In his 1980 hit song, "Same Auld Lang Syne," the late singer-songwriter Dan Fogelberg offers up a melancholic nostalgia. The autobiographical lyrics detail a chance encounter with an old girlfriend over the holidays. The pair catch up over beer and compare what's gone right in their lives and what's gone wrong. In the end, they part ways. If you listen closely to the song, the final chord in the lyrics never resolves. We are left with the picture of the singer standing in the rain, longing for what once was and wondering about what could have been.
I have often felt this way on New Year's Eve. I think about what is over and done with. I think about things left undone, words left unsaid, and loved ones who didn't make it to ring in the new year.
But this year gives me the opportunity to try something different. It's not only the end of the year, but the end of a decade. Time to take stock and look at accomplishments. To be sure, the 2010s is not a decade I'd care to repeat, but along with the struggles came triumphs.
The middle of the decade found me fighting for my health. In 2013, I was suffering from an infection that necessitated the removal of part of my large intestine. I thought I was on the path to good health, but a year later I was diagnosed with breast cancer (you can read more about that by clicking on the topics in the left menu of the blog).
Over the next two years, I had a bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction. What I remember vividly is the hot, sharp pain I was in for months. But just as vivid is the late fall morning when I woke up feeling just a little bit better. The lesson: Nothing lasts forever, not pain, not bad times. Life is a circle.I learned just how strong I am, and I'm currently set up to meet any challenge that lies ahead.
By 2017 I was dissatisfied in the job I'd held since 2005, a scary place to be in your late 50s. I decided to try something new. I was scared. I thought a lot about the adage about old dogs and new tricks. I did it anyway and now do work that fulfills me in ways I didn't expect. The lesson: Jump in. The water's fine. I just needed to remind myself that I'm a good swimmer.
My husband and me in Paris, July 2019
The past 10 years have taught me to hold my family tighter. My stepfather died in 2011 and my mother now lives with me. It was a big adjustment for both of us, but this is the season of life we are in. I've watched other family members struggle with serious illnesses, heartbreak, and career challenges. The lesson: Take no day for granted. Do it now, whatever it is. Celebrate today. In my case, it meant taking a trip to Europe. Nike is right - Just Do It.
Midnight tonight will find me ringing in the new year with the same friends I've been doing this with for the past 20 years. We saw the millennium together. We partied like it was 1999 and wondered if it was the end of the world as we know it. It wasn't. We are lucky. We are all still here and in good health. Tonight "we'll take a cup of kindness yet/For Auld Lang Syne."
I will not wish you a happy new year. I wish you a new year that is filled with challenges met, strength, and contentment. Peace.
If you had told me five years ago that cancer wouldn't dominate my every waking moment, I would have told you that you were crazy.
If you had told me I wouldn't be constantly planning and recovering from surgeries to heal and repair the damage cancer had done to my body, I wouldn't have believed you. If you had told me that pain and pain management wouldn't be an ongoing part of life, I would have said that's impossible.
But here I am. Today marks the fifth anniversary of the day I got the diagnosis of breast cancer. It was a bright, sunny summer day, but it quickly turned dark when I received the phone call from my doctor and then had to sit my family down and tell them that life was about to get very complicated.
I honor this day because the five-year mark is an important milestone in cancer recovery. With each passing year, the likelihood of the cancer returning diminishes. I'll celebrate on Oct. 21, the fifth anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy. That was the day I began to get well.
The months that followed were trying ones. Pain and fear are terrible weights to carry. I still vividly remember removing the bandages from my chest to take my first shower after surgery. What I saw made me feel ugly and deformed. "This is what healthy looks like," my husband reassured me. The subsequent reconstruction confirmed what he already knew - I am strong and beautiful. (For more about my husband, click here. ) The surgeon who performed my reconstructive surgeries told me that in about 18 months, my new implants would feel like a regular part of my body.
Here I am.
I got through it.
My reconstructive surgery has long been completed. The scars have faded. In fact, if you saw me changing in the gym locker room, you would have to get very, very close to me to realize I have implants. I see my surgeons annually, my oncologist every six months. I am vigilant in taking the anti-cancer drugs she has prescribed. I eat a plant-based diet, I exercise most days. In short, I am living my life.
During those early months, writing this blog was therapeutic for me and, I hope, helpful to some readers. I drew much strength from reading similar blogs of women who had gone before me. But I have been quiet for some time. As I said, I've been living my life.
But as I reflect, I wonder how I had the strength to get through that experience. "You did what you had to do," a friend told me. Everything since then has seemed easier, changes easier to cope with.
Me seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. The smile says it all.
There have been many changes.
I've gone from parenting a teenager to parenting an adult. I saw my son off to college, where he is thriving.
I took a new position in my job, one that is very challenging, but extremely rewarding. My colleagues are the best group of people and I am blessed to work with them.
I met a group of refugees from Bhutan who now live in my area. Together we started a community garden at my church.
I recently fulfilled a lifelong dream of visiting London and Paris. I wasn't sure I was ever going to see these beautiful cities, so it was an emotional experience to be able to see Buckingham Palace, the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower.
