I started this blog because I needed an outlet. I also needed a place to put my thoughts on cancer and separate it from the rest of my life. I am many things -- a mom, a wife, daughter, friend, cousin, colleague, and survivor. I am cancer-free. I survived chemo, radiation and multiple surgeries. I'm still here. And so today, this post is a sort of eulogy to the One-Boob Diva.
On Monday, Aug. 19, I go back to work. I go back to my normal life. For the past thirteen weeks, I've been on hiatus. I've been recovering from breast reconstruction surgery. I have been listening to my body and taking care of it, pampering it like I've never done before. I nap when I'm sleepy, I sit and rest (quite often, lounge) when I'm tired. I've been living in the moment and not stressing for the past thirteen weeks. I'm not saying that when I go back to my normal schedule, I'll be stressed out. It's just that I've learned how to live better this summer and I will take that with me going forward. I am whole again. With the help of a long line of doctors, a lot of family and friends, and a huge heap of faith and love... I am whole again.
I can't describe how low, how desperate, how scared, and how lost I was on the day I heard my diagnosis. Partly, it's because it's hard to remember, and partly because I don't want to go back. What I do remember is that from that moment on I felt like I had lost a part of me; or specifically that something inside me was taken away -- forcibly. And the night I woke up from my mastectomy and saw that my right breast was no longer there... Well, it was done. Cancer had taken it. I loved that boob. So did my husband. And so did Alyssa as a newborn baby. It was the only one she would latch on to. I had a relationship with that boob, and cancer took it away. And it threatened to take my left at some far off point in time -- maybe. And my ovaries too. And because that word -- "maybe" -- was too much of a threat to my future sanity, and the number of sunrises and sunsets I would get to spend with Alyssa and Dennis, my ovaries and my left boob would have to go too.
So cancer fucking sucked. It took my right boob first, then my ability to have more babies. It pumped chemicals into my system and gave me more radiation than a lifetime of tanning could ever have done. I continue to experience side effects from all my treatments -- nothing debilitating, but surely nothing I'd be experiencing at my age sans cancer. I know I've put up a good fight, and smiled through it all. But it sure took a lot from me.
What cancer didn't do is take away my sense of humor and my love for people. My faith is intact, as is my optimism. Cancer also introduced me to a handful of geniuses: my team of doctors. They are my heroes. They saved my life. They are my breast surgeon, Dr. Asha Chhablani; my oncologist, Dr. Suzanne Conzen; my radiation oncologist, Dr. Steven Chmura; my gynecological oncologist, Dr. Diane Yamada; and my plastic and reconstructive surgeon, Dr. David Song. I'll say it again. They saved my life. I am whole again because of five very talented individuals who are at the top of their fields. They treated me, not just as a patient, but recognized all the other things I am -- mother, wife, daughter, friend, colleague. That's their genius -- from the onset, even when I didn't feel it, they always saw me whole.
And that's what I came to realize this summer. I am physically whole again. Two gorgeous boobs (if I do say so), a flat tummy, and good health. So technically, the One-Boob Diva is no more... literally. But she'll live on because that spirit lives in me. And that spirit had always been whole. It had always been intact and complete. That spirit was never beaten back by cancer. That spirit that rose above it all and vowed not to let cancer kill me is what my doctors saw. It's what helped me get through treatment. It's what wakes me up every day, for another sunrise and takes me through to the next sunset.
I realized that I have always been whole. And I will always be a diva.
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