Breasts and other such things

12 years ago I had breast cancer. I had a lumpectomy, where the surgeon Dr. R took a section out of my breast about the size of a lemon (with a pea sized tumor inside). So I have a lovely 3 " scar there and the old left breast is definitely smaller than the right. I also have a lovely scar under my left armpit where a 'pad' of lymph nodes were removed so their tiny carcasses could be taken to a lab and checked out for cancer. Probably the same lab my new pea size but encapsulated in a lemon size piece of flesh went. So as they say, 'the girls no longer looked alike'.
It wasn't bad the first few years. But something changed. Having a large right breast might have thrown off my center of gravity. Or because the small left one felt lonely it often tries to shift over and hang out with righty. I have spent oodles of money on special bras to contain the girls. Even a prosthetic which like a booster seat  gets that left side a bit higher and in a more normal position. Nothing works. One side is appreciably larger than the other side. Then mother nature steps in and starts th down ward progress of these poor pilgrims.
What is a girl to do? The obvious choice after going through an array of non-surgical one it give in to the dark art of 'plastic' surgery. Which I really never understood why plastic? Has plastic ever really been used in these types of surgeries? And I am not talking the body modification types were some one want bumps on the head to look like budding horns.
I am talking about the surgery that some people seem to be addicted to. The kind that can change your body into something it was never meant to be and sometimes the idea is better than the results. You've seen those people on magazine covers or listened to their woes on TV. They weren't happy with what God gave them so then went out and changed it. Suck some fat from here and stick it back in over there. Get cheek bones implanted, eye lifts, plump lips. spend a fortune to try to look like some one else.
I feel like and older car. I would just like a little body work so I can continue to function. Men have no clue about how uncomfortable bras are and how uncomfortable it can be not to wear a bra. They don't make bras that fit me. I am not sure it my cup size is really a DD or is that just trying to compensate the 2 different breast?
I don't want another operation. I am looking forward to this as much as I would to having a tooth pulled. I do not doubt the skill of my surgeons, or the hospital I will be at or the care of the nurses. I don't want to count my life by operations or illness or pills taken. I want to count my life on a daily basis. That I did a good job at my chosen job, being a wife, a soul mate, the yang to his ying. I have already lost so many days due to migraines. The day of, sometimes the day after. I don't give up my time that easily. We all so little of it. It's okay the bits and pcs can float off on occasion. But whole days in pain, days that are forgotten. I just want to get through this surgery. It has taken me 5 long years to make the decision and now I am 9 days away from it. I'm scared. This time around I don't have Gracie to hold onto. My little dog who went through so much with me. I don't have her ear to whisper my fears into. I just have this laptop, this keyboard. I'm scared. I found the first time around that you can have your loved ones waiting for you, you can have prayers said for you, but it's still you going under the knife and you waking up in who knows what kind of pain. That's scary. You have to live inside your own head and think about best/worse scenarios. Oh and there are some beauts inside my twisted little skull. Ending up like the hunchback with boobs on my back. Heavens how did they get back there? Or like some fat old lady the just forgot where she put them. 'Honey could you look in the back closet? I know I let them somewhere. How about under the couch?' My mind runs amok among the improbable, the unlikely, the twisted, even the dying on the table. 'Sorry sir but her heart gave out.'
And after the original operation I ended back in the hospital a couple of time with massive infections from who knows where cause the doctors did seem to have a clue. Just kept getting bags of antibiotics poured into my veins. And personally my veins don't like their space invaded. They collapse and try to hide. That is not a lot of fun.
I will have it done, but meanwhile the little creatures are crawling around inside my head pulling this string and that. Taking out the crayons and drawing pictures on the backside of my eyes that are totally unpleasant. And do you think somewhere on the damn internet I could find serious pictures of what a breast reconstruction looks like? NO! Just a bunch of women showing the world their really small to gigantic boobs. I want to see real life boobs that have undergone this procedure. Then I will feel better. But for now, me and the saggy, baggy lopsided boobs are heading off to la-la land. Maybe the answers are in my dreams and maybe not. But its worth a shot. Night all!!!!