A magical last night in Paris
I will continue to look for new challenges in life. All of us will face obstacles and hardships in the future. But my message is this: You will get through this.
More than 30 years ago, I was a young reporter working for a large metropolitan daily newspaper. I covered a small town that had a major medical center located in it, so I occasionally got some medical stories out of it.
A press release turned up on my desk to announce that Mother Teresa, the famed Roman Catholic nun known for her work with some of the world's poorest people in Calcutta, India, was to be the featured speaker at a fundraiser for the center.
I was extremely excited. The event was set to attract many local luminaries, including the governor of the state of Connecticut. And I would perhaps meet this extraordinary woman.
But, alas, this was not meant to be. I was pretty low on the pecking order at the paper, and the metro desk scooped up this plum assignment. I was disappointed, but that's the way the news business works.
Then, something else happened.
Just hours before her scheduled appearance in Connecticut, Mother Teresa cancelled. Already in New York City, she fell ill and felt unable to travel to the hospital's fundraiser. Because it was such short notice, people around her tried to convince her that she had an "obligation" to make the appearance. She declined. She needed to rest and recuperate, so that she could be strong enough for the work God had given her to do on this earth - minister to the poor. The Connecticut cocktail party was off.
Her single-minded vision was a lesson to me. How many times had a said yes to something that I was unable or unwilling to do? How many times had I put my needs aside because I felt an "obligation" to do something?
Mother Teresa served as a reminder that we cannot fully live our potential if we don't take care of ourselves. It's like on an airplane, when they tell you that you should put your own oxygen mask on before you try to assist others in an emergency. You can't serve from an empty vessel.
If I have learned nothing in the past two years of breast cancer treatment, it is the importance of taking care of myself through rest, proper diet, and exercise.
But Mother Teresa was not yet done with me that day three decades ago. The story had changed.
St. Teresa of Calcutta
Because of the last minute cancellation, the food for the party had already been prepared. The medical center decided to donate the bounty to local homeless shelters. I got the assignment to cover this part of the story.
This was the early 1980s and homelessness was on the rise. Many mental health institutions had been emptied out and their clients put on the streets. The homeless had the reputation as being lazy or crazy. After interviewing hospital officials about the donation, I returned to the bureau to write my story. My bureau chief told me I wasn't finished reporting - he told me to follow the food.
In the arrogance of youth, I didn't want to hang out with the homeless (it was also Friday evening, and Happy Hour beckoned). My editor insisted, and I called one of the faith-based shelters for men in the city that received a portion of the food to ask if I could come for dinner.
The people I found there were not what I expected. To be sure, there were men there suffering from mental illness, as well as those whose addictions had torn apart the foundation of their lives. But the men who gravitated to me during dinner wanted to tell me their stories. They were not lazy grifters looking for a handout, they were hardworking people who had stumbled and needed a hand up.
Several men I spoke with had families. They had lived paycheck to paycheck, and when that check suddenly disappeared, they were turned out of their apartments. One was working three low-paying jobs in an effort to save money for the security deposit on a new home for him and his family.
They spoke eloquently about the sting of feeling they weren't good providers and the pain of being separated from their loved ones because so-called family shelters didn't allow men.
The donated crudites were added to a hearty soup and the fresh fruit was added to dessert. Over our bowls of soup, we had a laugh about how we were eating food originally intended for some of the most famous and wealthy people in the state. One man remarked about how long it had been since he had eaten a fresh strawberry. I made sure to let them know that it was all Mother Teresa's doing.
I came away from the encounter much smarter and more compassionate. I had a new resolve to tell the stories of those who had no voice or platform. I was less willing to give in to my knee-jerk judgments about people who are different from me. "Each one of them is Jesus in disguise," Mother Teresa said.
The story I wrote that night led the newspaper the next day.
"If you judge people, you have no time to love them." - Mother Teresa
I tell this now because I believe we need renewed vigor in caring for each other - particularly the poor and the immigrant. We must follow Mother Teresa's example.
I never got to meet Mother Teresa. She passed away in 1997 and has since been canonized by the Roman Catholic Church She is now known as St. Teresa of Calcutta. Among the requirements of sainthood is to live a life of virtue and have a certified miracle.
Perhaps I witnessed a miracle over a bowl of soup on that warm summer evening. Perhaps I am one.
I recently visited my plastic surgeon as part of a regular check-up on my breast reconstruction. I told him I was having a bit of an identity crisis.
I don't know who I am, I told him, if I wasn't having surgery, recovering from surgery, or preparing for more surgery. I have been having operations almost every six months for the past year and a half as part of my treatment for breast cancer. The final piece - nipple reconstruction - came last December. This part of my treatment is now over (By the way, I'm extremely happy with the results!).
I thought I would take this time to reflect on the last two years.
