Monday, April 30 – Another week under the belt

Last Tuesday was a disaster day for me.  Hubby had not been sleeping well for days, so I am sure his irritability was not helping my overall state.  It started with me pulling out my sewing machine to tailor the dress I had ordered on line for the wedding of the son from another mother this past weekend.  Dress was too roomy in the bust now and needed to be hemmed, despite having ordered a petite size which usually leaves me with a hemline that is perfect and at times a bit short.  Not this time, it was way too long.  I set up my sewing machine to discover the presser foot bar would not raise or lower any longer.  It was stuck in one position.  This was not a good thing.  My machine would not run.  The last time I used it, the machine ran perfectly.  That totally put me in a tailspin.  My dress would not fit.  In a panic I turned to my closet and tried on a dress I already had, knowing it would be too tight as I am still carrying extra weight from the chemo puffiness.  Not that I was at an ideal weight or size to begin with, but this is not helping me feel normal, nor is this helping me with myself image.

Of course the dress didn’t fit correctly, and when I asked Hubby his opinion if I could get away with it, the look on his face was enough to tell me that no, going looking like a stuffed sausage was not an option.  When he asked me about the dress I ordered I cried about my broken sewing machine.  He dropped what he was doing and said we would take the dress to the dry cleaners to see if they could alter it and we would go to the department store on Wednesday for a back up outfit.  Of course this started my water works, because now I was pulling him away from his work and my brain is not working correctly, so now I know he doesn’t trust me to dress myself correctly, and why can’t I make my brain work well enough that I can drive myself, or put together an outfit that is presentable for a wedding.  How in the hell am I even going to be able to dress myself for work, and all I do for 6 months now is make more work for him, and in a little over two weeks he’s going to have to take me to treatment every damn day.  I am feeling worthless, stupid, fat and completely out of whack.  This of course adds to my water works, and Hubby is frustrated because he is tired and trying to get extra work done today as he was already planning on running certain errands on Wednesday before we met with our friends for appetizers and drinks that evening.  Now he was going to add to the list of errands that needed to be run, which included picking up his new suit for the wedding.  I got my tears of frustration under control and we went to the dry cleaners.

While Hubby waited for me in the parking lot at the dry cleaners while they pinned the dress to mark the alterations that needed to happen, he decided he was just too tired to go to Support Group.  When I got back out to the car after taking care of getting my dress sized correctly, he told me of his decision.  Since I still cannot drive myself yet, this news just took the last of the wind out of my sails.  I asked him if I could Uber it to group and he said he was not comfortable with me taking Uber as he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of me with my brain still limiting my ability to think at normal speed and comprehension.  I know he only wants what is best for me but this just didn’t help my feel any better about myself.  And there went the tears yet again.  I got myself back under control and texted my friend from group that I would not be there that night so she wouldn’t worry.  She texted me back and insisted she and her mom could come pick me up and take me to group.  I told her I didn’t want them to go out of their way.  I knew she had just had her chemo infusion a few days earlier and she doesn’t drive that first week after her infusion. She is very tired for that first week.  She and her mom insisted so I told Hubby I had a ride.

This frustrated him even more, as I am sure he thought I had bad mouthed him and begged for a ride, which is not something I would do.  I know how tired he was, I know he was not sleeping well, and I honestly did not text her to get a ride out of it.  I know how she is; she would have been worried that there was something seriously wrong with me as this was not a pre-scheduled absence from group.   The next thing I knew he was out mowing the lawn as he didn’t want either of them to see the house with the lawn a little shaggy…  So even me trying to stay out of his way and let him do what he needs to do was causing him more work.  Screwed that one up too… and yup, more tears.  WTF!  I cannot get away from falling apart every few days.   I hate my body, I hate my boobs, and I hate my f’ing life right now.  Nothing works correctly anymore.  My feet hurt if I stand or walk too much, my fingers hurt all the time, it’s not like I can’t go hours without using them…  my nails look like shit from the chemo.  I feel like my body is no longer in proportion.  Even though I am fat at least I was in proportion fat, my chest matched my waist, matched my butt.  That is no longer the case.

I went to group and felt too stupid and insecure to even talk about how I really felt about my body, about my brain, about me in general.  I have not had a problem with my body image before.  It feels so stupid and vain to be this upset over how I look right now, how I now feel about my body.  Fat, ugly and completely out of proportion.  I do talk about how I do know how much my husband loves me, all the things he does for me, and how he is concerned for my safety, and is taking me shopping the next day to get a back up outfit just in case the dress doesn’t work out.

Wednesday we went shopping for that back up wedding outfit.  We started at our local mall with Macy’s and did not see anything right off the bat that caught either of our eyes.  We decided to head over to Nordstrom.  We started out in the wrong department – dresses, as we had decided a pants outfit would be the back up to the dress already purchased.  We were directed to the correct location in the store that we wanted and started browsing.  The sales lady started helping us after we found one pair of slacks to try on.  When we told her what we were looking for she started looking for items to bring to us in the dressing room.

