“It appears that the next event is breast
reconstruction!”
And so, now it
IS Wednesday night; calm has settled over the house after a bit of a tense
morning and an afternoon of delay and waiting. Those are all “normal” things
that go with regular surgeries of any kind whether expected or unexpected.
This one was
expected, in fact, this one was the culmination of a long, dark night of my
soul. Even as I write this, the doctor is on the phone talking with my wife. Both
my wife and daughter have headaches from an afternoon spent in the hospital,
but those are fading as the rest of the day progresses toward sunset…
The surgery
itself was anticlimactic, as I said earlier. The initial incisions done for the
double mastectomy (http://breastcancerreaper.blogspot.com/2011/04/observations-of-breast-cancer-husband.html)
provided the entry into the skin over the chest cavity. The plastic surgeon
placed hollow, plastic expanders underneath and added cartilage to act as
supports for the saline or silicone implants. Over a period of four months,
saline injections stretched the skin and made it grow.
Today the
expanders were removed and the implants
settled into their new homes.
As we sat down to lunch while my wife underwent surgery and recovery, my daughter said, “I like this hospital a whole lot more than all the other ones.”
While we were
waiting, I shared with my daughter my perceptions of this day and the one two
years and seven months ago. On that day, me, my son, daughter and wife were
surrounded by friends and family; all were anxious, all were warm and caring,
all were THERE for us. There was food, laughter, talk, walks, lots of hugs and
lots and lots of phone calls.
There was also a
lot of terror prowling inside of me. There was anger. There was loathing – both
of self and disease. There were hours and hours and hours spent wondering what
was next; what the end result would be; how much pain my wife would suffer over
the coming days, months, and years. There was a specter over that day casting a
shadow long and far ahead. We were going into a place where we knew nothing,
could expect nothing, and could only tread with trembling limbs and faint
hearts. The end of that day, we fell into bed exhausted, forced to leave my
wife to the darkness of night, in the care of strangers, and with only the
faint blip of a heart monitor for a companion.
Today, we were
cavalier in our attendance on the surgery. The shadow was now behind us rather
than before us and as rugged as the trip was, as full of unexpected pits and
falls, as terrifying as it was…this day was nothing like that.
We laughed.
Joked. Chatted with people online and on the phone. Marveled at technology.
Chatted amiably with nurses and doctors alike. Contemplated Diet Cokes and
lunches and supper…and all the things that were normal before cancer.
We have, I
think, reached The New Normal and now we live there.
As we sat down to lunch while my wife underwent surgery and recovery, my daughter said, “I like this hospital a whole lot more than all the other ones.”
I replied, “And
we’ve seen way more than I ever wanted to see, too, haven’t we?”
We agreed and
fell into a companionable silence, waiting and eating an (unintentional)
abundance of deserts. Once we were done, we headed back to the waiting room. It
seemed like moments and the doctor was out, telling us that my wife was in
recovery and that she’d been able to…well, the intimate details are a bit TOO
intimate, but suffice it to say that the end result was GOOD.
Truth to tell,
if anyone had told me that the whole horror of breast cancer would have reached
this point 32 months after that horrific day of the diagnosis, I would have
been unable to believe it. Knowing full well that not all cancer diagnoses have
this same ending and grieving that not everyone can experience this peace, I am
here, waiting to listen if you need to talk, thankful for everyone who reads
this blog, and willing to continue, because GUY’S GOTTA TALK – ABOUT BREAST
CANCER…
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