One of the frustrations I’ve had to deal with because of this breast cancer is my lopsidedness. Getting dressed in the morning takes quite a bit more thought and planning than ever before. I wasn’t small breasted to start with, but thanks to my mastectomy I have a bouncy D-Cup that swings a little lower since breastfeeding, and a rock hard, absurdly high, almost A-cup.
To make matters a little more interesting, the mastectomy side is augmented by a saline implant called an expander. I periodically go in for expansions, which means they inject more saline into the implant. This is in preparation for reconstruction after I complete the cancer treatment, but the expansions have to be complete before I start radiation. As a result, the size and shape of my mastectomy side “breast” changes to frequently. I’ll wait till the size and shape stabilizes to invest in a prosthesis, in the meantime I’m stuffing my bra with socks.
Yeah, you read that right. I’m stuffing my bra with socks. How very seventh grade. But at least in junior high they were both the same size, I wasn’t trying to make different sizes match each other. No matter how many socks I stuff into this bra, they will never bounce quite like my real breast.
The Stuffed Bra that Wont Stay Stuffed
These socks were made for wandering, and they do like to tour my chest wall as I’m moving about. They really like to get around while I’m running on the treadmill. Before I know it, they’ve worked their way under my armpit and each pump of my arm jams them a little further back under my arm, or even more frequently, they pile up right in the center of my chest. Excuse me a moment while I reach in and readjust my “girls” while running, and hopefully not stumbling, on the treadmill. Graceful, no? I find myself pushing my socks back into place as I walk around town. The boob is gone, it doesn’t feel like a boob anymore, so it’s easy to forget that while they’re just socks to me, to the average pedestrian it looks like I’m groping and playing with my boobs and I try to corral them back into place.
And yoga? the socks are likely to wind up just about anywhere, but I’ve mastered the art of readjustment during downward dog. People look at each other less during yoga anyways.
It’s not just while I’m exercising that the socks become an issue. A few weeks ago we sailed around Seattle on a gorgeous schooner. I disembarked the ship and my husband handed my 1 year old daughter down to me. She was a little wobbly on her feet as I set her down and knelt next to her on the deck. To catch her balance, she reached up and grabbed my shirt, and managed to grab my bra in the same handful. Out tumbled my sports socks in full sight of everyone looking down from the ship.
So if you see me out and about with a big lump under my arm, or up by my neck, or down by my abdomen, its just an errant sock trying to make a break for it. No need for concern. You might even be treated to a glimpse of my readjustment dance as I try to surreptitiously work it back into place.
I just joined an online challenge called 21*5*800 hosted by Bindu Wiles. 21 days. 5 days of yoga per week. 800 words per day.
I am so excited about this challenge.
The group is actually on day 4 of the challenge and I just got started. I’m just going to start where the group is, then add a few extra days at the end, probably just picking up the prompts I dropped from the first few days.
I’ve already decided that I while I intend to write my 800 words every day, I probably won’t share all of it, although I may share a portion. I want to get into a daily writing, and yoga, practice. I want to be able to be honest in my writing, and I have learned that I have to be much too careful about what I publish in this format. That said, today’s topic is relevant: Fear.
Fear
Fear has become a big part of my life since my breast cancer diagnosis. Fear of death? Certainly. Fear of pain? Oh, yes. Fear of being a burden on my family? Absolutely. Fear of the effects of my cancer on my one year old daughter? Terrifying.
I have found that the yoga helps. I’ve learned to breathe through the movements: the tough stretches, holding a challenging pose. That practice transfers to the uncomfortable and painful procedures. A deep breath and long slow exhale as I endure the poking and prodding makes all the difference. The pain is still there, but it is a bit more manageable. Focusing on my breath takes my focus away from the pain.
Fear takes me out of the present and puts me into the future – a future that is unknowable, yet my imagination tries it’s best to find every worst case scenario. Pain forces me into right now – so does my yoga practice. When I’m in now, what might happen doesn’t matter. Every moment has an infinity of possible outcomes.
When I’m seized by anxiety or panic, the yogic breathing can settle me down. Cleansing breath: long, slow exhale opens up more space in the lungs for a deeper, fuller inhale. Raise the arms to expand the chest, then slowly lower them as I exhale. Before I know it, I’m focusing more on how my body feels and improving this critical function. The fear is still there, but it is a bit more manageable. Focusing on my breath takes my focus away from the fear.
That’s not to say that fear is unwarranted. I have an aggressive form of breast cancer that has spread to the lymph nodes, complicated by another rare form of cancer that has a pretty grim prognosis. This is not something I can ignore or wish away. I also cannot focus only on the present. I am submitting myself to these procedures and chemotherapy, sacrificing my comfort and well being in the present, because I fear what will happen if I don’t, and in hope of improving my well being in the future.
I usually beat myself up during the writing process. If every word isn’t perfect as it appears from my fingertips, I get frustrated and want to give up.
I don’t know how many times I heard the above quote at the Write on the Sound writers’ conference last weekend, but it was definitely something I needed to hear. I write, and I write, and then I sit and don’t write because I think I can’t write. What I don’t do is re-write.
I suspect I’m not the only writer that combines this odd mix of arrogance and self-flagellation by thinking my first draft should be good enough, and beating myself up when it’s not. Is there a self help group? A pill? Perhaps I should paint in big bold red letters above my desk: “IT’S JUST A DRAFT!”
I did get more out of the writer’s conference. It was my first one and I’m hooked. I got home and immediately went online to see if there were any more conferences coming up in the area.