Even putting on the separates in the dressing room and looking at myself in the mirror I could not tell if they looked good together.  What is wrong with me?  Why can’t I look in the mirror and say “Yes, I like this”?  And here come the tears again…  Hubby had to tell me to stop and breathe a few times while I tried on several slacks and blouses.  They had one pair of slacks that fit well, but they were crop pants.  I don’t feel comfortable in crop pants to begin with; knowing I was wearing thick soled tennis shoes was not something I wanted to draw attention too.  But they were the only pants they had in my size.  I did find a jacket I liked, but they didn’t have it in my size.  The sales lady did find the jacket in my size at the store in Costa Mesa.  Were we willing to go there to get the jacket?  Yes.  We purchased the crop pants and a light blue sleeveless blouse I liked but didn’t like.  It was the sleeveless part.  I’ve never been self-conscience about scars before, but the scar in my right armpit was making me self-conscience.  Why am I having so many issues with this?

We went to the store where Hubby purchased his suit, picked it up and then headed to Nordstrom in Costa Mesa.  We checked into the women’s department where the jacket was being held, and there the sales lady helped us find pants from the same label that were longer that fit me.  She also helped us find a blouse I liked much better than the light blue one we found at the first store.  I felt like a waiter.  Black pants, white button down long sleeve shirt…  Yes I know we were topping it with a jacket, but it’s also black.  I’ve always had a problem with button up shirts gaping at the bust line.  Even with my new smaller breasts I still have this problem, but it’s not as bad now.   I can tell Hubby likes this outfit and Nordstrom is willing to hem the pants in one hour.  I like each separate piece, so yeah, I guess they go together.  We purchase the pieces and go get some food while we wait for the pants to be hemmed.

I don’t tell Hubby how I feel right now.  How I have been feeling.  How I hate my body.  How I hate everything I put on my body right now.  How I feel fat, ugly, fat, out of proportion, fat.  I can’t even get my wedding rings back on comfortably.  I think that hurts the most right now.  I can’t wear my wedding rings.  I can’t think outside the box, I can’t walk for long still, my fingers hurt, my boob hurts, and I hate my boobs.  I hate my body.  I still have to do radiation.  My boob still leaks.

We get back home just in time to change the shirt I spilled on real quick and head up to the restaurant we’re all meeting at.  I paste on another smile and I am going to fake it until I feel better.

We have a wonderful time with our friends, talk the night away and before we know it over two and a half hours have gone by in a blink.

Saturday arrives all too quickly and we finally start to get ready for the wedding.  I try the dress first.  The hem has not been altered correctly, there is a “low” spot in the front, and I will trip on this.  I have to go to the backup outfit.  Not that either of them helps me feel any better about my self image.  As I get dressed I feel like a waiter again.  I take a Toradal hoping this will help me with the neuropathy in my feet.  When I was taking it after my surgeries both my hands and feet felt better.   They didn’t bother me nearly as much.  Hubby looks good in his new suit.  His shirt and tie are a nice touch to the dark grey suit.  I put on a little make-up, packed up a small purse and away we went.

The Darling Daughter texts while we’re driving to the chapel, asks how I am doing.  I tell her I feel like a waiter in my outfit.  How Hubby keeps asking me if I like what I am wearing.  I keep telling him it’s fine, I like it.  I don’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him how I really feel.  He picked out the outfit.  I’m glad I had a back up outfit since the dress was a no go.  I tell her I forgot to trim all the fuzzies that grow on my face and how that is just adding to the general hate of my body right now.  I told her if it wasn’t the son from another mother wedding I wouldn’t go.  Told her I was going to put a smile on my face and fake it until I can really be happy to be there.  Every time I think I’ve got all this under control I feel another breakdown coming.

At the wedding we had a wonderful time connecting with the kids and the other parents.  The groom’s older sister is getting married at the end of September up in Washington State where she lives with her fiancé and their 6 month old son.  She was all over us that we had to be there for her wedding.  Her fiancé told her she should not try to pressure us so much to be at their wedding.  She told him she could do this with us as we’re auxiliary parents.  I loved it.  Every sweet moment.  I got to hold the sleeping baby so she could go dance with her fiancé.  The Father of the Groom’s cousin and I had a wonderful conversation while we waited for the Bride and Groom to arrive at the reception location.  Later in the evening she came over to me and told me to hold out my wrist.  She placed a beautiful Breast Cancer Awareness bracelet on my wrist.  I wanted to cry with gratitude.  I love that family and I am so glad our children are still friends all these years later.  I am glad we’re all still friends all these years later.  As we were saying our goodbyes the Father of the Groom even rubbed my head.  I love all these people so much and I am so grateful for all of them in my life.

