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Showing posts from October, 2013

This is not a lottery - trying to live with fear of recurrence

I imagine surgery, especially the anesthesia part, is really still at play in my psychological system. It has been less than two weeks, after all, since saying goodbye to any opportunity for more children (Yay! ahem) and goodbye to my shape. Thank goodness I was never very curvaceous, as it makes for less of a transition. I am already at the point where I can look in the mirror without cringing, though, when I come out of the shower. In fact, I'm feeling love for what I see. Thank you Dr. Susan Troyan, at Dana Farber. She did a wonderful job with an infrequently demanded result: nipple sparing mastectomies with no reconstruction. My logic for no reconstruction is that I loved my breasts, and did not love replacement ones. They would never have been the same, not even close, and would have led to more major surgery. No, I'll pass. And I am happy with my decision. But, as I said in my last blog post, the surgery is done, and now... I am scared, I have to confess. Pa

Surgery over, tubes out, no longer a cyborg

Wow. What a journey. This stop: Just Be With It. I have had many steps and stages and levels and measurements along the way, and that made it easier to deal with this whole cancer thing. But those are done, and now I have to .... do nothing. Except.... what? Exercise. They're all pretty clear on that. 40 minutes of getting my heart rate up, three or four times a week. Don't drink more than a glass of wine a day. (Uh, no problem.) The triple negative bogey man is scaring me, though. Hmm. Maybe I should be this for Halloween. Maybe I should own  Halloween this year. Maybe I'll just be ye old skeleton. "If it comes back, not in the same spot, it is incurable," is what I heard, more or less, from the oncologist. "But we are hopeful for you." Ach. Breathe. One nanosecond at a time.

Pre-surgery painting

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Surgery is in two days.  Wednesday.  I am under an emotional waterfall, for now, so I took time out to paint, while Emile was napping, and Lucy was playing with a friend. Wish me luck!

Limp, hobble, paint - finishing a painting

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Painting is work. It is truly enjoyable work, but that doesn't remove the work part. And I don't always feel like doing it, especially when every part of me is grumbling with pain. But this appeals to me - no choice, just do it. Wake up, eat, prepare a surface, get absorbed (hear that sucking sound?) by the world wide web, then get myself out the door, hopefully carrying all the requisite brushes and paint, along with a large enough supply of water. Then the park for three hours. It always surprises me how much those three hours take out of me, because I don't notice the time passing while I'm there. Afterwards, however, I'm wiped. You are reading the words of one of the newly minted park regulars. I have been frequenting one particular spot, where the landscape is pleasing and the shade is good (sun radically alters paint colors, and can't be trusted). Two guys come every day to a spot a few yards from my favorite perch, one on his bike, one in his car.

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