Routines

My day starts something like this, my husband leaves for work and Tallulah wants to go out. We wake Max up so he can go out too. I find my slippers and stagger behind an anxious puppy and ahead of a stiff legged old dog. They go out to contribute to the world and I find my electric tea pot, put enough water in and stand there, stupefied watching my pot boil. The dogs do not demand reentry to the house as much as stand in front of the sliding glass door looking in at their food bowls, water bowls and generally comfortable life. Dreaming of the good life. I open the door and I get two attitudes. Tallulah is all puppy with her jumping around, happy to be back inside, life is good attitude. Max is, 'about damn time'. 
I walk back over to where my tea pot sits on the counter. In the same area is an old wooden box from some long ago cheese shipment. This is where the doggie treats are. Their neat package standing, waiting for distribution to the poor starving animals. I dole out 2 pieces, 1 for each dog. Turn around put my tea bag in my mug and pour the hot water. 
As my kitchen is small, as in 2 people are a crowd small, all counter tops are a step sideways or just turn around to reach. This time of the day it is just turn around and set my mug down. I count out my daily doses of vitamins while my tea bag seeps and the dogs eat their treats. By the time my little pile of healthy pills is set my tea is at the strength I desire and I remove the tea bag. I have a little plate that the bag goes on as I am too lazy at any given time to walk the 7 feet or so over to the trash. It is an old plate probably from the 1930's which depicts a tea pot. I have just the one plate actually it's a saucer missing its own tea cup. Some how it tickles my funny bone that I put my used tea bags on this plate. Then it is a little sugar and at my age some soluble fiber added to my hot tea. A quick turn around and the fridge door is open and I grab my 1/2 and 1/2 to add to my tea. That done, the fridge door closed, I grab another treat to split between my wee beasties, pick up the handful of pills and take a sip of  hot tea before heading back up stairs to the sanctity of my room.
Tallulah bounces up and down the stairs as Max and I slowly proceed upwards. In my room the pills are put in a small dish to await consumption  and my tea is set down on the night table. The last treat is distributed somewhat unequally between the two mutts. Max getting the slightly bigger half. After all, age does have its privileges. Tallulah jumps up into my bed and Max retreats to his own. I get comfortable, my vitamins and tea within reach and I power up my laptop. Between sips of tea and vitamins I check my Facebook account, the local paper (online version of course), my emails and whatever else grabs my fancy.
From my bed I can check the weather as I can see out 2 windows. If the windows are wet then it must be raining. White covered trees? Must be snow. Small rainbows dancing on my walls? Must be sun. Rainbows? I have my mother's crystal necklace strung across the window, so when the sun comes out, I have rainbows.
When the tea is finished and the laptop powered down that is when my 'real' day starts. The wifely duties of cleaning and cooking. The creative genius deciding what kind of trouble, oops! creation can I make today. All the me(s) come together at this point and the routines dip and swirl, alter, change and life goes forward.
No matter what we say, we all have routines. No matter how wild, crazy or sedate we are there is a certain rhythm to our lives. How we start our days, move through the hours of the day  and finally how we end our day. It's okay, we don't have to be unpredictable because somewhere in our day that comes to play. From an unexpected phone call, to saying the hell with the housework, we also break our routines everyday. 
What words of wisdom to close this? I don't have any. Just enjoy your day. Take those moments expected and unexpected, routine or not and savor them. Just like I enjoy watching my beasties in the morning with their treats or how I love the taste of that first cuppa in the morning. It's my routine and frankly, I like it.

