I think I have done about as much research and preparation and dealing with my, uh, stuff, as a person could. My father called today and asked if I were at peace with my decision, and I was able to say, with complete equanimity, that mine is not a set of options likely to produce peace. In other words, I'm not at peace ~ but why should I be? That's not a requirement.
I'm glad that I didn't rush into surgery two months ago. Even though I am doing exactly what the first surgeon originally recommended, I am doing it in a knowledgeable and well prepared manner. I know about options, I know statistics, I know what the procedures are (SO not appealing). I have things to wear, I have a place to hang out, we have a new tv, and my work life is somewhat in order. I could not have pulled all that off in less than two months.
I have come to terms, sort of, with the reality that I can't predict anything about my recovery. I've read some real horror stories and I've read some by women who came through all this fairly easily. I can't choose, and I don't believe that optimism is the controlling factor here, but I'm ok with that. Most of the time.
I have recovered my sense of perspective. I want Josh to be here, I always want Josh to be here, and I can't believe that he isn't flying home from Chicago this week to be with me, where he belongs. But that's no different from every other week. And I do know that this ~ this is just a breast. It is not a child.
I am extremely clear about the difference.
This past week I ran into an acquaintance who has had cancer. She's been fine for several years. And while I know that she has other significant challenges in her life, I realized as we talked that: I am not a fragile person at all. Her story? Not mine. I have my moments, and my days, when I am puddled all over the floor, but on the whole I am a pretty tough babe. And I'm good with that.
Best of all: I am imagining the future. You can travel all over the world with a fake boob. You can preach and take photographs and do spiritual direction and hike and canoe. And you still can't sing or cook if you never could. So, basically: I will still be myself, just with some new and gory scars and some silicone inside.
This whole thing really and totally sucks. But: OK ~ I will come out the other side and I will be fine.
Although I will probably have even less patience with certain people and their idiotic remarks than I do now!