Sensory overload

Today we celebrated my youngest granddaughter's first birthday. It was a small party with just family members, so there were less than twenty people there. When I first went into the club house, I found a table along the back of the room and decided to sit there in hopes that no one would pay much attention to me. I didn't want people crowding around me and asking all about my health when Heather was the one who was supposed to be the center of attention. For a little while, my plan worked. I sat with my husband and we waited for the other guests to arrive.

As more and more people filed in, some of them wandered over to my table. I felt unsure of myself and wanted to slide under the table. I had made sure to wear a patterned blouse to keep my hollowed out chest from being so visible. Small talk ensued and we skirted around my health for several minutes until my ex father in law began to ask me questions. He was genuinely concerned so I didn't mind answering his questions. The only problem was that he was hard of hearing so I had to raise my voice in order to project my answers loud enough for him to hear. The room was filled with various conversations but when I explained to him that I'd be starting radiation in a few days, everyone stopped talking. I guess they couldn't help but hear our conversation since I was having to speak a few decibels above my normal tone.

Soon the party began and attention was shifted to the baby. She was so cute in her little 1st birthday tiara. Everyone in the room was smiling as we watched her eat her little birthday cupcake. Her dimpled little hands moved hesitantly to touch the frosting on the cupcake but after the first taste, she was eager to reach for more.

Next came the gift giving. We all "ooh-ed" and "ahh-ed" over the each gift. Little Heather was sitting quietly on her Mommy's lap and could have cared less about the cute little outfits she received. She was, however, very interested in the packaging on a little musical remote control she received. I watched intently from the back of the room and savored each precious moment of joy before me. The longer I sat, the more self conscious I became. I needed to use the restroom but didn't want to get up and go across the room because I would have to pass in front of many people and I didn't want them looking at my chest...so I stayed seated.

The party ended and the people began to dissipate. I finally felt like it was okay for me to stand up and walk around the room. I slipped quietly to the restroom and was relieved that no one paid attention to me because they were all saying their goodbyes to Heather. When I came back to the room, it was empty except for one of the employees of the apartment complex who was busy locking up the doors to the clubhouse. As I looked around the room, I could almost hear the laughter from just a few moments before. I wondered to myself how long it would be before I felt like laughing again. I hadn't laughed at all today. I walked to the car and climbed inside. As my husband and I pulled away from the curb, I began to cry. I think it had just been too much today. My senses had been taxed. I felt like an autistic child in a room full of sensory stimuli...it was too much. I wanted to stand in a corner and bang my head repeatedly against the wall. Why was I so sensitive? Why was I so emotional? Why was I crying right now?

My husband reached over and took my hand and told me it was going to be okay. He knew I was exhausted because this was my first social function since surgery. He began to drive out of the parking lot and as he did, he said, "why don't you lie back and take a little nap on the way home?" He knows I have a hard time relaxing, but it was a good thought. I decided to give it a try.

For the first thirty minutes, all I could do was lie there with my eyes closed. Conversations and moments from the party continually looped through my mind. I tried to focus on something else but couldn't. The longer I lay there, the more I began to relax my muscles and soon, I found myself thinking about walking along a quiet, peaceful shoreline. I could hear the water lapping against the shore. I could see the seagulls flying overhead. For a very brief time, I think I actually slipped into a light sleep but was quickly jarred awake by the sound of a semi truck passing beside us. Traffic was heavy and my husband was having to stop and start often to keep up with the flow of traffic. It was nerve wracking! Here we go again...sensory overload.

When we pulled into our driveway about an hour later, I was so thankful to finally be home. I walked into our house and immediately was engulfed in pure, bliss filled quiet. Now I could relax. Now I didn't have to worry about someone seeing me with no breasts. I was home and I was safe. Maybe one day I won't feel this way any longer. I'm trying to work through it. I know it must be part of the healing process but I don't like feeling this way. I've never been so self conscious before in my life. I guess I understand a little more what it feels like to have lost a limb or to be physically deformed in some way. I wonder if those people feel like I do too...I wonder if they choose to hide in the back of the room? I wonder if they ever get past feeling like they are a sideshow freak...I sure hope so because I don't like feeling like one and that's exactly how I feel right now.

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