October ends

The colors that are now predominate in our landscape are those of green, yellow and brown. The only red to be seen is to be found on our blueberry bushes, our japanese red maple and the red berries found on wild bushes.
The hummingbirds have long flown away to southern climes and day by day the large flocks of geese pass overhead calling out to each other and to me as they begin their journey.
It is almost the end of fall. Pumpkins are being carved in anticipation of Halloween, apples are being made into sauce and cakes, dried and frozen in anticipation of winter. We patiently wait as the cold nights and frosty mornings bring out the sweetness in our small patch of Gilfeather turnips and brussel sprouts. Garlic is to be planted in hopes of a good crop next July and the perennial beds need a little grooming and care before the ground freezes and the snow comes.
Life flows with the seasons. It changes gradually and we almost miss some parts of it. In August I begin to notice the yellow that starts to appear on the mountains and by mid-October the leaves have changed from green to red, orange, gold and more. 
I take time each year to walk a little slower down our dirt road. To spend time kicking through the dried leaves. To listen to their crunch as I step on them. This brings back fond memories of my mother and fall. She loved to kick through the leaves.
My mother's life was not easy growing up. They were poor and her father died when she was young. This was the one time as a child when I saw in my mother what she may have been like as a child before the weight of the world settle on her shoulders and made her bitter.
She would take me up to Mt. Holyoke College which was about 5 miles from our house. They had lovely trails through the campus and woods. No one raked up the leaves to make things nice and tidy. Here they lay scattered like a rug of many hues. We would always start of at a walking pace. Just slow enough to shuffle through the leaves and let them slide off our shoes. Our pace would pick up and we would shuffle and run, kicking the leaves up and around us. The trees, always being agreeable, would continue to drop their leaves on us like so much colored confetti. We would save brightly colored ones and have fistfuls because there was so much beauty in them that we couldn't pass one up. It would be a glorious hour or two every fall. Just the two of us and the leaves. A couple of kids having fun like kids should. Even though one of those 'kids' was my mom.

Being a survivor

What is being a survivor? The definition according to Webster is:

to continue to function or prosper despite : withstand <they survived many hardships>

— sur·vi·vor noun
I have been trying to write something about surviving, being a survivor. But no matter what metaphor I think of, what analogy I come up with, they don't seem right.
I am a survivor. I had breast cancer in 1999. I had a lumpectomy, a lymphectomy, I have 3 small pinpoint dot tattoos that mark my radiation site. 
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Let no one ever tell you that you do not need a mammogram before the age of 50 if there is no history of breast cancer in your family or that it isn't important or you shouldn't worry about it. I was 45 with no history of cancer in my family, really didn't think having a mammogram was a big deal (I had already cancelled one appointment) and I wasn't worried about the appointment I was at (it was my first mammogram, I mean really, me? cancer?).   What more can I add?
Oh, except the geeky part....live long and prosper.

A bad day

What defines a bad day? Is it the rain, cold, heat, people? Today should have been a good day for me. I accomplished a lot. The usual household chores of cleaning and laundry. Then I mounted 5 large photos from the recent Irene flooding for our community dinner tomorrow night. Pictures that I took and that even though the camera may not be the best, those pictures are great (my personal opinion seconded by my hubby). I went to the farmer's market and didn't even have to cook dinner.
It wasn't even dealing with a doctor's office where even though I have been there, signed papers and agreed to major surgery, they don't seem to know me. Nope that wasn't it.
It was the fact I missed my dog Gracie today. Even though Tallulah (our new baby) is a wonderful dog and I have quickly fallen in love with her, I miss Gracie. It just sneaks up on me. And it makes the day a bad day. Because no matter what, I end up crying. I know tomorrow will be better and this will eventually end but it still hurts. 
Sometimes I wonder if Gracie doesn't represent more. I had cancer in 1999. My Dad died in 2000. Some where in between that and my mother's death in 2005 I had a hysterectomy. And Gracie was with me through everything. Now I am facing another surgery and she isn't here. Not that my husband isn't great. He is. But she was the one I whispered my fears to, she was the one that took my secrets with her to the grave. I have mentioned before sometimes you don't want to share your fears with those you love because it may hurt them. And first and foremost as a wife and mother, as a daughter and sister, I don't want my family hurt. So in Gracie's ear I whispered my deepest fears of being sick, dying and losing those whom I loved and into her fur I wept.
The beauty of animals is that they listen. I don't know if they understand but they curl up next to you and let you pour out your heart. They will not give you advice or admonish you for making a mistake. They will look at you with adoration and dry your tears with their tongues. Even now Tallulah is curled up next to me. Worn out from a day of running, exploring and being loved. Yes, I do love her. Differently and the same as all the animals through the years. I will continue to miss Gracie. She was special but eventually thinking about her won't make a bad day. It won't bring tears and all those bittersweet memories associated with her with fade. I can't explain in words what she represented in those 15 years she spent with me, my husband and my sons. But she was important. I would hope in everyone's lives they should have an animal like that. Well I guess you just have to be an animal lover to understand that part of it. 

