It's only been two weeks

It’s all moving so fast. I can’t keep up. How do you care for yourself when there are so many around you to care for at the same time. How do you keep living life as you wait for the day to come that will change your life. Will it be for the better? Then why so sad? why so scared? why so overwhelmed?

I only have Stage 0 breast cancer, it’s the best case scenario. “I shouldn’t be making such a big deal of out this, people have it way worse.” Then my therapist mind comes in and tells me not to minimize my experience and most of all, don’t compare your story to someone else’s, but most of all, don’t minimize your experience. So today, I’m giving my fear attention. It’s been hiding deep inside of me. As I care for others and tell others my story, I allow for my humor to shine and my story to stay focus on the finish line: cancer free in about 3-4 months (my fear follows that with, “hopefully).

Today, I just couldn’t tap into my fun side. We are on vacation. I ordered a mimosa and the best presentation of a mimosa I’ve seen. We are in the mountains, with no big responsibilities. We have an easy day of just chilling and relaxing. Something I have been craving for so long. Instead of feel relaxed and chilled, I felt uptight and annoyed. I felt like I was on edge and about to snap at any minute, but trying to “hold it together” because this was supposed to be my chill day.

My son can feel my energy. Whenever I get uptight, he becomes uptight himself, which is manifested in him being incredibly needy and cranky. We then start to clash because I don’t have the patient to tend to him, because I’m not tending to myself.

The energy in my body was starting to explode from within, I would feel myself letting tears out in random places and getting frustrated or annoyed with all those around me (it was as if someone was hurting my feelings with every word they said).

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and I left. I went for a walk along the lake to my find my favorite log. I sat on the ground, rub my hands into the pebble beach, and then the flood gates opened and it did not stop. I finally gave space for my fear. It was allowed to be free as the mountains held us.

At that moment in time, I realized I have only had my diagnosis for breast cancer for two weeks. It felt like an eternity. It has taken over my life. And the ironic part is, I’m not afraid of the cancer, I’m afraid of the unknowns that come up with my treatment plan and recovery.

I’m afraid for how my son is going to respond. I know it is going to be hard on him. It gives me so much peace knowing we have an amazing support network that overflows with love and care, but it still makes my heart ache knowing that I won’t be able to care for him during my recovery. (my mother part is taking over, and I can go on and on about how I will be able to care for him, but how it will look different. however, this space is for my fear, so I’m going to honor my fear and allow my fear to be present and talk without trying to talk over it.). My fear is going to really miss caring for my little guy. My fear is curious how will I be feeling when it comes time to take him to Kindergarten. Just a milestone you always think about and now I really don’t know what it will look like. I wish I just knew more about my recovery timeline. And that’s something my fear does not like. The waiting, the waiting for the next appointment to find out more about your treatment plan. The reality part of me understands the waiting, the fearful parts hates it. It just wants to know the plan so then it can start making plans A-Z to make sure we are prepared! (and don’t worry, I’m in my own therapy working on my over-planning part!)

I’m also fearful of the actual procedure. I don’t know what it is like or how it works. I’m trying hard not to Google as the outlier stories tend to come to the top of the feed. So I’m waiting for my next appointment to learn more about what to expect. At times, I wonder if I’m crazy wanting to go through such extreme measures to put my body back together in a different way.

I just took a 6 month body liberation course. I’ve been working so hard on accepting my body as it is and so quickly it is about to be transformed. Ironically, I’ve been working hard and trying to fully accept my breast. About four years ago, they decided to grow, and grow, and grow. It’s been painful and it has affected my self image. It’s hard to find clothes and bras, especially since I keep out growing them. I’ve been attending pilates classes for the past 2 years to help reduce pain and hopefully size, but have not felt the affects of it yet. I have felt many other benefits of pilates though over the two years, just not what sent me to pilates. So it’s kind of a mind fuck.

And then when it comes to “chopping them off” on the surface it is met with humor and grace and “why not?” Under the surface it is met with - what is my authentic connection to my body? To my breast? I’ve always joked around about if I ever get cancer I would just chop them off, now the day has come and it is filled with grief. No matter how much I have been annoyed with my boobs, they are still my boobs and still very much a part of my identity. I don’t know what life will be like without big boobs. (there are parts of me dancing with joy because it will be so freeing, and non painful, et etc - I will write another entry focusing on those parts, because those are the parts that talk when I’m telling people about my cancer, my fear does not talk, it just remains deep within). I’m curious how my identity is going to change or even the way I look at my body. I can’t predict how it is going to hit me, but I am curious.

I don’t think I can go from having such huge boobs to being flat chested, so that’s why I decided on the reconstruction part. But that means one more invasive surgery and longer on my recovery which makes my fearful part feel fear. (I have a lot of other parts that are okay with this decision and excited about it but I do have a fearful part). Scared of the recovery, scared of “what if something goes wrong,” scared of “can my abdominal region really handle another surgery?” scared of not being present with my family, scared of my body transitioning to something unfamiliar to me.

So as I sat on the lakeshore today, I allowed the mountains to hold me and my fear as I cried. and I cried and cried. It felt good to finally release that. It feels good to write this out, to get it outside of my body. I’m noticing space in my head now, it doesn’t feel so full. The mountains gave me permission not to minimize, but to be. To be with all of me, even my fear. I’m excited to go back to my spot tomorrow and just be with it. I was excited to go on this vacation for this very thing. I knew this vacation wouldn’t be the same one I thought of once I received my diagnosis, but I knew it was still what I needed. I needed time and space to process all of this. Because it is moving so fast and if I were at home, I wouldn’t have had this opportunity to be held. Thank you Ma and Papa Don for creating this space for me.