Surgery does something to my spirit. And its not a good thing. I'm anxious before it happens. I spend a week or two worrying and fretting... hoping that I've made the right choice. The day of the surgery, I am a ball of nerves -- high blood pressure, nervous laughter/jokes, and light nausea -- but I eventually calm down and accept that everything will be okay. Once the anesthesiologist (is that what they're called) comes in with the needle... I give it up to God and I get ready for some good sleep.
So far, every time I've gone under I've awakened okay and pretty much in one piece. Okay... so a couple of times I went to sleep and woke up with less than I came into the hospital with -- but that was the plan so, it still wasn't so horrible.
This last procedure went pretty much like all the rest. I was nervous for a week or so before hand. I was scared that I had made a bad choice. I questioned my motives and my strength.
I mean... why couldn't I just live with one new breast that didn't match the other one? In fact, why did I even get a new breast at all? Was that a good move? My stomach is still tight and its been months since my reconstruction. Did I make the right choice? Maybe I should have just stopped at the mastectomy. And then... speaking of mastectomies... why didn't I just remove my other breast at the same time, skip the reconstruction and just be one of those bad azz survivors who lived with their bald chests and scars zig-zagging across their bodies? That could be me, right? Bald head... bald chest... scars hanging out. Who needs curves and breasts? Especially when there is no sensation in them.
Sigh. I know. Its tiresome isn't it? If you think its tiresome to read it, imagine how it feels to bounce these same raggedy questions around in your brain... every day... all the time... every time you have to make a decision. Every time someone at your job looks at you cross-eyed when you say... "I have to go to a doctor's appointment today"... and you read the fatigue on THEIR face. (laughs) Like they could possibly be more tired than you of seeing the inside of hospitals, medical centers, waiting rooms...
I think that's the part that is starting to get to me. Looking at people outside of my circumstances and seeing their fatigue from my issue. I am prone to beating myself up mentally. I've been doing it all my life. My therapist laughs at the way that I always manage to make a situation about how I can make the least amount of impact on someone else. She laughs but then she helps me through it. (she's good like that) The truth is that I believe that I am the laziest person on earth. No matter how hard I work, I always think I could have pushed harder. No matter how tired I am, I always think I should stay up a little longer and do a little more. When I miss a goal or a deadline, I fret. Sometimes I cry. But no matter what, I'm going to spend a little time feeling extra bad about it.
And that brings me to today. Long story short, I found myself doing a task that was requested of me and it was annoying. Annoying because it was taking so long. I couldn't make it go any faster -- the equipment will only do what it will do. After two hours, I was frustrated. Three hours, I was getting angry. Four hours, I was pissed. By the fifth hour, I was sad and mad and wondering where was the kernel of joy in this moment. I simply couldn't find it.
I've spent two years trying to get back to normal. And now that I am technically normal (or almost normal anyway)... My life seems so shallow and stupid and just wrong. I am always in awe of people who live selfless lives. People who could spend their time working to make lots of money but who choose instead to do other things that help people but don't earn them a lot of money. I never thought I could be that person. I love helping people. I love the feeling I get when I feel that I've been of good use to someone who will appreciate my efforts and who will likely pass along my good work to someone else. I've always felt that life was really lived in those small hand to hand moments of life. BUT... Nicole likes nice things. Always has. And I was taught that in order to have nice things, you have to earn money to pay for them. So I work. And I pay my own way. I buy what I want and what I can afford. If I can't afford it then I work on not wanting it. (laughs) But I still envy those people who live a life beyond the confines of making enough money... (there's never enough money, no matter what you have).
I don't know how to do that. And now that I am a cancer survivor, my ability to just pick up and roll out when the urge hits is stunted. I have to be responsible. I have to remember that a recurrence is possible and if I am caught without health insurance or an ability to pay for my treatment... I will face bankruptcy trying to save my life again... or sure death because I can't. The thought that my life has now become this balancing act of maintaining the status quo so that I don't end up destitute and dying on the street... makes me want to cry.
You see, I'm not built that way. I am just spoiled and silly enough to think that life should have lots of moments of joy and laughter and satisfaction in it. I believe that I should be able to help people in their lives in some way... and still be able to take myself out to eat a few times a week.
I'm rambling and I know it -- blame it on the pills, I had a bunch to take tonight -- but all of this is really to say... I'm not happy with my life. The places where I find joy and smiles... seem to be losing their luster. I have to fix that before I snap. I have to be strategic about my life now... something that isn't my strong suit. But I'm slipping... and I know it. So I've just tied a knot in the rope... and I'm holding on. Praying for some answers to this feeling.
