The Struggle is Real

It's hard to believe, but it's been three whole weeks since my surgery. It doesn't seem that long ago, but at the same time if feels like ages. Ages of days where I'm in pain. A lot. And ages of better days when I'm, at the very least, uncomfortable.

I've been a bit spoiled by my body up until recently. I'm used to moving a lot, working hard and having my body respond the way I want it to. And it's not just now. I've felt this way since I turned 48. All of a sudden my body doesn't respond to my hard work, to all of my exercise and movement. Maybe this is just what comes with the early stages of menopause.

And it sucks.

Add a little cancer and wham! My body is clearly not listening to me any longer.

And I find that completely frustrating. Even more so because now we're not just talking about losing a few pounds here and there or wanting to tone the tush. Now, I just want to be able to move my arms in any way I'd like. I want to be able to pull off a blouse or sweater without feeling like I'm about to rip my chest cavity open. Hell, I'd like to be able to wear a bra for more than an hour without wanting to cry.

Why are there no good bras a person can wear after a mastectomy?? I'd love to just not wear one, but the healthy breast? It's still quite sizeable and, like the rest of me, is not listening! It's still heading toward my waistline despite my best efforts. And like the rest of me...it could still use a little support.

But bras. Ugh. Shoot me! A normal bra? Underwires poking that spot where

two incisions meet under my arm. A sports

bra? So much compression, it feels like my whole left side is going to implode under the pressure. And a tank top with a shelf bra? Although, this is my best option, the bottom elastic rubs the incision where my drain was and the top elastic rubs under my arm where the other two incisions were.

I keep massaging, rubbing in anti-scarring cream, doing stretching exercises, using heat therapy. And wanting to cry. I did NOT sign up for this. Isn't it bad enough I had to go through mastectomy surgery and will continue through reconstruction for several more months? I have to do it frustrated and in pain?

I know I'm whining. But I started this blog to be candid about what I'm going through. And for the most part I've not been whiney. Because for the most part, I really am ok. And also, because when I'm in pain and feeling whiney and frustrated, I don't want to write. I don't want to speak up. I don't want pity or help or company.

I've learned however, that people love me and they want to be there for me. Just like I welcome the opportunity to be there for the people I love when they're having a tough time. So, unlike my normal self, I've invited a friend, my mom, and my neighbor to join me for holiday decorating today. I made cookies with my son yesterday. I'm writing and sharing this with you today. While I know none of you can make this better, it does feel better sitting here at 5:13am with tears in my eyes, getting it all off my chest and knowing soon this message will be shared. It won't just be my secret whiney pain any more.

This isn't meant to be a "misery loves company" post, just a real snapshot of where I am today and though my body isn't listening to me, my head is getting better at listening to my emotional pain and knowing that it isn't good to keep it locked up inside. So thank you for reading/listening.

I also know that I can do a fairly decent job of feeling sorry for myself. I've been feeling a little sorry for myself. And the universe decided that I'm a spoiled brat. I met a man who lost his wife to breast cancer several years ago and when I asked about it he told me that her religious beliefs kept her from having surgery or any invasive treatments. I didn't even know how to respond. I'm so sorry for him and his children. I cannot imagine not fighting. Not doing everything I possibly can to be alive and well.

My pain, while real and a valid reason for me to whine every now and then, is nothing compared to what so many people go through with this disease. I'm lucky. I'm still here. I still get to fight. I'm still fighting. And - God willing, I'd like to think I'm winning.

Today, I'm allowing myself to whine, but I know I'm lucky. And tomorrow I will call the physical therapy practice my surgeon referred me to and I will let them help me. And if any of the rest of you want to help, too, I have some bras you can burn!