Our backyard playscape has sat empty and unused for a number of years now. The toddler for whom it was built is now a 16-year-old. The swings, ladder, tower, and sandbox call out for little ones to play with them. Fortunately, the rector of our church and his wife have two young and energetic children who would love to have their own backyard playground.
So on a rainy Sunday afternoon, volunteers arrived to disassemble it and move it to its new home. The move gives me pause to reflect on the passing of the years.
A lonely playscape
We were living in a condo in our Connecticut town 17 years ago when I found out I was pregnant. Our son arrived on a sunny June day in 1999. The condo was a perfect home - for a while. We knew we needed a yard for our little one. The real estate market was good to us, and we quickly sold the condo and purchased our current home.
Moving is hard on a little one. To make the transition a little easier, we promised that as soon as spring arrived, we would build him an awesome swing set.
The swing set in its heyday on my son's 4th birthday
I was an older mommy and there were to be no more babies, so I was fortunate to be able to stay home with my son for six years.I look back on them as some of the happiest of my life. Not everyone can make that choice or wants to, but it was right for us.
The swing set was often swarming with children from the neighborhood. It hosted birthday parties and heart-to-heart talks. It was a launch pad for tiny plastic paratroopers, a pirate ship, and the Millennium Falcon. Those interests have given way to basketball, baseball, and now cars.
Moving Day
I am proud of the man my son has become. The pudgy toddler has been replaced by a tall, lanky, teen. He is kind and thoughtful to others. He has a sharp sense of humor and is a solid student in school. I have watched him bloom this year with an interest in theater production. He joined the high school's Unified Theater program, where he worked with students of varying abilities (check out the hashtag #katygaga on Twitter to see what his group did for one of their own).
So the empty space in the backyard represents growth, both for my son and me. I look back fondly on the warm, sunny days spent in our own backyard fantasy land. I look forward to the new adventures to come.I hope the swing set's new owners enjoy it as much as we did.
In my younger life, June meant the end of the school year, lazy warm days in the backyard, staying up late, and summer enrichment programs. Later, the month became an end to classes, the beginning of summer jobs and internships, graduations. Now June is the month of my wedding anniversary and my son's birthday (16 years old today!)
But for me June is also flavored with wistfulness, a feeling of letting go, of leaving something behind.
Since being hired in a public school system 10 years ago, I often mark my life by school year, rather than calendar year. September is the time for New Year's resolutions, when we start fresh. June is for good-byes - to high school seniors, to my fifth-grade students who start middle school next year, to retiring colleagues.
This June, I feel like I am also leaving behind the trials of this year.
Last June I attended a friend's wedding, a beautiful affair held lakeside on a sparkling early summer day. It was a happy, joyous, carefree day, one of the last ones I would have that summer. Weeks later I was going through tests and biopsies that resulted in a diagnosis of breast cancer.
My school year was interrupted for six weeks while I recovered from a bilateral mastectomy. The winter and spring were filled with doctor appointments and eventually more surgery to reconstruct my breasts. Today, I'm looking forward to several months of no doctor appointments and no procedures.
This June, I can see how far I've come. I look back on the dark days of fall and winter and wonder how I made it through. I feel better today - despite everything I've endured - than I have in years. It makes me wonder if I was sicker for longer than I thought. I know how strong I am - I came through a physical and emotional battering. Once you have breast cancer, other stuff looks pretty small.
I have left behind my old self, but it feels more like a butterfly leaving behind a cocoon. This June, I am healed.
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Another Memorial Day is coming to a close. We had our usual round of backyard barbecues and a relaxing day off from work and school. I want to thank those of you, particularly in social media, who remind us that this day isn't just "the unofficial start of summer." We do not wish each other a "Happy Memorial Day," rather this day is solemn, respectful. We remember our war dead.
Sadly, our family has experienced the loss of someone in uniform.
Edward Eugene Hennessay was my mother's older brother. A tall, lanky red-head who had a gift for math and numbers, he was highly regarded by everyone. He was a considerate and loving brother and son. As the only boy in the family he was not obligated to serve overseas in World War II. My grandmother had hoped he would serve by defending their island, Bermuda. But the Nazi threat was too great, he said. He needed to fight.
