The boogie man...

I wrote this a couple of days ago. I was so upset that I had to walk away from it until I was ready...

________

I crumbled.

When the phone call came I knew something was wrong. I was in my office and the voice on the other end could not be speaking the words I thought I heard.

“‘Eva’ is back in the hospital. She is heading to O.R. She has another infection. The implants need to come out”

WHAT?? I’m sorry WHAT?

No. This could not be happening. My tears flowed. She has been through so much already. She was to be the success story ...to demonstrate that the road ,although long and difficult, will all but be wrapped in a neat bow at the end...right? That is how it ends!? No- the ending is with Prince Charming and perky breasts. I recognize that I should not digest this into my own reality but how can I not? I have eagerly listened to countless success stories but when one with such a downbeat outcome hits so close to home practical thinking does not always follow suit.

For the last couple of weeks I have been on a mental journey that was completely unexpected. Sleeping through the nights is proving increasingly difficult. You don’t read about this is self help pamphlets, or in medical journals, and definitely not covered by the many socio-oncologists articles that they brag about. I am overwhelmed with the reality that after all is said and done, after all my surgeries and pain and months of recuperation...after all that... I will not be able to look in the mirror and not feel regret. That I will look at myself and feel deformed. I tell remind myself repeatedly why I’m doing this. I have spoken to dozens of women across the world and even nurses who administer chemotherapy think I should not hesitate for a second to have the surgery.

Chemotherapy is nasty. That is a black and white reality that bears a long history of heart retching, life altering stories. My story is not one I wish to add to that novel. My head know that and THAT is my ‘button’ that makes me continue to the January date.

My hearts, my vanity, damn them both! Living without breasts was not a risk that I put in the mentally equation. That might be Eva’s reality.
I have been asked today “What if you don’t have your surgery in January?” I sighed heavily and internally I answered “I’m on a train that I don’t believe I can get off. The sleepless nights where I lie awake and think of all the ‘what if ‘scenarios...I picture myself with my new foobs...hell I’m even losing hair with the cumulative stress of it all! I am down this far, I can’t go back...not out of pride but the darkness behind me...the ‘boogie man’ called cancer still seems to be waiting...not in my closet but in my body

‘Eva’...Her story is supposed to end better than this...

Don’t we all deserve the happy ending if we go to such lengths to avoid the boogie man called cancer?