Well, It's Labor Day. 6:30 in the morning and I can't sleep. The thoughts invading my sleep. How are we going to pay for this? Will I have one of those "drive-thru" surgeries? Can I handle the chemo? What will I look like with no hair? Will I puke all the time? On and on, so I had to wake up and get away from it. It's so quiet here, only the kitties romping and chasing each other after their morning meal. The drone of the television in the background. Traffic heads down the Avenue and the sun is rising. Don't feel sad for me, I'm not sad, just full of questions that have to be pondered. I'm not ready to ask the real question...What will my chest look like? Ugh.
It brought back a memory from my days at Dundee Church Camp. I can't remember the year, probably 7th grade, but I was sitting at the big round table with all of my friends, we were chattering away, I was drinking Milk. And one of the prettiest girls in camp, Laura (can't remember her last name) started laughing and pointed at me and said, "Drink Milk!" I was like, HuH? It was the way I was holding my milk glass, sitting sideways on my chair, my elbow perched on the back of the seat, glass held high as if I were at a cocktail party, and my breasts thrust forward, small as they were, I was trying hard to impress. It became the running joke between us girls. Drink milk we would squeal in passing and it always induced gales of laughter. I've enjoyed these "girls" for a long time. My Grandmother always told me much to my mother's chagrin that if you have it flaunt it. So I did. Often. My favorite place on earth? Victoria's Secret. In my twenties, I would spend much of my paycheck at VS. As a mom, I went practical at VS. When Sarah began to bud, there we were at VS. The pretty bra and panties, my secret weakness. There you all know now, I have an addiction to VS. What will it be like now.? I have been wearing these old sports bras now for two weeks, I never liked them, but now they have become my prison sentence.
I have to make a decision. Lumpectomy or Mastectomy. That is unless my MRI biopsy comes back positive. If that is the case, the decision will be made for me. Mastectomy. Then the decision becomes, single or double? Will insurance pay for reconstruction? It's my decision, I have to make it. It's a little like playing 21. You are on the bubble, your close to 21, but not enough to win, and you know it. So do you fold, or do you do the bold thing and gamble away all of your money and hope you can beat the House. A high stakes game, I can't bluff, I have to decide.
I was able to ignore this for two days. Joke it away. Ian and I went for lunch with friends on Saturday. Mothers and children. Hamburgers and shakes. A walk through Union Square's artists. A beautiful day, warm, not too hot, just right. We sat on the benches in the park and enjoyed each other's company. There were people there with signs reading "Free HUGS" So I took advantage of the hugs and then asked THEM if they felt better, and they laughed. So many people just walking past them, not taking advantage of the 'Free Hugs' Why? To hug is to feel better. They did, they were happy that someone actually took them seriously. We hugged tight. Random strangers. I started a hug fest, because Ian, Harley, and Bobbie all followed suit. Had I not started it, I doubt it would have happened. We might have commented how funny and cute, but would have moved on. Random hugs, for no reason = GOOD. Would I have done that had I not had the diagnosis of cancer? Probably not, I'd like to think I would have taken advantage, but I have to be honest, no probably not, unless I knew one of them. Thanks my mystery Huggers. Where ever you are. You made my day. We wandered home to show off Ed's DYI skills. My bathroom awesome, my balcony coming together quickly. My plant arrangement still alive. That in itself is a miracle.
Sunday, Sally and Pentii came down from NH to get the bed Ed built back when Sarah was 3. A huge hulking captain's bed with tons of storage. Now all that "storage" is stacked neatly in brown bags under Ian's Loft bed. Bags of youth. Stuffed toys from Beanie Babies to the entire collection of Winnie the Pooh. Baby dolls and Bionicles. Baby and Toddler clothing too precious to let go. Another question invades the mind. What do I do with all that stuff? Is it really time to let go of it? So there it sits, patiently waiting for me to make up my mind. We go for a late lunch and then head up to move the bed to the truck waiting on 6th St. We finally got the behemoth loaded and sent the bed to exile in Athol, MA to live out its remaining years at the Lake House were I'm sure it will be better appreciated. We settled in to enjoy our living room, without the bed (which had been moved there days before). Talked with friends on the phone who cheered me on, and then I went to bed. A great day all in all. Got the kid's room cleaned up (it was a huge mess), got rid of the captains bed, got to see Sally and Pentii, good day.
So, today, I'm hoping that we can get down to Battery City Park. Take a walk, see a movie. Wednesday's MRI biopsy lurks. My breasts are still sore from the PEM Scan, especially the left side. Both funky multi-colored bruises remind me of the past two weeks struggle. I find myself rolling my shoulders in to Protect? Hide? my breasts? A long way from the teenage girl who so proudly thrust out her A cup breasts trying so hard to make them look fuller, so the boys would drool over her the way they did with Laura, the prettiest girl in camp. "We must, We must. WE must develop our bust. The bigger the better, the tighter the sweater, the boys depend on us."
Happy Labor Day to every person who works hard for a living and makes less than their worth. To Mother's everywhere. Our second Mother's Day. WE are the ultimate Laborers.
Love and Light!
xoxox
Melissa
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