Edward was a corporal in the Bermuda Volunteer Rifle Corps, attached to the Lincolnshire Regiment. He was sent for training in Europe, eventually landing in Belgium. There, he was billeted with a local baker and his family. He wrote home about how lovely it was, after living in primitive conditions, to sleep in a bed with fresh lavender-scented sheets and to awaken to the tempting aromas wafting from the bakery downstairs. It was there that he fell in love with the baker's daughter, Julia, who became his fiancee before he was shipped out to combat.
Julia immediately began corresponding with my grandmother, her future mother-in-law, always addressing her letters Dear Mother. But Julia was never to become an official part of our family.
Edward was killed in combat in March 1945 at the Battle of Winnekendonk in Germany. It was part of Operation Veritable, which was designed to clear German forces between the Maas and the Rhine. Records describe fierce hand-to-hand combat between Edward's regiment and the Nazi forces. The family was told that he died trying to save a fallen comrade.
Edward's gravesite
Despite efforts by my family to bring his body home to the island, he is buried in the Reichswald Forest War Cemetery.
His death resonated through the family. My grandmother was heartbroken, She never visited his grave in Germany. A family friend placed flowers there, bringing my grandmother one of the blooms from the bouquet. My mother, just 11 years old, was devastated. Julia continued to be in contact with our family. She eventually married a man who understood about this love and loss she experienced. Their first son is named for my uncle.
I'm sorry I never knew him, but I am proud that he was a part of keeping our world safe from a terrible threat. When I married my husband, I didn't carry a bouquet of flowers. I carried my grandmother's Book of Common Prayer. Pressed in its pages, a dry and flat blossom, labeled simply in my grandmother's handwriting, "flower from Edward's grave."
The big part of my breast reconstruction has been accomplished.
I had surgery April 23 to remove the tissue expanders, which had been in place since my mastectomy on October 20, and insert the permanent silicone implants. I love the results. I am about a C-cup now (I had been a D verging on DD pre-surgery). I like how they look, and I especially like how they feel. It was a painful process, but one I feel is worth it.
For those who may be reading this because they are exploring their own options for #breastcancer treatment, I have a few words of advice:
The decision is yours. You are not required to have reconstruction surgery. For some, it may be necessary for their mental health. For others, further surgery is unacceptable.
Know your options. I was fortunate that I had a plastic surgeon who took a great deal of time with me to discuss the various techniques for reconstruction - yes, there are a lot of them. He also made sure that I knew one option was to do nothing. In the end, I chose how to rebuild my breasts and I have been happy with my decision.
Don't discount the rigors of surgery. Placement of the new implants required day surgery. But my body was still under general anesthesia, and it takes time for the body to process those chemicals. Plan extra time for rest and recovery. I was surprised by an allergic reaction to the surgical tape used. It developed a few days after the surgery. It was minor, but uncomfortable.
Talk to other women. Just as breast cancer treatment is individualized, so is reconstruction. We all have different reasons, different experiences, and different viewpoints. Reading blogs can be helpful. I've read several posts recently about reconstruction by fellow breast cancer bloggers. Chloe Messanges talks about her decision against reconstruction at here. Em Callaghan talks about her cancer experiences, including reconstructive surgery,.here. Both are thoughtful reads.
The bottom line is we are all working toward health and wellness
Yes, I care about the way I look, and I understand the power of appearance in our society. But my parents raised me to value intellect and character. Be confident in your appearance, and then, hit 'em with your smarts.
So if you had told me just a year ago that I would be sitting in a plastic surgeon's office discussing breast implants, I would have said you were crazy. To me, plastic surgery - boob jobs, tummy tucks, facelifts - were for the very rich, very self-obsessed Real Housewives in our society. The portrayal of plastic surgery in popular media borders on the grotesque. I didn't understand people who would go through the risks of an operation for a strictly aesthetic result. It seemed the ultimate in vanity. No, this was not something for me.
