If you're not familiar with Zorro, he's a fictional character. His story is that of a masked rider who battles the unjust rulers of the pueblo of Los Angeles during the days of Spanish rule. His real identity is that of Don Diego de la Vega, the son of a wealthy landowner. Upon his return from Spain and he discovers Los Angeles is under the command of a cruel man. Knowing that he cannot hope to single-handedly defeat Monastario and his troops, Diego resorts to subterfuge. He adopts the secret identity of Zorro, a sinister figure dressed in black, bearing his trusty sword. He is a righter of wrongs and heads out to fight injustice.
Now that you understand a little of who Zorro was, let me tell you about another of my heros, Dr. S, my breast surgeon. She's the greatest! Yesterday, she came into the room and took the large curtain that slides around a ceiling track in her hand. She swung it across the room dramatically and tucked the end of it into the handle of the cabinet on the wall making a makeshift isolation booth for me. She gets right in my face and says, in a long, slow drawl, "so whatcha been doin'?" like she's my best friend checking up on me. I smiled a huge smile and said, "nothin'." She grinned and began to go over my MRI and PET scan reports. After asking me how I've been feeling, she comes over to examine me. I untie my robe and listen.
As she slides her hand along my scars, feeling for abnormalities, Dr. S hovers over one area. She tells me she's going to check further and pulls out the ultrasound machine. The cold jelly slides across my chest easily as she squirts it on and then she takes the transducer and concentrates on the area where my right breast used to reside. "It looks like you've got a couple of issues here that we need to address," she says. Dr. S explains what she needs to do and why. She asks if I have any questions and I don't at the time. All I can think is here we go again, more scars...the Zorro in my head smiles.
My daughter, Laura, and I enter the office manager's office and sit waiting for her to check schedules and dates. We come up with a plan A and a plan B. Dr. S will confirm which one works best for her and they'll get back to me asap. We leave the office to the cheerful goodbyes of the office staff.
While we're on that side of town, we run by Renewal, a mastectomy/breast cancer supply store. It's time for me to pick out my annual allotment of 4 new mastectomy bras. Inside the store, we look around while waiting on the salesperson. There are breast cancer t shirts, wigs, bras, jewelry, and other items for new patients and survivors. Finally the sales lady comes and I order my new bras. While she's ringing me up, I think to myself that I'd better learn this lady's name because we're going to become close friends with our annual meetings.
We scoot out the door and into the hot summer sun. My daughter slides behind the driver's seat, I love having my own personal chauffeur! She's so sweet to want to be with me on these special appointments. I am truly blessed.
It's close to lunchtime so we stop and grab some fast food before heading home. We know it's not good for us but we do it anyway.
Finally home, we carry our packages inside. I slip into the bedroom to take off my boobs. As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I take a deep, long look at myself. Hideous...just hideous. Various scars in different shades mark my body. There's the horizontal scar at the base of my neck, it looks like I've had my throat slit...thyroid surgery for a precancerous condition back in 2005. It's almost faded now and is barely noticeable except in Summer when I get a tan. The scar stays pale and prominent. Moving on down, I come to my mastectomy scars, they are still deep red and jagged. The huge horizontal scars streak across my chest cavity, evidence of my recent breast cancer surgery. Just below those scars is a huge, wide diagonal scar from gallbladder surgery I had performed in 1973. I was just a teenager and my gallbladder burst so emergency surgery had to be performed. There was no laproscopy back then, thus, my long, wide scar. It extends from the center of my chest downward toward my right hip. A little lower down, I have another horizontal scar. This one is under my belly and above my pubic bone, a partial hysterectomy done in 1989, after the birth of my last child. As I review my surgeries and scars, Zorro appears again...waiting, blade drawn.
If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm a very visual person. Imagery is a vital part of my life and I use it often when describing things to my family or friends. The humorous side of imagining Zorro standing at the ready helps me get over thinking about the pain that's always associated with surgery. I don't want more scars but they're necessary to accomplish what needs to be done to preserve my health.
I'm so thankful God invented clothing! In the garden of Eden, after Adam and Eve sinned, God clothed them with animal skins because they were ashamed of their nakedness. I'll admit, I'm ashamed of my nakedness too. I'm glad I don't have to wear animal skins! It's too darn hot for that, but I'm thankful for modern day clothing that allows me to cover up the ugliness of my scars.
Another scar. Nope. Not looking forward to it at all. Being sliced across skin, nerves, blood vessels, tendons and muscles...definitely will bring pain, but it's necessary so I'll endure it. I'm thankful for anesthesia, a skilled surgeon and a wonderful medical facility where I'll obtain the best of care. And after my surgery is over and I've completely recovered, just think of the stories I can tell my grandchildren about my encounters with Zorro! I can hardly wait to see their faces but I hope I'll never have to show them my scars.
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