Thanks For The Laughs

As you guys know, the past few months have been just a little hectic. Decisions, new experiences and the unknown have dominated our everyday life. We share the worries and the fears we have with each other and we try to remain honest with ourselves and each other about the way we feel and how we are processing and that leads to just heaviness. Despite the load we are carrying though, somewhere in the middle of all of that heaviness, we’ve been able to find lots and lots of laughter. That laughter has been one of the most important parts of my life. Through the tears and anger, the laughter has been what’s kept me going. The laughter has been what’s kept me sane. At least as sane as I’ve always been.

I guess I take people by surprise with the things I’m worried about with the upcoming surgeries. I think most people would worry about the actual surgery itself, the anesthesia they would be under, how long the surgery would take. Maybe from there they would ask about recovery times and worry about monitoring incision sights or how gross the bandages would be. Then I’m sure there are those who would ask many questions about long term effects, how life will change and question whether or not they would still feel like a woman after having their breasts removed. I have figured out that I am not that person. I don’t worry about the normal things people worry about. Instead, my worries border on slightly absurd.

For example, one of the very first freak outs I had after finding out I had to have surgery was over my hair being washed. Now, ladies, ya’ll know that a good hair color is expensive and a good colorist is sometimes hard to come by. I am lucky enough to have an incredible stylist who knows her stuff. Our most recent rendition of my hair is black with silver at the roots, fading into a vibrant purple as the strand is followed to its end. With vibrant colors, hair has to be washed a certain way in certain temperatures. My husband walked into the bathroom on a Sunday morning not long after my first doctor’s appointment, to find me crying. As he started to comfort me and tell me in soothing tones that everything would be ok, I cut him off before his gentle assurances could go any further and told him I was worried about getting my hair washed.

I wish ya’ll could have seen the look on his face because it was obvious he was dumbfounded. When I explained to him that I wouldn’t be able to wash my own hair, that he didn’t know how to and that I was going to have to call my stylist and have her come to the house to do it, it did nothing to clear his confusion. Shaking his head, he told me that if that was what I was crying about and if that was what my biggest fear was, I needed to realize I was doing and going to be just fine. He was sure that we would have no problem finding someone to wash my hair if I didn’t think he was capable of “wetting, soaping and rinsing”. Which completely proved the point I was worried about.

About the 3rd week post op, we will be in Destin with two of my siblings and their spouses. Back before knowing I would be having surgery, we all went in together and rented a house on the beach for a week. I decided that even though I would only be able to get in the water from the waist down (and even then have to still be careful), I didn’t want to cancel the trip. I mean who wouldn’t want recuperation watching a sun rise or set over the ocean? Anyway, a few days ago I had another freak out over something (again) not overly major. I got into wondering if my spacers would have any fluid in them immediately following surgery. I mean, I’m not expecting immediate boobage or anything but with a skin and nipple sparing bilateral mastectomy, would they at least fill them enough to fill in the skin? I sat bolt upright about five minutes into the nap I had decided to take, suddenly picturing myself walking through the sand with in shorts and a tank top with flaps of skin on my chest blowing in the breeze along with my shirt. Trust me when I say, that is not an image I want to see come to fruition. I shared those thoughts with Chuck, who again, shook his head and laughed at what was going through my mind.

I’m not the only one with run away random thoughts during this whole thing though.

I guess I should have asked about all of that when we went to see my plastic surgeon but to be honest I was a little deistracted…it was Chuck’s turn to have it-really-doesn’t-matter thoughts.

When walking into the patient room, you can’t help but see breasts. Everywhere. I mean, it shouldn’t be at all surprising since boob jobs are what he is known for. As we get settled in and I get the gown on, I hear Chuck begin to laugh a little behind me. I turned around to see him looking around the room and as he catches my eye again, he says that he doesn’t know if he could have been a breast surgeon. “Imagine being at work all day and looking at boobs then coming home to look at more. That’s like gynecologists. I don’t know why men would want to be a gynecologist. All it would take is one bad hoo-ha and then you’re off of them for an indefinite amount of time”. Y’all. THIS. MAN. I thought I was gonna fall off the bed. I get where he’s coming from though. I can’t say I haven’t wondered the same sort of things before.

As I sit here reflecting on these few moments (a mere glance into the pool of time we have spent using laughter and humor to get though all of this) I can’t help but smile. It was said to me that I am handling all of this extremely well. A coworker mentioned that she would be a nervous wreck if it were her. I really didn’t have to think about my response before it was already coming out of my mouth. It’s because of God. I sit here with the ghost of a smile on my face not because I am so strong and have it all together but instead because my strength is not found in Earthly places. I am so grateful I am not left to my own devices because to be honest, I’m sure the phrase “nervous wreck” would quickly be turned into “train wreck”.

Everyday, I am thankful for this outlet. I am thankful that I have all of you to share with and I am thankful I have Chuck to lean on and laugh with.

Most of all though, I’m thankful for the laughter that fills my life in the middle of what I’m told is supposed to feel like trauma. I’m sure, in the months to come, there may be some times when that trauma will fell close and tangible but when it does, I hope I can remember to come back here and be reminded of the laughter.