myjourneysinsight

BLUE has been my theme. Every night for two weeks before my surgery, I swam in my apartment pool. It was meditative and pure therapy. Before and after surgery, I was surrounded by BLUE! Steadily, my lumpectomy surgery date approached. What was I feeling? I wasn’t really sure, but I was amazed that I wasn’t nervous.

I went for a dye injection the day before. I thought I’d be out of there quickly, but it turned out to be a much longer appointment. I spent three hours lying on a hard surface with a camera over me. The technician explained that this would help the surgeon find my lymph nodes more easily the next day. He was so nice, and even put my own music on for me to listen to.

Whenever I was asked about what I do, I effusively shared about how music transformed my life. The radiologist came in and we had a lovely conversation about meditation music afterwards. She told me she played a zither, which I’d never heard of.

The next day, was a blur. I had to leave the house at 5:15 a.m. I still wasn’t nervous and I looked forward to getting it over with. It helped that my good friend, Stacey drove me. I hugged her goodbye and surrendered to the flurry of medical personnel hovering over me. Finally, it was show time and an oxygen mask was placed over my face.

I emerged into the groggy world of post-op. My first awareness was relief that it was over. My son drove me home. I walked slowly from the car and was incredibly grateful to be in the wonderful cocoon of my bedroom.

I spent the rest of that day sleeping off the anesthesia. In the evening I felt euphoric, without any pain whatsoever. Was such a thing possible? I sent out an email update and proudly announced that the worst was over.

The next day, I felt well enough to go with my son and his girlfriend to the supermarket for an outing. I even began planning to record guitar the following morning. I first had to finish editing a lower guitar track I would record with. I stayed up late working on that.

I came home with a drainage tube underneath many bandages. At the end of the tube was a rubber bulb that had to be regularly emptied and measured. It was annoying and I had an appointment scheduled for its removal a week later.

The liquid in it was blue – as was my pee for a few days (TMI!).

The second evening after my surgery wasn’t as easy. Ice and Tylenol seemed to help with the dull ache and cramping on my side, but I was frightened by the intensity of sudden sharp pains.

All the love from my friends and family surrounded me with comfort.

However, occasionally I could feel irritation breaking through, when something triggered me. Pain had lifted my filters.

I was hurt when a good friend canceled on me twice the week before. I had even changed plans to be available for her. I didn’t want her to feel guilty, but when she reached out to check on me, I let her know that I was disappointed we hadn’t gotten together.

She texted me back and said she was available to come right over. Did I want her to visit?

I told her it would be fine, even though it was really painful to get dressed. I pushed through the pain. What a difference this was from the day before when I felt almost normal!

I went with her for a little outing. We sipped some juice and came back to my house. It was my second day and I could take a shower. But first, there were a lot of bandages that needed to come off. I asked her if she could help me.

I moaned and whimpered with the sting of tape pulling off from sensitive areas. How would I have done this myself? Certainly, it wasn’t something I would have asked my son to do. I marveled how being honest and telling her how I felt had made such a difference. If I hadn’t expressed my honest feelings, she might not have come over.

She massaged my shoulders, and after she left I was eager to take a shower.

A small portion of tape still remained where the drainage tube entered my body. I turned on the water, stepped into the shower, and the pain began to intensify. I cupped my aching breast and cried. The grotesque sutures and missing breast tissue was traumatic, but it was the pain that stunned me. I yelped and cried out, and could not muffle it.

After the shower, I collapsed on my bed and the pain slowly ebbed. It was Sunday night. Normally, I played guitar and sang for my live stream on Insight Timer. This was not a Cinderella moment like it was the week before. But I was sure I would be back at it, hopefully, by the following week.

Dreaming of when I can swim again. It would be at least a month.

The next morning, I called the surgeon’s office. A good friend had encouraged me; it made sense to ask if this was normal. I was given an appointment to come in the following day.

Talking to friends of mine that have gone through breast cancer gave me lots of information. One friend particularly remembered the drainage tube as being horribly uncomfortable. She said, “You won’t believe how deep it is inside of you, and when they pull it out, you will feel fine!

I was able to drive myself to the appointment. My surgeon checked everything and told me I would still have to wait two more days for the tube removal. Otherwise, the fluid would build up and require a needle to remove it.

And then he told me he had received pathology results back sooner than expected. “It’s great that you came in,” he said, “because now I don’t have to call you.”

He continued. “Everything is clear. I removed four lymph nodes and they showed no sign of cancer. The lesion was much larger than on film, but you’re stage one and most likely won’t require chemotherapy. In two weeks, you’ll see an oncology doctor to go over your treatment plan.”

The anticipation of waiting for results was over. Tears spilled from my eyes. I bought myself a blended coffee and savored it as I slowly walked to my car.

I was determined to deal with my pain for two more days. Ice was my best friend. I had resisted taking stronger pain meds, but that night I did. I slept away the next day, but woke up to write this post.

I made some adjustments to my thought process. Over and over, I had been telling myself how much I hated that tube.

Now I fondled the tube and spoke to it. I told it that I was thankful it was doing its job to drain my excess fluid.

I had coped with so many challenges over the last few months. I felt acceptance for whatever I would face with this cancer journey. But most notably, I wasn’t afraid.

Ironically, I was editing a vocal for my next arrangement, and the lyric line that stood out was: “It all changed, when I let go of fear.” The song was named “Clear.” All of a sudden, my life became clear!

The spirituality of my music continues to heal me.

I had no doubt that the future held more pain and challenges for me. But I was given a reprieve. It seemed easier to accept whatever would happen, because I have been so blessed already.

There was still so much more music that I wanted to record and finish. When all of this was over, I could still play guitar, I could still speak, and I could still sing.

I was incredibly grateful.

I had lunch with both my brothers two weeks ago. It was unbelievably special to me. It had been three years since we’d last gotten together.