July 11th and Pamela's Introduction

July 11^th

My first day in South Carolina I wake up sick to my stomach. I make it down the stairs and head into the hallway where I hear my mom, sister and aunt up talking. I assume my mom has already told my aunt (she was not aware of what was happening) what was going on and it seemed way too early to tackle that subject so I hied in the hallway like a weirdo debating whether I am going to go back upstairs or head into the living room and get it all over it. I take a deep breath and decide to face the music.

Luckily no one mentions anything to me about it and I’m thankful. We eat breakfast on the porch and I tell my mom that I’ll talk to Linda (my aunt) when and if I’m ready. My mom says that was fine and she feels hesitant saying anything because she doesn’t want to ruin our vacation. I agree because I haven’t seen this side of the family in almost 9 years and I’m not sure if it would be worth it now to say anything, even though Linda is the only person in my family who has ever been diagnosed with breast cancer and it would be helpful to speak to her, but I’m not sure about the timing. I mean, when is the correct time to slip that information in? “Hi Linda, I’ve missed you, it’s been so long. Sure, I’ll take some French toast for breakfast. By the way I have Breast Cancer. Do you have any orange juice?” There is no way to approach this without it being incredibly awkward. Lord knows I would drop the bomb on her then offer to make her a sandwich since that seems to be my M.O.

The day goes on and we take the kids to the pool and it becomes a great distraction. After dinner my sister takes the kids on a walk down to the pond and my mom takes her wine (lucky bitch) out to the porch. Linda and I are alone in the kitchen and the timing just seems right. Each time I attempt to ask her to talk, my stomach fills with knots and I start sweating. Finally I suck it up and ask if I can talk to her about something. I start rushing through and fumbling on my words because I want the words out just as fast as I want this cancer out of my body. I think that I am secretly hoping that the faster I say it, the faster I will beat this thing, like it’s a magical correlation of a cure. Insurance companies would sure hate that hidden cure! As my verbal vomit continues to happen I see tears well up in her eyes and then something happens in terms of her response that has not happened to me yet. We both just start hugging, then laughing. It feels so good to laugh. I used to laugh really hard almost every day, one of those days seems forever ago now. Linda totally gets it. She starts telling me all of these funny stories that happened with her prosthetic and people’s reactions to awkward situations with it. She shares her experience with telling those around her, their responses and her treatment. It was in this interaction that I received something that no one else has been able to give to me…understanding. It was so relieving to hear someone else talk about their experience, and to sit and listen instead of having to beat a dead horse about it. Where does that saying come from by the way? “Beat a dead horse?” I would never do that, for one it’s creepy. Why are we beating something if it’s dead? Isn’t that a diagnosable mental disorder? And second, why a horse? Horses are the best, if we have to beat a dead animal, why can’t it be something like an armadillo or a snake?

Our conversation was like a surge of energy for me, I was laughing, listening and actually enjoying talking to someone rather than trying to pretend to enjoy myself. Linda gave me a gift that no one else has been able to give me…I now feel 100% ready to move forward and get this shit cut off of my body.

Let’s go back when I mentioned my aunt telling me funny stories about her prosthetic. She assured me that they, too, would happen to me and boy they happen on a daily basis. Rewinding to her though, she tells a funny story of being a teacher and pulling up to school in her car. She was wearing a turtleneck that day. She gets out of her car and goes around to the other side to get her books out and as she leans back up after bending over she notices that her prosthetic has crept up into her turtleneck and left a huge lump in her neck. She frantically was trying to push it back down into its rightful location as school was ready to begin. She also dove into a pool in Mexico and her prosthetic ejected out of her suit across the water. Sure enough, when she guaranteed that the same would happen to me, she was right…and now I would like to introduce the comedy portion of this entry called “Darn you Pamela!”

First off let me introduce you to Pamela, my prosthetic. I have two sizes:  C cup and a D cup. Darin has named my C cup Pamela and my D cup Dolly. Pamela was worn while I was still pregnant and after delivery I had to put her up on the shelf and pull out the heavy artillery, Dolly. Let me tell you that these things look like giant cotton balls and in no way resemble the shape of a breast. When I don’t wear it, it’s obvious (one side C/D cup one side 4^th grade girl), but when I do wear it, I have a very strange sized boob competing with the natural one. Either way, it’s a circus. Pamela is a trouble maker. She doesn’t like to stay in one spot and is constantly getting in trouble for roaming about the cabin. She is a gypsy prosthetic. For six weeks after my surgery I couldn’t wear anything on my phantom boob side, well I wasn’t supposed to wear anything. But I found ways around it (more to come in another blog). I would pick Marco up from preschool, run my daily errands and just hang around with one boob and a big pregnant belly. I was very attractive. On the day I got Pamela, I popped her in and went to pick Marco up from preschool. When he saw me he comes flying up to me and in front of his teachers and classmates be shouts, “MOM! You got a new boob! Hey guys, my mom got a BOOB!” Was I embarrassed? No. Was I mad that my 3 year old just called me out? No. Did I find it hilarious? YES! Plus, what an observant little guy. His teachers started laughing and his friends peeked up from playing and looked at me unimpressed. On another day, I went outside to Marco’s playground to get him. He comes flying off the slide clearly with an ulterior motive. I squat down to hug him and he reaches down my tank top and pulls out Pamela quicker than I can grab her and holds her up above his head and takes off running. Pamela has just been mugged at a preschool. Marco shoves Pamela up his shirt and starts running around yelling that he just got a new boob. This time, his friends are impressed and they all start chasing him. How in the hell is a piece of gross lopsided cotton more fun to play with than playground equipment? I am helpless against this gang of thugs and watch poor Pamela get smaller and smaller in the distance.  

In my first post I talked about letting things go. These experiences have helped me let go of any sense of normalcy that I wanted. Besides, being normal is boring. Plus, if I am in the .01% of people that will be diagnosed with Paget’s while pregnant, my life is going to be anything but normal. I should’ve starred in Pure Luck. More to come on “Darn you Pamela!” but coming up next is the most incredible experience with a therapy horse that you can imagine…