Dummy Doe part 2

I was on the front porch this evening about 6.  Just as the sun was really setting.  I happened to glance over to the soy bean field and who did I see in the dusk?  My doe and her yearling.  I started to talk to her to test and see what the deer would do, to see if it was my doe.  She just raised her head and listened for a minute then back to grazing she went.  So it had to be her I thought to myself.

I walked to the edge of the porch and yelled toward the barn for Chris to come to the house, that my doe was home.  He came over and said he wasn't so sure that's it's her.  Maybe he said.  He has seen three doe together with two babies this past week.  Our doe is never with others so this might be her. We were watching her and the yearling as we talked.  They just kept looking back and grazing.  I saw something move at the tree line and at the tree line I spotted something else.  A six point buck!

Trevor

I love Trevor's You Tube videos from the Apple Store.

The Hunger Games

Can't wait for the movie!  I almost wish I'd never read the book because movies never seem to be as good as the books.  Hopefully this one will be.

Stick Your Tongue Out

Bridget tried to help a momma with two little kids running around in the lobby of the courthouse today.

his is what the one she told no, no, no did to her as he tried to pull a plant over.

Bridget told him "now that's not very nice." 

Dummy Deer

I like where we live.  No houses can be seen from our place.  Not that we don't have neighbors close by, scattered among the farm fields and woods in our community.

Being an animal lover it's great to live on the farm.  I've finally gotten hummingbirds and rabbits coming near the house after years of trying.  We have lots of quail and wild turkeys, hawks and falcons, owls in the roads at night and beaver we never see. And two baby raccoons live in a tree at the stop sign at the end of our road.  We also have all sorts of birds but luckily few groundhogs (we don't like those or coyotes).  

The ten acres beside us is alternated as a soy bean field and a hay field.  Quite a few creatures like to wander about it and the creek makes for great hiding for the beavers, although I think someone has killed those off.  

I'll start this section by saying I’m not anti hunting!!!!  I cannot count the number of friends and family members who like to hunt deer and bear and wild boar and rabbits and doves and so on.  Our dogs, American Bull Dogs, were created to be catch dogs and we've sold several puppies for boar dogs.  

Hunting is okay in my mind.  I’ll even eat deer meat if someone has cooked it.  Not much though and that's not because it’s deer meat.  I just don’t like the flavor that much.  And no, it doesn’t taste like beef.  Chris is not a hunter and I'm glad.  I don't mind other people hunting but I like that our household doesn't.  Chris also knows I don't like the few wild animals on our property scared off or killed.  

I’m not some crazy person like those on “Animal Attractions”.  I just like glimpses of wild animals around our place.  I do not want them hanging around all the time like they’re tame.  I don’t even want to see them everyday.  I just like to know they are there and I might get lucky enough for a sighting. 

We have a doe.  Chris and I call her our dummy deer because she doesn’t seem to fear people.  She has been coming to the soy bean field every year for around four years.  She comes quite close when we are grilling on the back porch.  We've even talked to her a little.  I chid her for being a dummy deer and tell her she is lucky to have lived so long, walking into the open like she does.  

Last year she had a fawn.  It was probably her first, or first to have lived long, because we'd never seen her with one before.  She gradually allowed it to come further and further into the soy bean field with her.  I scolded her for being a bad momma deer and raising a dummy fawn that wouldn't know how to fear humans.  Maybe I’ve been in the wrong by talking to her.  Maybe I set her up this week.......

Chris tells all our friends in the area who hunt that they better "not kill Marna's doe.  She’ll be mad.”  Monday a friend from across the way who is a deer hunter stopped by the barn and told Chris "I think Marna's doe is dead.  There is a doe that has been shot and thrown in the ditch.  I think it's her."  I was quite sad and upset when I heard about our doe.  

To be honest I'm not a big deer fan.  It's nice to see them out and about in our area like all the other wildlife. But I don't go to Cades Cove to see deer-we have far enough around our farm--but rather to try and see a bear.  But my dummy deer had become like a pet in ways. I enjoyed the evenings seeing her near the house.  I'd watch for her and sometimes I'd see her watch for me. 

It infuriates me a little for people who are supposed hunters to shoot a deer and throw her out like that.  Everyone I know has the deer they kill processed or give it to someone who will.  What a waste to kill something that is edible and toss it away when there are starving people in the world.     

I’m hoping that my doe will show up in the spring, maybe with a fawn.  For four years she has been quite good at hiding in the winters.  We’ve never seen her out during those times.  So maybe that wasn’t her in the ditch and maybe she isn’t a dummy after all…. 

Nasty Buffalo

It's no secret I'm a NatGeo kinda girl with dreams of traveling to Africa and the Galapagos and other wild places.  Watching NatGeo, the History Channel, the Discovery Channel I think I have seen about every type and topic of animal documentary. 

