A little melancholy...

The dictionary describes melancholy as a sober, pensive mood bordering on mild depression. That word seems to be perfect for describing my current state of mind as I think back over the past year. I know my melancholy state is partially due to the fact that in just a few days I'll celebrate the one year mark of my surgery. And while I know Thursday will be an emotional day, a day filled with both happiness at having survived and sadness at having my life totally changed by breast cancer, I find myself wondering once again, why God allowed this into my life.

I still remember the day I found that mass in my right breast. I was terrified. Before I even had a single test, I just knew that it was cancer. I was instantly a statistic. Pink would become my new signature color, whether I wanted it to be or not. Doctors would become my new best friends. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it...nothing. Not one single part of my cancer journey was in my control.

It was surreal to face my options. The breast surgeon gave me option one: lumpectomy with chemo and radiation and mammograms every 3 months or mastectomy with possible chemo and radiation without mammograms. I chose to be proactive and went with bilateral mastectomies. I had no idea what my future held but I knew I had to make sure the cancer was removed asap.

When I was in the 9th grade, I wanted to go into the medical field. I assumed I'd be a nurse since I loved helping others more than anything in the world and I had the gift of mercy. At that time, our high school had implemented a "Para-Med" class, sort of a pre-med/paramedic training course. I signed up for it immediately and instantly fell in love with both my teacher and my class. We didn't only focus on book work but enjoyed hands on experience through dissection and other practical applications of our teaching. Some of the girls in our class were squeamish when we were told we would dissect a pregnant pig but I couldn't wait to get started.

Each member of the class was assigned a partner. We were instructed on how to wield our scalpels effectively and safely. I'll never forget being given the honor of making the first incision. As my scalpel slid across the thick pig skin, the smell of Formaldehyde filled the air. Coach Waltz instructed me to only cut through the epidermis. Carefully, I learned the proper amount of pressure to exert on my instrument. As I was working, I watched the skin slowly peel back exposing the dermis. As I completed my incision, Coach Waltz applauded me for a job well done.

The next student stepped up and was given instructions on cutting into the dermis without penetrating the subcutaneous layer. We all stood around with starry eyes waiting to see the pig's placenta which contained about a dozen baby pigs.

The pinkness of the pig and the smell of Formaldehyde became overwhelming. Our teacher could see that many of us were struggling. Oh how thankful we were when the bell rang and class was dismissed. "Next class, we'll resume extraction," Coach Waltz said.

The first time I looked at my scars from surgery, I wondered if the surgeon enjoyed her job as much as I enjoyed my Para-Med class. How many breasts had she removed in her career? What did they do with the diseased body parts? Did they dissect them and study them further with biopsies and tissue resections?

As I finally came to terms with my new fate, I've watched the change in my body. My scars, once angry, swollen, and red are now calm, pink, and fading. It's amazing how time changes things and helps to change our perspective.

I've chosen not to travel down the road of "what ifs." I know it would be too complicated so why waste energy going there. God has revealed the reason for my suffering is to bring Him glory and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Yes, today I'm a little melancholy. The trauma of having both breasts removed has not been easy. I don't understand why society places such value on a women's breasts as a symbol of femininity anyway. Even my radiation oncologists questioned me about my decision not to have breast reconstruction surgery. She looked dumbfounded when I said I'd chosen not to go through that unnecessary pain and turmoil.

Does having breasts make me more of a woman? I don't think so. I'm still the same person I was before surgery, only my physical appearance has changed and I've developed a stronger resolve. Does Bruce Jenner instantly become a woman just because he decided to have breast implants? No! He was born a male and he'll die a male. It doesn't matter what he does to enhance his body to make himself look like a female.

Of course I get a little down in the dumps when I put on clothes and they don't fit quite right any longer. Instead of my breasts filling out the areas the designer created them to fill, now there are indented, draping spaces revealing my booblessness. Yes, I can put on my prostheses and instantly change things, but I don't like the deception. I've been through a hell of a war and I've suffered great battle wounds.

So please pardon my melancholy mood today. As I think back over the past year, I am amazed at how quickly the time has passed. On Thursday, I'll remember the day my life changed forever and hopefully, I'll be able to look back and see all the great things God did during that year. It's still a journey and one I'll continue for the rest of my life. I just have to keep reminding myself to take one day at a time.

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