In August 2014 I was diagnosed with Stage 1a grade 2-3 mixed invasive ductal and lobular carcinoma. I had two tumors in my right breast - one was 1.5 cm, the other 1 cm. After consulting with a breast specialist I opted for a bilateral mastectomy the following October. At the time of my initial surgery, I received tissue expanders to create a pocket for silicone breast implants. Since then, I have been receiving hormone therapy to keep the cancer from returning. You can read my initial thoughts about cancer by clicking here.
I could not go around cancer. I had to go through it. Although there have been difficult times for me and my family, I'm not sorry to have gone on that rough ride. I learned a few things.
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Exercise
Right before my diagnosis, I had set a goal to do some form of exercise five days a week. I had fallen out of the exercise habit and gained quite a lot of weight. It seems strange that I accomplished this goal while going through cancer treatment.
I learned that exercise can play a key role in preventing a recurrence of cancer. If that doesn't get me off the couch, I don't know what will. Exercise also plays a role in mental health. Hormone treatments can wreak havoc on the emotions, too. Regular vigorous exercise makes me feel good.
After each surgery, I was limited with what I could do with my upper body. No weight bearing exercises were allowed as I recovered, and some arm movements were difficult. But there was nothing hampering my lower body! So I concentrated on cardio. I pulled out my old step bench and also discovered Zumba. Zumba turned into my ultimate feel-good activity because it got my heart pumping and I could do as much or as little as my body allowed while recovered. I have since found a great class at the YMCA that I attend twice a week.
Understanding the importance of exercise also led me to the LiveStrong at the Y program at my local YMCA. This wonderful program, which you can learn more about by clicking here, put me in touch with four wonderful trainers who helped me and my group in our recovery process. Their influence helped me solidify my goal to be a regular exerciser.
Cancer taught me to keep active.
Staying Positive
I am not by nature a cock-eyed optimist. But I knew I could not wallow in fear and negativity because of cancer. It doesn't feel good and could have affected my recovery. There were times when I was scared. There were times after the mastectomy when I thought the pain wouldn't end. There were times when I questioned some of my surgical decisions. But in the end, I knew to put one foot in front of the other and reassure myself that everything was okay - no matter what happened.
Writing this blog also helped me stay positive. After my diagnosis I scoured the web for information and came across many different blogs written by women who were going through the same thing. They gave me hope. They gave me the clarity to understand that I, too, had a story to share that may help quell the fears of someone else.
Having a great team of doctors, nurses, and physical therapists also helped me maintain a positive outlook. The support of my family and friends has also sustained me during difficult times. And then, there is my husband - read about him here.
Cancer taught me to stay positive.
Listening to Body and Soul
When I went in for that mammogram in July 2014, I knew something was up. But I had no indication or any symptoms of cancer - just a nagging little feeling in the back of my brain. My body must have known before I did that I was sick.
Since then, I have had lesson after lesson in trusting my gut instincts and what my body was telling me.
Pain taught me to be patient. While I wished for an immediate return to my normal physical self, that wasn't possible. If something hurt, I had to stop doing it. I do remember crying one morning after my mastectomy because I had to ask my son to help me slice a bagel. I just didn't have the arm strength to accomplish this seemingly simple task. "Mom, it's just a bagel," he said. Indeed. It seems silly now. I know now to listen to my body, do what I can and push when appropriate, and ask for help when I need it.
I had to listen to my soul, too. My first team of doctors wasn't right for me - in fact, they were just a disaster. My soul knew this almost immediately. I could have saved some time and frustration if I hadn't let fear drown out those feelings. I know better now.
Cancer taught me to listen to myself and trust myself.
Going Forward
I am not naive enough to think cancer is done with me - it might return, it might not. But one thing I do know now is not to be afraid. I can handle anything.
Everyone will encounter some kind of pain in life. It is our response to it that makes the difference between fulfillment and suffering. Many times I have asked "Why me?" But I have not asked it while shaking my fist in anger at the universe. I have asked because I want to know why I went through this. How does this experience help me find clarity in my life?
This is what cancer taught me.
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One hundred percent. That's an A+, a completion, one whole.
It's also a percentage I've been striving for in my own life. I'm preparing for what I hope will be the final leg of the marathon I've been running with breast cancer for more than a year. After a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction and an implant exchange, I'm scheduled for a nipple reconstruction and scar revision surgery next month.
I've gone back and forth during the past year on whether I wanted this last operation. Surgery is hard on the body, and this one will have me laid up during the holidays. But I finally put the green light on it because I'm shooting for 100 percent. I want to feel like 100 percent of me again.
Pain Management
This past year has been filled not only with physical pain, but psychological pain, as well. A mastectomy is disfiguring and I was troubled by the way I looked immediately after the surgery. Going from DD cups to nothing was difficult to say the least.
There has been an upside. Some of my clothes fit better with my D cup implants. My breasts no longer sag. I don't have to wear a bra if I don't want to. The downside is my chest no longer has any feeling to it. It is a strange sensation. I have slowly, but surely, come to accept what I look like now. The scars are fading quickly. My breasts are the same pretty shape they were when I was younger.