I’ve often thought of my dream trips to faraway places.  The fortunate thing about going on a couch safari is the ability to change channels when real life begins, or ends I should say.

I understand the harshness of life on the plains.  However, unless it’s a “fast” kill as the narrators describe, I can’t watch.  Predators must eat as well as the grazers but I prefer to only watch the chase, not the finish line. 

The Yellowstone documentary, or maybe it was the moose documentary, showed a young mother moose with her new calf.  They were near a river or lake.  A buffalo is in the background.  Now granted, I’ve never been a buffalo fan.  They are about on the same level as monkeys in my thoughts so I might be a little judgmental of this buffalo.  When I was showing my mare, Saya, in cow horse I would haul her to a cutting trainer’s place.  Brandon Sutton.  Brandon would give me cutting lessons on his buffalo.  This experience led me to dislike buffalo even more.  Saya was not far behind in my thoughts.  Tough as nails they could run for what seemed an endless amount of time. 

The moose and her calf were minding their own business when the buffalo decides to interrupt their day.  The baby moose has no idea about danger at this point in it’s young life.  But momma moose does.  She tries to lead her calf to safety but the buffalo butts the calf, again and again.  Momma moose runs back and forth trying to lead the buffalo away.  Finally the buffalo gores the baby calf into the ground.  The calf is not moving anymore and the buffalo leaves, looking very satisfied with itself. 

Momma moose runs to her calf and for a moment life seems hopeless.  But in a minute the little calf is up and wobbling after it’s momma into the woods.  Somehow I don’t think the baby survived the night.  We, the watchers, never know.  The documentary goes to another subject.  Perhaps to wolves of which I won’t watch hunt.

I hated that buffalo in an almost comical way, like somehow that buffalo was a big bully on the playground planning an attack.  Buffalos aren’t predators.  They are not carnivores, they are grazers, herbivores.  Somehow the scene just struck me as a move against nature, the natural order of things.  Buffalos and moose are not supposed to be locked in a battle for survival against one another.

I can barely kill a spider and to hit an animal accidently while driving is very upsetting.  However, I think had I been in the wild when that buffalo picked on the calf I’d have shot it.  People are supposed to be observers when in amongst animals in these situations, never interfering with “life”.  But that moment didn’t seem like life.  It seemed sinister.  Evil.  Nasty buffalo.  I’m not a hunter but have family members who are and that is okay either way to me.  In that split second I could have been a hunter.  I’d have my revenge.  Revenge that I’ve wrote about in another note, on another day.

Hmmm….the nasty buffalo, the momma moose, the calf, the narrator, the observer….if I look close enough I can see a similarities………

My Uncle Clarence Maynard 

Honey Baked Ham Kinda Day

Let me start by saying this is a tongue in cheek kinda story!!!! The hard thing about writing things down and not communicating in person is the inability to share facial expression and voice levels which would let someone know the other person is trying to be being funny, is happy, sad, mad, glad and so on.  That said I’m trying to be funny in retelling my day.  In the sarcastic way I am sometimes. 

To start with I’m not much of a taker of food to family functions kinda girl.  Taker of drinks, paper products and the such, that is me.  So last week I decided to be a good family member and volunteer to get a Honey Baked Ham for the Hull Thanksgiving Dinner.  I ordered it last Friday for pickup today, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving…

When Chris worked at Sea Ray Boats, a long, long time ago, the company gave employees a Honey Baked Ham for their Christmas bonus.  The ham was always a big treat at Christmas time.  About 15 years ago, yes, 15, I bought a ham for Thanksgiving since Chris didn’t work at Sea Ray any longer.  Everyone missed having the ham. 

That year I ordered the Honey Baked Ham and picked it up the day before Thanksgiving.  Just like today.  This morning I told everyone at work there would be a line, just like years ago, but it wasn’t too bad back then, wouldn’t be too bad today.  This is proof that my mind always remembers an event that is bad.  However, the “badness” of the situation isn’t remembered full force.

Lunch with my friend Patty.  Always a great treat.  This will get my trip to Knoxville started right.  And it did.  Our lunch lasted about two hours full of laughs as usual.  I love Patty. 

On the way to Knoxville I should have had a hint things might not go so well.  The Interstate was locked down with traffic, right where 75 meets 40.  That is okay.  I’m pretty patient. 

I pull into the parking lot of Honey Baked Ham.  There is a police officer directing traffic.  Another hint that things were going to be tough. 

Around the back of the building I begin to get nervous about not finding a parking place plus I saw three more police cars.  Getting back on Kingston Pike because of no parking was not appealing.  It would take another 30 minutes to get turned around and come back.  

