Don't be surprised. I had a bad day again. I have a lot of these now.
It started so promising. My favorite gluten free bakery was celebrating their fifth anniversary, and they made special versions of their divine breakfast rolls, filled with things like raspberry cream cheese, maple and bacon, and Nutella and marshmallow fluff. I had gone for sandwiches yesterday, and swore an oath to go back and get some of the special treats for breakfast. I did as I promised, and skipped a shower, just throwing on jeans and a t-shirt before heading down early. The rolls did not disappoint. They were, however, super sweet, and we each barely ate one whole one. I have more for tomorrow.
Breakfast was the highlight of my day. I had no energy. I had long periods of pain, interspersed with periods of pressure. I ached from my collarbone to my waist on the left side. Sometimes I felt like I was being stabbed. Anxiety washed over me fresh repeatedly, every time I remembered that I found a new, smaller lump last night, about an inch to the right of the original. I don't know whether it's just a bruise from the biopsy needle or an outgrowth of the tumor. I tried to reach the patient liaison to ask whether I should be concerned, but though I had been assured I could email my questions, I did not get an answer. I have to conquer my phone terror tomorrow and try to call. At least the MRI was yesterday, so if there is a change, they should be able to see it.
Waiting is agony. I have so much time to get up into my own head, and unravel every single one of my fears and hangups. I mourned my youth and beauty that seems far behind me now. Each time a piece of me gets cut out or cut off, I lose more of what I thought made me me. I spent a great deal of today miserable.
Many of the people who read this are close to people who have gone through surgeries like I'm about to, or they've gone through them themselves. Be kind to those you know. This is deep, difficult stuff. For all the people I've known who lost bits of themselves to cancer, I don't believe anyone opened up to me about the sense of loss. A year and a half ago, I stopped recognizing my own face when my nose stopped being symmetrical after they cut "a carat and a half" from it, and that was hard enough. Now I will lose a significant quantity of my left breast. This is a lot to work through, and it is going to take me a lot of time to figure out who is left inside this scarred shell.
My only photo was of the trio who held me down in my chair most of the day. I didn't move much.
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