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Milestones Along the Way
I have hit a few milestones recently that have helped me along to my 100 percent goal:
I bought a "real" bra for the first time in more than a year. I had been wearing sports bras and the compression bras I had to wear after surgery. I had to screw up some courage to go into the lingerie store and ask an associate to measure me.
I put on a swimsuit. This was a bigger deal than I thought it was going to be. At my local YMCA, I have spent the past three months participating in their LiveStrong program for cancer survivors. Our group decided to try an aqua aerobics class in the pool. I wasn't even sure my swimsuits would fit me. When I tried them on, I really liked the way the look. I gained a few more percentage points after this one. The experience also reiterates the need to push my personal boundaries.
None of the healing I have achieved this past year could have happened without wonderful doctors. For those of you who may be making decisions about treatment for breast cancer, it is important to remember that you don't need reconstruction if you don't want it. Insurance companies are legally bound to cover reconstruction if they cover a mastectomy. For people like me, reconstruction is an important part of the healing process. For other people, further surgery is unacceptable. The decision is yours, but a consultation with a plastic surgeon will go a long way in helping you decide.
If you choose reconstruction, choose your plastic surgeon with care. I've heard far too many stories from fellow survivors who have had to sit through crass and demeaning exams (Gentlemen, clean up your act!). My plastic surgeon is the doctor I have seen the most this past year. I am fortunate to have met him. He is kind, funny, knowledgeable, and has always given me the truth about my treatment. He has been compassionate and supportive when pain and doubt have invaded. Although the office visits could be difficult, I never dreaded going. His office staff has been equally kind and supportive.
When I first met him - when my head was still reeling from my diagnosis - he told me it generally takes 18 months to start feeling "normal" again. I'm right on track.
I awaken with a start. As my mind drifts inward in my darkened bedroom, I start to wonder if a rogue cancer cell may have escaped from my breasts. Will it multiply? Will I have to do all this again? Will it kill me this time? I think about those funky little aches and pains. Are they really just "funky" and "little?"
I have since learned this thinking is perfectly normal.
I have shifted gears in my cancer experience - from treatment to survival. I recently met with a nurse practitioner with Hartford Hospital's cancer survivorship program. I would encourage anyone in recovery to participate in this kind of program if you have access to one.
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My breast surgeon referred me to her as part of the follow-up to my breast cancer diagnosis, bilateral mastectomy, and reconstruction surgery. It has been more than a year since my diagnosis and nearly a year since the surgery that removed both my breasts.
Re-Hearing My Diagnosis
In our meeting, we took it from the top.
She reviewed my original lab reports with me. It was interesting to hear them again from the other side of my treatment. In August 2014, I didn't know as much about breast cancer as I do now. The emotional devastation also clouds perception. I knew my cancer was in its early stages and my tumors were very small. What I didn't hear back then was how aggressive my form of cancer was. I dodged a bullet.
Another issue we tackled was anxiety. I characterized my fears of recurrence as mild. I have them, but they don't interfere with my daily enjoyment of life. She made sure I had information on where to turn if I feel overwhelmed. Time, she said, heals these feelings.
Also as a result of our meeting, she gave me a written summary of all my treatment. It was forwarded to my breast surgeon, my primary care physician, my oncologist, and my plastic surgeon. If I should need to tell a new doctor or other healthcare professional about my illness, it's all right there.
Moving forward
We also talked about ongoing follow up care and resources that are available to me to maintain ongoing good health. I had several takeaways:
Nutrition - I took a one-night class on nutrition after cancer, given by a dietitian and health coach in the hospital's Integrative Medicine Program. I have been on a healthy-eating quest for some time, but this class clarified a number of things. The goal of post-cancer nutrition is to create an inner terrain that is as inhospitable to cancer as possible. To do that, eat G-BOMBS - greens, beans, onions, mushrooms, berries, and seeds and nuts. Plant-based diets can help prevent recurrence. I also shop with a list of the produce that is best purchased from organic farms.
Exercise - This message keeps coming at me. Exercise is one of the best and most effective ways to prevent cancer in the future. I have been a faithful home exerciser for many years, but I felt like I needed extra help as I continue my recovery from the surgery. I was referred to the LiveStrong program at the Farmington Valley YMCA, an exercise program that is tailored to cancer survivors. Twice a week, I attend a class that includes 30 minutes on cardio equipment, followed by 30 minutes in a small group with a trainer that focuses on building strength, flexibility, and balance. The final 30 minutes are for stretching and relaxation. I can't say enough good things about this program. It provides cancer survivors with a free family membership to the Y for three months. It is wonderful to be with a group of like-minded people. There are certain things I don't have to explain to them. An added blessing - my first evening at the program I discovered one of my trainers is a former colleague whom I haven't seen in several years. It was wonderful to see her!
Chemicals - I had never given much thought to the products I put on and around my body. I have now checked most of the cosmetics I use with the Environmental Working Group website. Parabens, sulfates, and phthalates have been associated with breast cancer, and I will avoid products with them. Many of my favorites are made without those potentially dangerous chemicals (Sadly, my favorite cleanser isn't one of them. It contains parabens. But the manufacturer is in on the conversation, and they are trying to formulate the product with a healthier preservative.)