At the edge of the end of the building the man in front of me drives up on the curb and parks in the grass.  Okay.  My Cavalier can do that and up I go.   I jump out about as fast as he does and we race around the corner.  I think we both were afraid a police officer was going to see us and make us move.  Plus I think we both thought stupidly that the faster we got to the door the less time we’d wait because we would beat EVERYBODY.  I don’t think we shaved more than a couple of minutes off of our time in line. 

The line was outside the building, about 20 deep.  Okay I thought once again.  This isn’t too bad.  At least it’s not raining or 30 degrees.  (I seemed to think “okay” a lot today.)

Once inside the door the real line is in full view.  It was like being in a line at Disneyland, twisting and turning in cheap plastic ropes, never knowing when the end will come and the fun will begin. 

A lady is offering free samples of ham or turkey or something.  I look to see everyone is taking a bite.  I also see the empty plate and napkin in their hands.  Nah, I’ll not take a sample.  No telling how long I’ll wait in line.  It’s bad enough standing.  I don’t won’t to have to hold trash all the way around.  I will be smart about one thing at least today.

The first corner comes into view.  A display holds a great looking bunch of sauces and such you can buy on one side, cakes and pies on the other.  Hmmm, those look yummy I think to myself.  Let me get one to read about while waiting.  As I am putting the bottle back, crash, I knocked one of the glass marinades off the display.  It doesn’t break but it was quite embarrassing.  

About this time I’m hoping Mickey will appear to take the pressure off me, my accident and the whole situation.  He doesn’t.  Someone has killed Mickey in a fit of Honey Baked Ham store rage. 

The next 30 minutes are pretty uneventful.  What could top me destroying a display or Mickey’s death? 

Finally, my ham.  I have my paper reservation ready.  The lady doesn’t look at it, only asks how many people I’d be serving.    I tell her about 20 and she goes and picks my ham.  The lady unwraps the ham in front of me, telling me all about the care of this precious piece of meat and asking if this ham was okay.  I almost told her it didn’t have enough brown sugar coating just to see her expression.  I decided now was not the time for joking.  People were waiting. 

I grab my ham and start walking away.  Wow, this thing is heavy I think.  Then I start hoping this isn’t a bag like Wal-Mart bags.  You know, the kind when stuffed full breaks right when you get to your car.

The lady had sent me toward the door with my ham to pay.  Another Disney line awaits.  Another Disney line which just isn’t going anywhere.  Please let me off the carosale. I want off the carosale! 

At that point I tell the lady behind me we are definitely at Wal-Mart.  Not only is my plastic bag stretching to the point of breaking in my hand but there are only two cashiers.  She laughs and then proceeds to say she is a diabetic and her mouth is getting dry.  The line better hurry she says, maybe “If I pass out they’ll wait on me faster”.  I laughed and told her to hang on we are almost out and that people would probably just step over her to get to the cash register anyway. 

There is a police officer, yes there is a police officer at the cash register, either for security of riot or security of money I do not know.   He says I can lay my ham on the desk while the man in front of me pays.   I pay and I’m done!  Out I go, AND I beat the guy who was parked in front of me.  Pretty good. 

Well not only did I volunteer to bring ham this year but I decide today that I’ll fix some baked beans.  I’m being very ambitious.  I haven’t made baked beans in forever and they are never as good as my sister’s. 

I decide I’ll stop at Wal-Mart in Madisonville for groceries.  Wal-Mart.  After all my evil thoughts at Honey Baked Ham about Wal-Mart , the place would have to have a little revenge.  Pretty busy but not too bad I think as I pull in.  I have to park at the end of the parking lot.  I walk in.  No buggies, anywhere.  So out I go to get a buggy.  Okay, I needed the exercise anyway. 

Shopping time.  I need brown sugar, pork n beans, onion.  Of course I start in another section and end up with a lot more than I came in for before I even hit the grocery part.  After talking to several people I know I go to get the brown sugar.  None, nada, not to be found.  Brown sugar?  Out?  Okay….  I see a friend and her four little boys, who are cute as bugs.  She is looking for sectioned paper plates and there are none.  I tell her and the boys I’m out of luck too.  No brown sugar so I’ll have to stop at Ingles after leaving Wal-Mart. 

On to pork n beans.  None, nada, not to be found.  Pork n beans?  Really?  Out?  How can anyplace be out of pork n beans?  All of a sudden I hear “Marna!”  Keri’s boys have found the brown sugar I need and are bringing it to me.  Keri comes around the corner and said somebody laid it down and the boys grabbed it!  I told them thanks so much and now I couldn’t find pork n beans.  Keri said laughing, “Oh, don’t let them hear that!  They’ll be running all over the store trying to find pork n beans.” 

So I end up with a onion and about 10 other things I hadn’t realized nor really need. I’m usually a very patient person so get in a regular line although tonight I’m eligible for the 20 and under line.  I only have 11 items.  (Eleven.  That number comes up a lot.  In fact every Thursday night when Chris’s favorite show, “The Vampire Diaries” is on.  Thursday is vampire and 11 only pepperonis on my pizza night.)  

