Apologizing for my scars

Sitting in the waiting room at my cardiologist's office, I watch the people coming in for their appointments. Across the room, I see an elderly woman sitting alone reading her magazine. Next to her sits a man in jeans, mid 30's, watching the clock. It's apparent he's here on his lunch break and needs to get back to his job. People. Just regular people. From all walks of life. We're all here to take care of our hearts, our most vital organ. 

When my name is called, I see the sweet nurse open the door and wait for me. She has the most radiant smile. Her name is JoAnn. She's one of my favorites. We walk over to the scale and I take off my jacket. She smiles at me, knowing that I'm not really hot, I just want to shed a few extra pounds before getting on the scale. She writes down the number and leads me down the hall to the examination room. After taking my vital signs, she sits down and we talk for a few minutes. She asks me about my family, the holiday preparations, and how I've been. It's nice to have a pleasant conversation with someone who truly seems interested in my life. 

JoAnn motions for me to lie back on the table as she rolls a portable EKG machine over to my side. She asks me to lift my shirt and before I do, I tell her "I'm sorry you have to see this." "See what?" she asks. I lift my shirt. I hear her inhale sharply, as I say, "These, my scars. I'm so sorry you have to see their ugliness." She just smiles and says, "I had no idea." She asks when I had surgery and I told her the first surgery was in July 2014 and the second one was in August of this year. She tells me I look amazing and I'm so thankful. I've hidden the evidence of breast cancer well. 

I don't know why but I feel like I have to explain to her the reason I didn't wear my prostheses today. As I talk about them, my silicone girls, she listens intently. "They're just so darn heavy," I tell her, "and so uncomfortable too." She nods and I go on, telling her it's not so bad being flat chested. 

JoAnn leaves the room and I wait. Sitting on the exam table, I feel the white liner paper on the table crinkling under my bottom. The sun is beating down on me and it's uncomfortably warm in this tiny room. I decide to move to the chair in the corner. Just moving there is markedly cooler. I wait.

The doctor comes in after about thirty minutes. Cardiologists are busy guys. I don't expect him to apologize. I know he's a caring physician and he's dedicated. He takes his time with his patients and I know he'll do the same with me. 

He sits down at the computer and pulls up my records. We go through all my medications and ailments before he examines me. I take a risk and ask if he'll have time to look at my throat and listen to my lungs while I'm there. I tell him it would help me kill two birds with one stone. He's okay with it! I'm thankful. I've saved another copay. 

After the exam, the doc tells me I'm doing just fine, heartwise. He says, "How does a year sound?" I give him a puzzled look. He explains he doesn't need to see me for a year unless I have any problems between now and then, I smile. We walk to the checkout counter and he hands me my prescriptions. Everyone in his office is so warm and friendly. I visit with the receptionist for a few minutes and then head toward the elevator. 

Crossing through the hospital parking lot, I dodge cars pulling in and out of parking spaces. This is a busy place today. I finally reach my car, unlock it and climb inside. I sit there for a few minutes processing everything. All of a sudden it hits me...why did I apologize to JoAnn for having to see my scars? Was it because I felt the need to shield her from cancer's ugliness? Was I embarrassed at not having breasts? I had to think about it. Yes, I was still a little embarrassed at not having breasts. Even though I like to pretend I've gotten past that, the truth is, I have not. It still hurts that my femininity has been stripped away from me due to a cluster of malignant cells that invaded my chest wall and lymph nodes. Yes, I did feel I needed to protect her by warning her about my hideous chest. I'm a Mother and a Grandmother. I'm a protector. It's what I do. I've seen the scars for over a year and a half. I've had time to get used to them, but others have not. The scars are long, ugly purple, angry looking incisions slicing my chest wall in half horizontally. I look like something out of a horror movie where an angry slasher went wild with a box cutter. It was gross. 

Today was the first time, since surgery, I've felt the need to say "I'm sorry you're going to have to see my scars," and it will be the last. I realized, as I sat in the car and pondered my conversation with the nurse, that there was no apology needed. I should have been proud to lift my shirt and exclaim, "Do you want to see my battle scars?" And that would have been telling the truth. I have been in a battle, the fight for my life. I'm a wounded warrior. I'm a veteran of sorts. I won't get any badges of honor for my courage other than the right to be alive...and I'll take it. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Talley Ho! Onward we go!