"A cancer survivor is defined as anyone with a history of cancer, spanning from the time of diagnosis and for the remainder of life, whether that is days or decades." - National Coalition for Cancer Survivorship
With the survivorship program, I feel I have regained an important sense of control over what is happening to me. I feel like I am taking good care of myself. I've even started to feel pretty again.
So when those middle-of-the-night moments recur, I can banish them by listing the ways I am safeguarding my health.
Like everyone else, I reacted with horror at the deaths of Alison Parker and Adam Ward, the journalists who were gunned down on live TV in Roanoke, VA. It is another senseless episode of gun violence that will have us questioning (again) the role of guns in our society.
But Alison and Adam's murder struck a much deeper chord with me. I, too, have been part of a news team that had to cover the murder of one of their own.
Fast Friends
In 1987, I was a reporter with the Journal Inquirer, then the third largest newspaper in Connecticut. A new reporter had just joined the staff. Her name was Kara Laczynski. Like Alison, she was 24 and at the beginning of a promising news career. Kara was bright, beautiful, and talented. We quickly became friends and then neighbors when she rented an apartment in the building next door to mine in Hartford, CT.
That October, she had planned a weekend away in Philadelphia, where she was meeting up with friends from her alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania. She had been looking forward to the trip for a while. My last glimpse of her was in the newsroom, when she turned to wave goodbye to me and promised to tell me of her weekend's adventures.
A Tragic Day
That Monday morning, she wasn't at her desk and hadn't called in sick, very uncharacteristic of this dedicated, hard-working professional. After being unable to reach her, her editor - knowing we were neighbors - asked me to check on her. My fear was that she was ill and needed help.
When I got to her building, I saw her car parked in the lot. I called her phone, rang her bell. No answer. I then called the property manager and relayed my concerns. She sent over a member of the maintenance crew to unlock the door.
He and I had the horror of discovering Kara's naked, lifeless body sprawled on the floor of her living room. Her hands were bound, and a belt around her neck strangled the life out of this beautiful woman. Strangers gained access to her apartment. Her death was likely the result of a sexual assault gone wrong.
The next days, months, and years passed by with a blur. An investigation resulted in arrests in Kara's murder, but the case became bogged down in a racial, cultural, and political morass. Some say Kara's murder marked a tipping point for Hartford, damaging its reputation and sending it into a tailspin. Mistrials were declared, and no one was ever convicted of murdering my friend. The justice system let her down, and it let me down.
Aftermath
It is difficult to gather news when you are part of the story. "I feel like this happened to my little sister," one reporter covering the case remarked. Another - a seasoned crime and court reporter - struggled with his emotions when the crime scene and autopsy photographs were entered into evidence. I interviewed Kara's father for a piece, still one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
My thoughts and prayers are with the WDBJ7 team. These next days and weeks will be dark ones. They are coping with the sudden, tragic, and very public loss of people they cared about. There are still stories to be written and broadcast about Alison and Adam. It is difficult to properly mourn when the cameras are on you. The apparent suicide of the suspected shooter will spare them a lengthy investigation and trial. But this won't be easy. They will never get over it.
The effects of a murder are long and far-reaching. Alison and Adam's coworkers will likely have sleepless nights and other emotional repercussions. They may spend years looking over their shoulders every time they are out in the street. They may relive those terrible last moments of their colleagues' lives,
made worse by the fact that the incident was on live television. The news business is a transient one, and those working for the station will likely move on to other jobs. But they will all have this one important and horrible day in common for the rest of their lives.
Finding Peace
I hope they will be like me - able to make peace with tragedy. At first I agonized over what Kara had to go through as she died. Her memory brought pain. I had trouble listening to the music of U2, her favorite band. I had a lot of what-ifs in my head.
But after nearly 30 years, her memory brings a smile to my face. I remember her beautiful broad smile, curly black hair, and sparkling brown eyes. I remember her intelligence and humor and the way she valued learning. I remember that she loved journalism because she wanted to stand up for the underdogs in life. What I remember now is the vibrancy of her life.
But even after so many years, I still have difficulty talking about this period in my life.
To all those who are grieving this day,. I wish you peace.
It's been one year since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The past year has been a thrill ride with many peaks and valleys. Although it was difficult, I'm not sorry I have gone through this experience.
I spent most of July 2014 in a whirlwind of tests. First came my routine mammogram; then a second-look mammogram; then an ultrasound, and biopsy. Finally the phone call from my doctor came. "Are you somewhere you can talk?" she asked me. That's never good.
Breast cancer is a difficult disease. It strikes us on a part of our bodies that is uniquely feminine. It is fueled by the hormones that make us women and mothers. As one friend put it, "It messes with your head." So I had much to reflect upon as this one-year anniversary approached.
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Fear
I was afraid of a lot of things - dying, pain, sickness, being unable to be present in the lives of my friends and family. I faced down a lot of them and have come out the other side. After you've had cancer, it hard not to be fearful and mistrustful of your body. There are days when I worry about every little ache and pain. But I now know how resilient my body and mind are.
