It hardly seems like it's been almost six months since my surgery. I've had that time to recover, reflect and regroup and to connect with people I haven't seen or talked to in a long time. The many phone calls I received and the almost nightly online chats were a very welcome distraction. The conversations kept me going and made things a lot easier to manage and a lot less lonely.
It seems though, that inevitably, somewhere in each conversation I'm asked "so, how are you doing"? My standard answer to that is always "I'm doing okay", because in the grand scheme of things, I am. Generally, the follow- up question is about cancer and how I'm dealing with it. Again, I answer with "I'm handling it okay", because I don't know what else to say.
It's difficult to verbally impart how I really feel, as it's quite confusing. For the most part I really am okay, because I'm still here and still standing. On the other hand, I'm not totally okay because I'm living with cancer. It's a bit of a conundrum. Some days I'm better than okay, some days I'm not. I have calm days, trainwreck days and self- pity days. If I find myself confused at that, there's no way I can expect anyone else to understand.
I can't explain that there's this feeling of perpetually walking around a land mine, because I am constantly afraid of recurrence. It's hard to work that into a conversation. Besides, my therapist tells me that's a rather unreasonable way of thinking, so I just don't say it.
I recently came across a blog by another cancer patient that validated this feeling. She described her fear of recurrence like having a gun pointed at the back of her head. There are equal odds whether the gun is loaded with another cancer bullet, or if the safety is engaged. Like a chant, it whispers "Go live your life, pay no attention to me. Do all the things you'd normally do. I'll just quietly stay right here. I may go off, I may not. But don't worry about it. Much." I think that's the most accurate description that I've heard so far. Again though, it's not a great conversation starter. So I don't say it.
When I'm asked if things are getting back to normal, I usually reply with "pretty much". But there is absolutely nothing that's normal anymore. The side effects from my medications aren't normal. The surge of emotions that suddenly attack me without any warning aren't normal. I can no longer physically do some of the things I used to, and watching other people carry out my tasks certainly isn't normal. I have a drawer full of prothesis breasts, which is definitely not normal. None of these things make good phone call topics.
Then there's the next most asked question "you're going to get reconstruction later, aren't you?". I have no desire to undergo any unnecessary surgery in the future. I've thought a lot about this, and it just doesn't seem like it would be worth the process at this stage of my life. I'm leaning toward having my daughter design a really cool, bad-ass tattoo instead. So, my answer to the question is "I'm not sure yet", because people don't understand why I would turn down the chance to "feel normal" again. Although it's mostly my guy friends that don't get it, so there's that to consider, I guess.
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The other thing I get asked a lot is whether I am considering being an advocate for breast cancer awareness. I have no intention of it. I've advocated, fought and educated for too.many other close-to-home illnesses, I'm not interested in doing it again. I also not up for verbally explaining that to anyone, so I don't tell them. I just say "we'll see".
I'm starting to feel a bit guilty fibbing with my answers, but it's just too difficult to explain some of these things. It's easier to give the expected answers than to reveal the weirdo that I truly am.
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