The Darling Daughter checked back in with me on Sunday.  She wanted to take me to the beach after she got off work before we had dinner.  I told her I was doing OK.  I told her I did have a great time at the wedding Pretending to be happy actually helps you become happy.  Adding gratitude on top boosts the response.  I know how to fix myself; I just hate that have to fix myself.  It’s OK to have bad moments.  It helps me to look at what is at the center of it and deal with each emotion as it happens.  I just wish I would get to the end of all this sooner.  I wish I would stop having breakdowns.

Darling Daughter did get off in time for us to head to the beach for a little nature nurture before we had dinner.

Today I decided it was time to make the walk up to Starbucks again.  I need to do something about my body image.  I was starting to exercise again before this all nightmare started; I was no longer comfortable in my body.  I still loved myself, but I was not comfortable anymore.

Exercise has always been a problem for me.  I was not taught to take care of my body with exercise.  Anytime I expressed an interest in some sort of sport or dance I was discouraged.  Ballet would deform my feet, girls don’t play organized sports, and gymnastics would deform my body.  Why would I want to do that to myself?  By the time I was in middle school I had pretty much given up on any support for any kind of extracurricular activity.  I had a friend that convinced me to try out for cross county track.  I kept telling her there was no way my parents, my mom, would let me do this.  I tried out anyway.  When the coach told us we needed to invest in good running shoes I knew that would be my downfall.  I tried floating the idea by my mom, and the first things said were that good shoes would be too much money, need to pay for your brothers’ baseball stuff, etc.  I knew then there would be no support for me.  I always found it ironic that the things my mother complained about how her parents treated her, was how she treated me.  I have dealt with all the other traumas this caused me growing up, forgiven my parents, forgiven myself, grown up, learned my triggers and learned how to silence them, not be hurt my them anymore, how to deal with my hurts and not let them make me react.  But exercise is still my downfall, the one area I still have problems dealing with consistently.

I fall in and out of exercise, I do it for a while, and then I get bored with it and stop.  I have failed time after time to make exercise a lifelong habit.  I want to make it work this time, make it stick.  I want to be comfortable in my body again.  Even at my heaviest I did not hate my body.  I still had a good self image.   Now I hate my body, I feel betrayed by my body.  I hate what has become of my breasts.  They don’t even look normal, or real.  To me they look like a hack artist molded them and plopped them on my body.  Even Picasso “boobs” look more like normal boobs than mine do right now.  I know I have to wait more months before I can decide if I like them.  I know this in my brain, but my heart, my soul, they hate them.  I want to do more exercise.  I can’t submerge myself yet due to the damn leaky boob, and my feet are so uncomfortable it makes it very difficult to even contemplate walking or doing yoga.  Sitting has become painful, but when I stand to try and stretch, that hurts.  I’ve tried just stretching while sitting or laying down, but that is not enough to relieve the aches that start to set in from sitting too long.  The months of this seem to stretch on forever.  I know it will end eventually.  I will get the real me back, but right now that just seems too far away sometimes.

My leaky boob seems to be healing.  It doesn’t take nearly as much gauze to fill it and the amount of fluid coming out is not as much.  The consistency of the fluid has changed as well.  Now when I lay down we can see the outline of the hard lumpy scar tissue we feel building up where the cavities used to be.  So now not only do I have unnaturally shaped breasts but the right one now has visible lumps.  The good news is, according to Dr. Endicott, radiation will soften all the scar tissue in the right breast.  So, hoping all those big hard lumps will go away here in a few weeks.

My cousin is coming down to visit this weekend.  I need to her to hug me and tell me it will be OK.  I need her to look at my boobs and tell me they will look normal someday.  We have a field trip planned.  I need this so much!  I know how to fix myself, and I know it takes time to fix what ails me, and sometimes it makes me tired just thinking about it.  I hate that I have to fix myself.  I hate that I am struggling with my own self image for the first time in my life.  There was a time in my life when my emotional health was so low I didn’t think I could live anymore.  Even then my image of my physical self was strong.  I just didn’t think I had the emotional strength to go on.  Now I know I have the emotional strength to do this, but I wonder how long dealing with all this shit will actually take, and why now does having a negative body image have to rear its ugly head?  Why now do I not only know I need to deal with my weight, but feel FAT?  Why now is it so hard for me to like anything I wear?  Why now is it so hard to deal with the deficiencies of my current brain?  Why does it have to be so hard NOW?

I have all the tools; I know how to do it.  I can do this.

I know I have so many who love me, who are praying for me, thinking of me, sending me good thoughts.  Knowing I have this big cheering section helps me so much.  Knowing I have a job I really do love to go back to when this is all over helps me so much.  Knowing I have the tools to deal with all this helps me so much.  Knowing all of this, keeping all this close to my heart, helps me so much.

Life is having the tools and knowing how to use them