Friends
Where would I be without them? On my last day of work before my leave of absence, my colleagues (all of them women) gave me a surprise lunch. During lunch they gave me several gifts - a beautiful shawl, a soft pink bear, and an assortment of teas. The shawl was like having their arms around me. The bear caught a few teardrops, and the tea sustained me when eating was difficult. Because of their kindness, I was able to embark on my journey with a light heart.
"Breast cancer strikes us on a part of our bodies that is uniquely feminine. It is fueled by the hormones that make us women and mothers."
Then there are my church friends. Our family is part of an Episcopalian community. The prayers for me were palpable. The day before my surgery I attended our Sunday service. They gave me a laying-on of hands to bless me 24 hours before my surgery began. The morning of my surgery, I awoke early and checked Facebook. There Amy, one of my church friends, and her young daughter posted a picture of them wearing pink sweatshirts in my honor. Throughout the day, church members posted to my husband and me that prayers were ascending. During my recovery, home visits were made, communion offered, and meals delivered.
Another friend, who is an executive for a major hospital, stepped in when I had to change doctors and facilities. I was unable to see ahead. She solved all my problems before the end of that difficult day.
Family
You can read about my husband's support by clicking here. We are fortunate to have a close relationship. The rest of the family rallied behind me. My two young nieces posted a picture on Facebook in pink t-shirts
to let me know they were thinking of me. My mother, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, aunt, and cousin went to work stocking my refrigerator and freezer with meals for the next month. My house was kept clean. All I needed to worry about was getting better.
Ultimately, I have had to arrive at a peaceful place. I can't live in fear, but I have to live in reality. One day I will die. I don't know when. I don't know if cancer will take me. Today, I am alive and healthy. I wish you all good health!
You can read more about my experience with breast cancer by clicking on the topics in the sidebar.
We've all had these moments. You look at a photograph of yourself at a family wedding and are shocked by how much weight you've gained. You've lost weight, but still are surprised when you look in the mirror and see your thinner self. Then there were the almost-daily changes during pregnancy that had you wondering what was going on in there.
These are times when we have not truly connected our bodies and our minds. Breast surgery can bring about that same kind of disconnect.
I had a double mastectomy last fall to treat breast cancer. I've undergone months of reconstruction and still face one more surgery. I have been struggling with my body image ever since.
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Those days following my surgery were difficult ones. My breasts were a part of my body that I've always been happy with. My first reaction upon seeing my chest for the first time was "This isn't me." Then I cried. A lot. I am fortunate to have a supportive husband, who hugged me and reassured me. "This is what healthy looks like." It is hard to fight the feeling that your body has betrayed you.
In addition to emotional difficulties, I faced physical ones, too. My posture was thrown off. I couldn't reach my hands over my head (brushing my hair was an ordeal). I tried to get as much activity in each day as my battered body would allow. Lifting anything (including cats and coffee cups) was hard.
Once the healing process was begun, I began to find ways to make friends with my new body. The following are some of the things that have worked for me. I'm not a medical professional and you need to speak to your doctor during your recovery. I also have not been compensated by the makers of any of the goods and services I write about here. They are simply things I've found helpful.
Reconnect With Your Body Through Exercise
One of the best things I did for myself post-surgery was ask for physical therapy. I was sent to a therapist who specialized in mastectomy recovery, and she proved a valuable resource. She gave me information about things like lymphedema. She reassured me that I was recovering normally. She was a shoulder to cry on. She also helped me get back the use of both arms, improve my posture, and build up my strength. She stressed the importance of ongoing exercise, particularly the emotional benefits of movement.
I've been a dedicated home workout fan for many years (remember Jane Fonda's Workout?) I have a space set up in our basement where I can exercise. But following my surgery, there were many videos in my library that no longer worked for me.
I had to take a look at workouts that I could do and that felt good. I (literally) dusted off my old step and got out my old video from 1992. Stepping worked for me because I still had a strong lower body. I could modify the movements of my upper body according to what I could do each day. It's still one of the sweatiest, heart-pounding workouts out there if you load up the risers.
Some of my favorite videos, both new and old
I was also able to do a little mat pilates work and discovered Zumba for the first time. I had very strict weight lifting limitations from my doctor following both surgeries. I can't stress this enough - it's important that all your doctors know what kind of exercise you are doing.
Reconnect With Your Body Through Nutrition
I start the day with a healthy smoothie
This has been an ongoing journey for me. I suffered some health complications even before I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Those led me to becoming a vegetarian. Research has shown there may be some benefits to following a plant-based diet for cancer patients. But the biggest difference for me is how I feel. Since giving up meat, I have more energy and my skin and hair look healthier. This diet may not work for everyone, but it's helped me. (Once again, your doctor's advice here is crucial).
