a totally different reason. Our annual out-of-pocket maximum for insurance is $3,500. Once we reach that, insurance pays for everything. That wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the timing of everything. We had just reached the maximum, but our insurance year runs from 3/31 to 4/1. We just started a new year and have to pay that $3,500 again before the insurance covers everything.

4. The Rationalist's birthday is in May. I wanted to be able to celebrate his birthday without being in the hospital or recovering from surgery for several weeks.

5. School will be almost over. By the time I start chemo, it will be in the middle of the summer. I'll be able to send the boys to Grandma's for days at a time if I'm really sick from everything. I won't have to worry about getting them to and from school, making sure their homework is done, making dinner for them.

6. I just needed time to process everything.

The reasons are very rational, responsible, and efficient...kind of like me most of the time. The only problem is that it has given me too much time. Some days I live in blissful denial about everything. Life goes along at its normal pace, and the word cancer seems like some sort of silly joke told in bad taste.

At other times, I am reminded of what lurks in the future. Seeing a sales ad for a particular style of bra that I love, but is very expensive, brought the thought into my mind that "I should get to that sale before it's over," only to remember that, after May19th, I won't be able to wear it. Any bra I wear after that won't be bought in a department store. Moments like that floor me all over again with the knowledge that there is something very wrong in my body no matter how normal I feel.

I have had too much time to research. I know what is in store for me. I want to know, yet at the same time knowledge is a burden I carry. I know that breast cancer likes to reoccur. I know that being young with it is bad. I know that the treatment for it can be worse than the disease. I know that I might go into permanent, early menopause because of the chemo and hormonal treatment.

I know too much for my own good.

I appreciate the time I have to get used to the idea of what's coming, but sometimes it seems to let the dread build up inside of me. It leaves me too much time to have conversations with well-meaning family and friends. I have to explain one more time to my mother that my breast can't be saved. I have to listen to one more,"I'm sure everything will be fine." That, in particular drives me crazy, because although I hope and believe it to be true, it seems so dismissive of what's coming.

And that's when reality sets in. I am going to permanently lose a part of my body. The body that's left is going to be battered by chemicals. Even if everything works great, it will be difficult. There's no way around it.

The saying is "idle hands are the devils' workshop". I think it should be idle minds.