Peace in the morning

I can think of no better way than to start the day peacefully. To be able to sit in my bed, tea within reach, blind open to view the trees and a warm dog by my side. Well this morning at least it is happening after having a little dog face pop up into my face as I tried to pretend I was sleeping. She had heard my husband preparing for his day down in the kitchen and she knew that meant is was time for her to get up. This is the newest addition to our family, Tallulah Belle, a five month old 'schnorkie'. Go ahead and guess what combo that is. I say mutt, my son says, designer dog.
I still haven't gotten over Gracie. She is a hard dog to recover from but I realized I had a hole in my heart that needed something. Max our sweet terrier is 14 years old. He is fat, slow, sometimes unsteady on his feet and I love him like crazy. But a thought crept into my head if there wasn't another dog in the house when Max made his final exit, what would I do? It would be like losing Gracie and Harry all over again plus Max. I couldn't stand the thought. So Tallulah has come into our lives. Max is not thrilled but tolerant. And Tallulah? She is a puppy, thrilled and exuberant in life. Either going full speed or crashed into an inky black spot on the floor. Chewing her toys or trying to bring in large pieces of tree bark into the house to chew. Hiding her treats behind the ficus or the husband's size 13 boots so Max (and maybe me) won't find them.
She reminds me of how glorious the world really is. In a time were people are looking at their losses from tropical storm Irene, she is the reminder that there still is wonder and goodness out there. Even though our community was not as heavily damaged as others. In my daily routines of shopping or traveling about the area. I am reminded constantly of what other people have lost and it is hard on the soul and spirit to see such loss. And it bring back the memories of when we lost our home and all our processions in a fire. Tallulah eases the stress. How can I not laugh when I see her running through the long grass, finding herself lost 5 feet away from the driveway? The world is a jungle for this small dog and she faces it head on and at full speed. No it may not be the wisest course of action but it is a wonder to watch. And to me she reflects the rebuilding of Vermont. People are facing the devastation head on and are going full speed ahead. Temporary bridges are being put into place, some roads may not get fixed till next year but most are passable. People have relocated. Funds have been raised and are continued to being raised to help those in need. Of course there are stories of greed, of those who would take advantage of this situation or any that would make them money. But the bigger stories are those of recovery. And that is what I focus on.
During the storm and after the smell in the air was that of dirt. Farm land and yards swept away and floating down the many creeks, streams and rivers. Then it changed. You could smell the decay. The waters looked like light coffee flowing between the banks. It was brown, chocolate, foaming, swirling, full of debris. Depositing the debris where ever it could. Trees, brush, bridges, houses found miles from where they came from. And it smelled. Not the earthy smell of walking in the woods but the smell of a dump. 
The waters have receded and life goes on. I have a new pup and she brings me great joy and at the same time sorrow. She reminds me of what was and what is to be. But that is okay. The sun is coming out, it looks golden and the leaves through my window reflect the sunlight in the raindrops left on them. The geese fly overhead crying and talking to each other. My pup is asleep and I am happy. Even Max is snoring away in his bed. What could be better? This is a perfect moment. We all have them we just have to recognize that we do. And with that we go on, just like Tallulah, running head long into our futures.