I start nearly every day with a green smoothie. It includes leafy greens and some kind of fruit, fat, and protein. This morning's drink was kale, pineapple, banana, flax meal, and coconut oil. It fueled my workout and kept me going until lunch. I feel like this starts my day right. For other meals, I have rice, beans, lentils, and quinoa, along with lots of vegetables.If you choose this kind of diet, there are many resources on line to help you. Perhaps the most important bit if nutrition advice I can give is "Listen to your body." Pay attention to how you feel when you eat certain foods. Develop a way of eating that will keep you healthy.
Some fruits and vegetables from the local fruit stand. Buy local and in-season!
Reconnect With Your Body by Showing Emotion
I get it. We all want to be the brave "pink warrior," able to cope with life and our illness. We don't want our friends and family - especially our children - to worry. But breast cancer is big, serious, scary stuff. Keeping all our emotions inside can be detrimental to our overall health and recovery.
I felt very guilty when, during a particularly difficult day before my surgery, I began crying and couldn't stop. My son saw me like that. I worried about the effect it would have on him (he's 16). A friend reassured me. "He saw you being real," she said. He also saw that the sad and angry moment passed quickly, perhaps a good life lesson.
I relied on friends who have recovered from breast cancer. My mom, a survivor herself, lives with us and helped reassure me during some dark times. And there is, of course, my husband. I've written about his loving support here.
Showing your emotions can be the first step in asking for help. There were things I simply couldn't do without help. I needed to really understand that. It was temporary, as I continued to build back my emotional and physical strength.
I still don't feel like I'm all the way back. My reconstructed breasts don't quite feel like "mine" yet. My plastic surgeon reassured me this is normal. He's found that patients take about 18 months to feel some kind of normal again.
Cancer was a reminder that I need to continue to be vigilant with my health. I wish you all good health!
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I'm one of those people who likes to know what's expected of me and exactly what will happen in a given situation. While this personality quirk means that I'm always prepared and ready, it also means that it's difficult for me to drag myself out of my comfort zone.I have been faced with many out-of-the-box situations in the past year during my treatment for breast cancer.
I was reminded of the value of trying new and different things in life during a recent dinner date and concert with my husband.
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A Birthday Gift
For my birthday this year, my husband got us two tickets to see Todd Rundgren. Those of you who are a certain age will remember the lanky, long-haired mega-talent from '70s hits like "Hello, It's Me," "I Saw the Light," and "It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference."
Rundgren's seminal double-album, "Something/Anything?" was a hit just as I was beginning to appreciate and listen to popular music.The album's big single "Hello, It's Me" is a near-perfect love song.
In addition to his solo career, Rundgren fronted several bands (The Nazz and Utopia) and was a highly sought-after producer and engineer. He was known for his meticulousness in the studio and his ability to experiment with different sounds. He was one of the first artists to recognize that video could enhance his message. His Utopia Studios was renowned as an early innovator of music videos, and videos produced there found their way into the early rotations of MTV.
Rundgren's fingerprints are on a lot of music that chugged its way through my college and young adult years. Among the artists he produced are Patti Smith, Hall and Oates, XTC, the New York Dolls, Grand Funk Railroad, the Tubes, and Meatloaf (he was the driving force behind "Bat Out of Hell.").
Pre-concert selfie outside of Infinity Hall
A multi-instrumentalist, Rundgren plays most of the music on his albums, which often feature eccentric, but surprisingly meaningful sounds. His work paved the way for such artists as Prince and Beck.
His new album, "Global" is no different. This time, Rundgren experiments with electronica. I've often found this kind of music cold, but underneath the complex electronic sounds are the soulful Philly-style harmonies he's known for and the warmth of the themes of community and protecting the earth. I had not heard any of his new music before the night of the concert.
A Concert to Remember
My husband and I headed out to Infinity Hall, a small venue in northwestern Connecticut best known for its concerts on PBS. We had dinner in the bistro and took our seats about 15 minutes before the start of the show.
The stage before the show started.
There was a single seat next to me in our row. It was soon filled. "Hi! I'm Jeff. Longtime Todd fan!" he said, extending his hand. He then regaled me with stories of other Rundgren concerts he'd attended, including one at the Bitter End in New York City that was recorded for the iconic "Back to the Bars" album in the late '70s.
Jeff said staffers at the hall had told him that the roadies had been setting up the stage since early morning. I told him I had seen an electrical generator parked out back. Clearly, something was going to need a lot of juice.
"This concert's going to be a little different," Jeff told me.
A Lasting Message
We soon found out what all the fuss was about.
The lights dimmed and a guitar-toting Rundgren burst onto the stage to the tune of "Evrybody," which is reminiscent of "Bang the Drum All Day" from the '80s . The tall, black monoliths on the stage came alive with video, as two Afro-wigged singer-dancers backed up Rundgren.
Rundgren was dressed simply in jeans, sleeveless t-shirt, and sneakers. His signature long hair is still there. Like all of us, he's gotten older. He's now 67 years old. But the sheer energy he exuded was nothing short of inspirational.
There was little banter with the audience. The music spoke for itself. "Blind" and "This Island Earth" warn of climate change. He celebrated women (including Rosa Parks and Malala Yousafzai) in "Earth Mother." He sang about the joys of finding a grounding love in "Terra Firma." The ballad "Soothe" sounded like an older, wiser sequel to "Hello, It's Me."