And now I’m going to go ahead and hit publish on the first draft of this post. Really, I did learn that lesson. I also know that sometimes you’ve gotta just do it or it will never get done. It’s been a week since I posted anything in here, although I’m sitting on several posts that I’ve been re-writing. Life is a balance folks.
I keep meaning to play along with MamaKat and her weekly writing workshops, but I never seem to be able to make it happen. Then this prompt came along, and I decided it was time to put in print all those excuses floating around in my head.
3.) What have you been busy doing that’s keeping you from updating your blog? How hard is it for you to get back into the swing of blogging when you take time off? (inspired by Sera)
The first, and most obvious, excuse is my 2 month old daughter. I knew long before she was born that she would consume my time and energy, but what you know in theory does not always match the magnitude of what happens in reality. I just don’t have the time. I really don’t know how women parent their children, manage their home, and then find the wherewithal to hold down a job too. I’m lucky to get a blog post in a couple times a week. (yes, I know that stay at home moms work – I am a stay at home mom, and I’m having trouble keeping up with the work load. Trust me, I know that stay at home moms work.)
Another big thing that’s holding me back from posting is that I don’t know what this blog is about anymore. I’ve been thinking a lot about this blog, why it exists, and what I’m trying to do with it. Since Gem came along, I write most every post with her in mind. In fact, even the posts that are not directed at her or about her, are usually written for her in some way. I’m beginning to think of this blog as one big ongoing letter to my child that I just happen to be sharing with the general public. I have this idea that if anything happened to me, she would have this blog – something in my own words that tells her who I am, what I believe, what I care about, what I value… I’m not planning on having anything happen to me, but there’s something comforting about knowing that I have something to leave behind for her, just in case. But this blog is more than that as well. It’s also a public platform, it’s an opportunity to interact online with others like me, it’s writing practice, it’s a soapbox… Which takes me back to being a little confused about what this blog is really about.
Then there is the big issue of confidence, or the lack thereof. I write posts all the time and then delete them before before publishing. There are so many reasons for this. I worry that my writing skills are not up to par. I worry that people will get tired of so many pictures of my daughter. I worry that I have nothing to worthwhile to say. I worry about the reactions of my family members who are so offended by my studies and beliefs regarding politics and organized religion. That old Seuss quote about “Be who you are and say what you mean because those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter” doesn’t help any when those who mind are your family. But then I think of my daughter again – what would I want her to do? Do I want her to sensor herself to please those who do not value her perspective or insight? Absolutely not. So why do I do it myself? What kind of example am I providing? AND What happens if someday her beliefs are different than mine? Will I be offended by her writings? On a theoretical level, I believe that would not be a problem. I really hope that I can live up to that in reality. Of course I’d like her values and beliefs to match mine – I value what I value for a reason. On the other hand, I would rather she had well researched values and beliefs of her own rather than just parroting what her parents (and teachers and preachers) taught.
Then after all that cogitating, I’m just too exhausted to write.
a journey started in a moment of heat
making love, making a child
at the same time making myself
something more than myself
changing from woman
to mother
I am not the same person
Invaded,
my body is not my own
my belly rolls and kicks
with a power I don’t possess
I am possessed
the new life within my body
changes my body:
juicy curves
rosy cheeks
thick hair
long nails
glowing skin –
I feel the weight
of my husband’s eyes
there is more to me now
I feel the connection
I am the connection
between past and future
I am full of hope
full of life
I see the smile in your eyes
when you see my belly
strangers fall over themselves to get the door
my husband holds my hand as we cross the street
then doesn’t let go
at home I rest
my husband wraps himself around me
palming my belly, whispering
“my two greatest loves
right here in my hand”
lady in waiting
simultaneously wishing
to speed up time
and hold this moment forever
Have you ever thought about making a living as a writer? That thought has been a constant companion of mine for the past 25 years. Yes, 25 years, and it was just about exactly one year ago that I actually started doing something about it.
Now with a little one on the way, I wondered if that dream would need to be postponed yet again. I really shouldn’t be so quick to sacrifice my dreams yet again to cater to the needs of everyone else around me. One of the things I most want to provide for my daughter is a good example. I want my daughter to grow up looking up to a mother who is loving and kind and attentive, yes, but also self-actualized, intellectually stimulated, self-sufficient, engaging, happy, and living up to her potential. I want to provide this example to my daughter because I wish these traits for her (in addition to the fact that I’m worth it, dammit).
Writer Mama, by Christina Katz, talks about how to get a writing career off the ground while you have small children in tow: start small while babies absorb so much of your attention and grow your business as your children gain greater degrees of independence and self-sufficiency.
Topics covered in the book include (among many others):
how to manage writing time around caring for children
how to deal with the “clips catch-22,” or how to get published if you’ve never been published
the business of writing: queries, article submissions, contracts, negotiations
managing your home and while managing your writing business
how to conduct interviews
editing and polishing your work
One of the hardest things to deal with for many who work from home, not just moms, is the fact that others tend to disrespect the time of the home worker. When people pack up their briefcase and head off to the office, that work time is respected and to some extent, even sacred. Those working from home seldom get the same respect unless they are very clear about setting their boundaries with others in advance.
Because of People Who Don’t Get It, if you are not good at setting boundaries with adults and children, you’re going to need to start practicing. I suggest you start sooner rather than later. If you wait until you have a deadline looming to try to convince family members that your work matters and that you deserve support in gettting it done, you will be sorry (and probably late with your work too).
I’m really appreciating this book. It is well organized so specific topical information is easy to find. I suspect I will be consulting it regularly over the coming months and years.
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, by Christina Katz, talks about how to get a writing career off the ground while you have small children in tow: start small while babies absorb so much of your attention and grow your business as your children gain greater degrees of independence and self-sufficiency.