Tonight one of my very thoughtful friends on FB asked me to participate in a little posting game. It was kind of funny and I agreed. Later I was read that someone wrote, "It's stupid and has nothing to do with breast cancer!" Yikes! That is one angry person. As a person living in October - 12 months a year I want to comment. Let this be my something "new".
Having some fun little game to play about something very serious that you are dealing with is sometimes a welcomed relief from the weight of daily dealings. So if you don't have something nice to say... Seriously, I started to think. Breast cancer does not have a serious face. I don't really tell many people about it and I rarely talk in detail about what it was like to go through it. Tonight I will share with you one of my diary entries from March of 2004. I had my mastectomy on March 8, 2004. Out of respect for my process I will not edit this - just raw - the way I typed it. I couldn't write because I had no strength in my right arm. My first surgery (I had two) was eleven hours long and when I came out of it my left leg was temporarily paralyzed I went home with a cane - but in six weeks I was fine.
On Being Home was origianlly written in March, 2004
It never ends! Everyone has a unique take on the three words – “How are you?” Let’s try this How are you?...How are you?...How are you? Get the picture? If I engage in the simple niceties of life like answering the phone – this is how it goes”
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” responds the caller, “Lisa?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“It’s (fill in the blank). How are you?”
“Ok. How are you?”
“No, really, how are you?”
Now this is the point where I would really like to drive the idea home that this is unacceptable. Do not ask a question you do not want answered. If you don’t really want to know, don’t ask. I have decided to take all these questions head on…
“Well, the truth is that the surgical site is oozing a little more than we had hoped, and every time I have to fart, it requires an enormous amount of concentration since most of my muscles in my abdominal region are shot. I’m sure it will come back. I take pain medication every four hours and then I continue to make decisions which I cannot remember and am not accountable for to anyone. Sometimes, the medication just makes me ramble and in the middle of a paragraph I forget where I started or why I started.
This is usually met with silence, and then the other person will say some placating thing like, “Well, we’re praying for you.”
“Thank you,” I respond, “I appreciate all the prayers I can get.”
“Take care and remember, call me if you need anything.”
Now this line requires that you know your caller.
The expression ‘call me if you need anything’ doesn’t always mean exactly what it says. Sometimes it means, you can call me, but please don’t expect me to do anything for you. However, sometimes it means, call me and I will come and clean your dirty bathrooms, do your laundry and clean the kitchen for you. It is very important that you know your caller. I have been blessed with some of the former but many of the latter. Thank God!
The expression ‘call me if you need anything’ doesn’t always mean exactly what it says. Sometimes it means, you can call me, but please don’t expect me to do anything for you. However, sometimes it means, call me and I will come and clean your dirty bathrooms, do your laundry and clean the kitchen for you. It is very important that you know your caller. I have been blessed with some of the former but many of the latter. Thank God!
The phone calls are part of “being home”. They are not the best part, not the worst part they are simply a fact of life. Sadly, the mortgage companies, long distance carriers and telemarketers in general have not heard about my physical condition and they continue to call, but most of my friends and family have been gracious and thoughtful and do not push me on the phone. I must admit I enjoy the conversation with my friends and never hesitate to tell them when it was getting to be too much.
Being home brings with it another joy – my three children. I missed being with them every day and welcomed the opportunity to see them regularly. When I arrived home they met me at the door. Offering to carry my bags and help me to the couch they made up for me. I was a little concerned that they would freak out seeing me walking with a cane, but they were cool. Kids are wonderful. The most important thing is that you are in the room with them. No matter how tattered, torn, worn or miserable you are they would rather have you miserable with them, than miss you one more moment. So my children folded up their tattered and torn mom and covered her in kisses and hugs. I was at once uplifted and exhausted. As I lay back against the pillows on the couch I realize I’m sleepy. Sleep has no regard for the time of day or the amount of people in the room. Now sleep is more important than anything else and it wins every battle. Except if my child comes to my side one more time for another unsolicited kiss or hug.
I found it interesting that the hospital sent me home with four separate prescriptions to fill. Each with a series of rules attached to them like, take one every four hours for pain, take one three times a day with food, or take two twice a day…whatever the rules were…one of them was for my pain medication. I learned early on this was the one to guard with your life. Pain meds must be maintained prior to the pain hitting or you cannot win the battle.
My mom calls my pain meds “goof balls”. I agree. When I am taking them I am so happy because the pain is at bay, but I am really not the person who should be making any plans, decisions or using my mind in any reliable way since it is not reliable. Well then why did they send me home with four prescriptions that require me knowing when I took the pills and when I should take them again. It was all I could do to figure out when I had to go to the bathroom and which muscles to use to make that a successful journey – now. NOW they pick for me to be in charge of narcotics! Are these doctors crazy! Finally, I figured out that my youngest daughter would be in charge of my meds. Therefore, at the tender age of thirteen, she is responsible for keeping an eye on me and my medicine. Oh well it worked.
Nothing much has changed for me, I am still struggling, still in pain, still sleeping – I’m just not in the hospital anymore. The people around me don’t know anymore about how to care for me than I do and we are all on this journey together without an experienced guide. What a hoot!
Food seems to be very important to the people around me. Everyone is bringing food to my house, or cooking for me or asking me what I want to eat. I would wake up early, when my mom arrived to drive my girls to school; my husband will bring my son to his school at around 8 am. With all this bustling around me it is hard to stay asleep. My daughters kiss me goodbye as they head out for school and I can see in their faces they are pleased that I am here. Michael, my son, has no worries about getting to school on time and turns on the TV, pulls down the covers next to me and crawls in so we can watch Spongebob Squarepants together.
“Gee, but it’s great to be back home,
Home is where I want to be…”
Home is where I want to be…”
For my different I will say this - it is very different for me not to censor myself on this topic. I am willing to share this because Joelle told me today that she found my blog moving and she inspired me. Thanks.
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