Anyone who's known me long enough knows I love profound quotations. I'm always looking for good ones to store in my memory bank. I find them from well loved and well known people. I gather them from books and movies and sometimes, even from conversations I hear. This one was perfect for today:

“Go back?" he thought. "No good at all!
Go sideways? Impossible!
Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!"
So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and
one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.”
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Oh I wish I could just shut my brain off sometimes! It never seems to want to stop processing things even when I lie down to go to sleep...there's a steady stream of thought that continually flows. I've tried for years to turn off my brain so I could get a good night's sleep but most night's it just doesn't happen. Like a leaky faucet, the thoughts slip out one by one. Just the other day I was thinking about all I've been through over the past year and as I was thinking, I really wanted to go back to the way my life was before I was diagnosed with cancer...I mean really! Who wouldn't want that? Before cancer, I had a great life! Oh sure, I had my little aches and pains now and then, but nothing major. Things were rolling along just fine and I was happy. I took a lot for granted back then and didn't even realize it. But today, well, that's a whole other story.

Pain is a great teacher and you can learn a lot from suffering. I'll be honest, I've suffered a great deal over this past year. But in that suffering, I have learned so much and for that I am grateful. God has used the suffering to teach me trust and patience. It hasn't been easy. In fact, there have been some days when I just didn't want to go on at all. This quotation by Charles Dickens says it so well:

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching,
and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be.
I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.”
- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Even though my body has been broken, I am a much stronger person than I was before. I have a greater resolve and minor things that used to affect me profoundly, don't bother me at all. I would have to say cancer has taught me well.

I thought my journey was winding down and I was coming to a stopping point, but that was before I received the MRI results. I didn't expect anything to show up but it did. It scared me when the doctor told me she'd had 2 other radiologists look at it with her to confirm their suspicions. And now, a PET scan looms over me. Tomorrow is the day. 

As I contemplate what lies before me, I can't help but think of all the possibilities. Today, I am preparing for the scan  and tomorrow morning, I'll be there bright to become radioactive once again. When the nurse called from Piedmont to confirm my appointment, she gave instructions for me to eat a low carb diet today and told me not to do any strenuous activity. That was all she said and I didn't think to ask why before hanging up with her, so today, I got on the internet...you can find answers to just about any question you have on the internet, and I looked up how to prepare for a PET scan. 

It seems before the scan a radioactive tracer is fed into the vein by way of a glucose based serum. As I was reading, it made a little more sense as to why I'd need to be on a low carb diet the day before the test. Carbohydrates turn into sugar in the body and in order to process them, the body has to release insulin. If you're being fed a glucose based serum, having too many carbs in your body could send your blood sugar sky high and that would cause a big problem. I never could find a reason for the low activity level but I assume it has something to do with the glucose/insulin release in the body too. 

While I'm glad my doctor has ordered the PET scan, I'm hesitant to find out the results. I was told last week, after an MRI on my spine, that a new mass had been discovered at the L5 vertebrae. The PET scan is supposed to illuminate any other potential problems in my body. I'm hoping there are no other areas of cancer. I don't want to borrow trouble, but I'm a practical person. I like to prepare for things ahead of time. 

What will I do if the mass on my spine turns out to be cancer? Will they want to do surgery to remove it? Will they suggest chemo or radiation to obliterate it? What will I do if there are more cancerous lesions in my body? Will I be able to handle the news? 

There are so many unknowns and those are the things my mind keeps trying to process, but I know I'm not supposed to worry. Here's a wonderful quotation that I've committed to memory. This quotation is not only a quote, it's also a command from God.

"Have not I commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be dismayed: for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9 The Holy Bible

So  I guess I just need to press on! Talley ho, as they say!  I love that saying. Did you know it dates from around 1772, and is probably derived from the French word "taïaut," a cry used to excite hounds when hunting deer. From sources from the second half of the 13th century, it is from the concatenation of two words forming a war cry : taille haut. "Taille" being the edge of the sword et "haut" translating to high, the original meaning of this interjection is something close to "High the edges of your blades." How appropriate as I prepare for battle again. 

Onward I go, once more into battle. This cancer battle never seems to end. I'll face whatever tomorrow brings in the strength of the Lord. 

Yes, sometimes I wish I could go back in time to my life before I was diagnosed but then again, so much has changed. This quote by Lewis Carroll explains it well:

"But it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." - Alice from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland

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