He ran through most of the new album, sprinkling in music from Utopia and his older hits. By the time he did the song, "Rise" I didn't want the concert to end. As the music thudded, lights flashed, and the choreographed videos played, I felt bathed in a creative force.
When the encore finished and the lights came up, my new friend Jeff was as ecstatic as I was. "Did you hear what he did with the classics?" he asked me. I was in awe that Rundgren could surprise a longtime Todd fan like Jeff with his concert innovations. It left me with several important messages about my own life.
Keep it fresh. I'm sure there have been a few disappointed concert-goers who expected An Evening With Todd Rundgren and older tunes. But I was amazed at the freshness of the sound.
Keep an open mind. I didn't know what I was expecting from this concert. After the surprise of the opening number, I just went along with this thrilling ride.
Age makes no difference. The guy is 67 and up there still rockin' it out.His music - both new and classic - is very relevant.
This concert reminded me that I've been blessed with the ability to hit the curve balls life has thrown at me. I need to keep things fresh in my own life. And I can still be on my feet, clapping my hands, and dancing to the music like it's 1976.
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Here's the song "Rise," off Todd Rundgren's "Global" CD.
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Happy first birthday to The Middle of the Journey - and what a journey it's been.
I started this blog a year ago as a creative outlet. I had been looking for a way to write more, but hesitated about starting a blog. What did I know about setting up a website? It turns out, it's pretty easy to get started. So off I went with my new blog.
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My first posts last July were about parenting and other observations. I didn't worry about finding topics to write about. Inspiration is usually around the next corner. Then, I received a diagnosis of breast cancer. In the last year, I've undergone a double mastectomy and reconstruction and I'm on a course of Tamoxifen for the next five years.
The diagnosis abruptly changed my blog's mission. In those first few days after my doctor's phone call I scoured the internet for information. I came across the blogs of women who have gone before me. They bravely shared their pain, sorrow, and, yes, joys with their readers. I found them a tremendous comfort and from then on, I hoped my blog could "pay it forward" to others who find themselves in the same situation.
Here are three things blogging has done for me in the past year.
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I learned to stay positive
Although I'm known for my sense of humor, I am by nature a bit melancholy. I can quickly assess the downside of any situation I'm in. But I didn't think anyone would want to read sad blog posts on an ongoing basis, and I certainly did not want to paint myself as a victim. In order to fulfill my new blog mission, I had to find the positives. I shared some painful moments, but my ultimate message to readers is "You will get through this." The blog helped me cultivate a positive attitude.
I learned there is power in sharing our stories
Breast cancer treatments are as individual as we are. No two are the same. But I learned from seeing how others got through their treatments and continued on with their lives. Those blogs also helped me in making decisions. By seeing how other women chose their course of treatment, I was better able to choose my own.
I learned that blogging is a very social activity
At first blush, it would seem that blogging is a solitary activity. In some ways, it is. But writing my blog has put me in touch with a rich and varied community of other bloggers. Unfortunately, in a group centered on breast cancer, sometimes people die. I have mourned for those I never met in real life. I have also admired the courage and stamina of those who are battling the disease. I have also "met" bloggers from all over the world who write about a plethora of subjects - art, photography, parenting, education, religion, running. There are people out there who are willing to mentor new bloggers like me. They are all fascinating people. The blog brought me to them.
I'm still smiling!
If you are considering starting a blog of your own, I highly recommend it. You will find it more rewarding that you thought, and it will probably be more work than you thought. I started this blog with a feeling of trepidation - would it be good enough? Would anyone read it? Today my feeling is triumph!
If you'd like to read more posts about my experience with breast cancer, click on the topics in the sidebar. My journey started with a post titled Schrodinger's Cat.
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If you've visited my blog in the past, you may have noticed I've made changes in its appearance.
When I started The Middle of the Journey nearly a year ago, my goal was to make it easy for me to post. I used a standard Blogger template and graphics and concentrated on writing for it consistently.While I have been a writer for many years, my technical skills were pretty basic.
My new goal for the blog - and the reason I made the changes - is so that it will be easier for you, Dear Reader, to find what you'd like to read and, hopefully, share with others.
I've organized my posts according to a few categories. For example, if you'd like to read more about my experience with breast cancer, it's a simple click in the sidebar. I've also changed fonts, colors, and graphics so they reflect more of "me." I've removed a bit of clutter (including ads) that slowed the page down and made it more difficult to read.
Check out the colorful Blog Makeover Challenger badge in my sidebar. These blog changes are thanks to this challenge and to Daniela Uslan. She is what I would describe as a blogger's blogger. Her mission is to help writers like me clarify and improve their blogs.She has gathered bloggers from all over the world and given us advice, homework, and a community where we can exchange ideas. We're mid-way through the challenge, and it has been a wonderful learning experience for me so far! If you're a blogger - especially if you're new - check out her website for some great advice.
So, what's working and what isn't working for you? I'd love your feedback.
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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..
