I might be the most eager, excited person ever to have a mastectomy. I'm counting down the days like I'm going on vacation, I can't wait. Tote around a sack full of cancer for four months and you'll relate. Additionally my breast hurts like hell and I'm imagining evil little carcinoma trolls marching towards my lymph nodes. Enough is enough, I want to be on the flip side, on the mend.
I have a slew of medical appointments next week and through all of this I've feared only the last two chemos and now, a mammogram on Monday. I'm terrified. My poor beleaguered boobie is killing me, the tumor is hard as a rock and free-floating, I don't know how you squish that in a mammogram machine, it doesn't seem physically possible, I picture it cracking like an egg with nasty little spiders scuttling out. I think some cyst issues have joined in for fun and I'm just ready to dispatch this increasingly nuisance part of my body.
I'm feeling more and more alienated from my lovely breasts and clear that I am more than my cleavage.
There's going to be beautiful weather all next week and between appointments I'm hoping to spend time in the yard, raking out the gardens and giving all the sproutlings room to breathe. While I recover, I can sit out there in my cozy new pink bathrobe and watch them grow, feeling far more relieved than horrified.