Of course, I have never been unhappy with my appearance - until now. Believe me when I tell you that looking at my reflection in the mirror days after undergoing a double mastectomy to treat breast cancer was one of the toughest moments in my life. I now know what it feels like to look at myself and think I'm ugly. I now know the impact that can have on one's life.
I was lucky in that moment to know that the way my body looked was temporary. My plastic surgeon placed tissue expanders in my chest during the surgery, beginning the process of reconstruction.
For the past six months, those expanders have been gradually filled to create a capsule for the silicone implants that will be placed there next week. The process has involved some discomfort, a little pain, and a lot of self-questioning. More than once, I have left the doctor's office wondering why I'm doing this. I'm 55 years old - why do I need to have breasts, especially ones that have no function? Why am I putting myself through the risks of another surgery for a strictly aesthetic result? I can't entirely answer those questions except to say this breast reconstruction is helping me to heal on a deep psychological level.
Despite the questioning, I feel like I have made a good decision, one that is right for me. I spent a lot of time with a doctor I trust going over my options. I understand why some women choose not to have reconstruction. A colleague at work, who had a unilateral mastectomy 10 years ago, chose not to have her breast rebuilt. She met with a surgeon, but decided it wasn't for her. She told me she thinks of her altered body like a Picasso painting. It is a strikingly beautiful image.
I have also since learned more about plastic surgery. Much of what I thought of as plastic surgery is a small subset - cosmetic surgery. The field encompasses much more. This type of surgery restores form and function to a body that is either formed improperly or damaged by disease or trauma. It includes craniofacial surgery, microsurgery, hand surgery, reconstructive surgery, and the treatment of burns. It is much bigger than I thought.
And those people who choose to have cosmetic surgery to feel better about themselves - I get it now. This has been another lesson learned on this complicated journey. Any time I get to learn to be less judgmental of others is a good thing.
But it only reminds us, as our fortunes are turning,
Of the passing of the time."
- Wendy Waldman "Prayer for You"
The clocks have changed, the sun shines higher in the sky, but the temperatures still dip to uncomfortable levels. The first purple flowers of spring have popped in the front garden, but are surrounded by the detritus of winter. The back deck beckons, but a pile of snow still stands with fortitude in the middle of it.
The purple harbingers of spring
Spring in the Northeast United States has been hard coming this year - after a long winter, it's been a laborious spring.
The stubborn snow on the deck
I, too, feel mentally frozen, stuck in the snows of coping with cancer surgery. I feel stuck on October 20, a sunny day with autumn foliage turned up full blast. That was the day I had a double mastectomy to remove the malignant cells that had invaded. The next six weeks, I was in the weeds, mostly housebound, mostly in bed, determined everyday to do a little bit more. The season changed to winter without my even noticing. I've felt cold ever since.
My scarred chest has remained undercover in long sleeve shirts and sweaters. It is hard for someone to notice any difference. But taking off my shirt at the end of the day is still a jarring experience. Tissue expanders have created breasts of sorts, but they are hard and unwieldy. I have visited the plastic surgeon's office every other week for the last four months to fill the expanders. It is a painful process, but designed to create a capsule for the permanent implants to come. For now, my breasts are sort of an odd, lumpy shape, with a certain Barbie-doll quality to them.
I have dreaded putting on the spring clothing I last wore when I had breasts.But last week I pulled out a sleeveless, scoop-neck turquoise dress that had never failed to make me feel good. While the smaller bust size made it a little lower cut than it used to be, I looked - pretty! And my husband certainly enjoyed the low-cut part.
Our front garden in full bloom, May 2014
I had the last fill of the tissue expanders last week. The surgery for the implants is scheduled for later this month, with nipple reconstruction to follow. I'm nearing the end of this part of the journey.
I saw my first robin yesterday. The thaw has begun.
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Please enjoy this song from one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Wendy Waldman. It's from her 1976 album, The Main Refrain. I had it on vinyl and enjoy it today as much as I did when I was a teenager..