My cashier is checking out the people in front of me.  I notice she is bent over the register doing something.  Maybe she dropped something?  Nope, she is Face Booking.  Ugh.  Really?  Face Booking while working at Wal-Mart? 

On to Ingles while holding my breath.  Thankfully very uneventful and I got my pork n beans.  Homeward while listening to Christmas music, uneventful….  Trying to keep Chris out of the ham all night?  This is going to be very hard.

I don’t even like ham…………

NASCAR

Chris paid me a huge compliment on my

 driving abilities this evening. We don't really

 watch NASCAR but saw a glimpse or two

 today. Chris said "Marna, if you drove in

 NASCAR you'd be the safest car out 

there." (Guess he means I wouldn't win but

 I'd save money on not blowing cars up and

 on fuel.)

Revenge

Revenge, payback, retribution, retaliation, vengeance….Revenge is a new TV show starting Wednesday night.  Chris and I plan to watch.  The show looks pretty interesting, though my believe system doesn’t include Revenge as an option.

Revenge is hurtful.  It’s not an act that heals a past event, an injustice, an injury someone has inflicted upon us.  Although many look at it just that way.  It’s easy to think of Revenge as a justifiable way to end a conflict, to right a wrong.

Revenge is, in many ways, like a figure 8.  Just because we may succeed in paying back the person for how they have hurt us, the situation is not over.  Because through Revenge you have actually hurt someone too, someone other than the person you intend.  Someone who may love your enemy or be linked to them in some profound way.  Should Revenge be a legitimate way to end a conflict the figure 8 would continue.   For the people linked to the person you got even with, whom wronged you, thus has a reason to exert their revenge up on you…..on so on and so on and so on…..

Thoughts of revenge can also lead us into living in bitterness.  Some may feel just thinking of revenge is their revenge.  It’s winning in its on way.  However, plotting revenge whether it is carried out or not consumes lives.  One may take years planning what they would do if they had the nerve to or not to carry out their ideas.  Years which could be lived in a choice of happiness instead of one of bitterness.  Once bitterness has a foothold in someone’s life it’s an emotion that is hard to expel.

“Revenge is a dish best served cold”.  I think everyone has heard this quote at least one point in their lives.  But when confronted with that option and “I’m gonna get you sucka” it’s often a hard fork in the road to choose…..But I think “turning the other cheek” is the choice.  At least for me…….

Fortune Tellers

Fortune tellers. They supposedly know fortunes.  They supposedly know futures. When I was a kid I loved getting my palm read at carnivals.  Much to the dismay of my Momma, who only allowed it to happen one time.  Even as a Christian I didn’t put faith in the fortune teller it was fun to hear them and to wonder about the possibilities of their predictions. And of course carnival fortune tellers all have happy endings to their hand readings. Kinda like  fortune cookies at a Chinese.  (Which by the way, have to be positive or who in their right mind would ever eat at a Chinese buffet again, right?)

For the past year my thoughts and questions about my future have been quite different from those of a 4th grader wondering if they would marry their latest crush. After passing the ole Fortune Teller’s house in Alcoa a few weeks back I thought about their lives.  If a fortune teller held real power they nor their loved ones would never know tragedy or at least not much of it. They would be able to see their own and their loved one’s future/fortunes and thus be able to warn to prevent “bad” things from occurring in their life and those they love.  Because, who in their right mind, should they know the future, be able to hold it in?  If I “knew” the man my daughter was going to marry was going to abuse her I would try my best to prevent that union.  If I knew that if my momma didn’t get her mammogram this year that she would die next of advanced breast cancer I would make sure she got that yearly mammogram.  If I knew my niece was going to be pregnant by New Year’s how could I withhold the joy?

What unpleasantness would actually befall someone’s life if the eye in the ball knew it all?  To always know when or what will happen?  Or even to know a ballpark figure that a terrible event would occur.  One would be able to thwart the bad of life. 

What about the good in life?  If one really had power to see the future good to come would be no fun either.  Where is the surprise?  The good in life, the fun, would just become something else that happens.

I’m glad that the eye in the ball doesn’t see it all.  My experiences have at times been tough.  But they are who make me who I am.  They should not be changed.  And the good.  I’m glad I could not see the good to come either.  There are so rare surprises already in life.  The amazement at getting Jason's text "We're pregnant", the excitement of Amber's text "I passed my test", the thrill of Chris's phone call "I won!".  I'm so glad I couldn't or someone else couldn't "see" those things to come.  I’m so glad God doesn’t work through a ball but through a Book.  He knows far better than I on how and when things in my life should unfold.  

Victoria's Secret Sales Catalogs

Do you receive Victoria's Secret sale catalogs?  For years I've gotten those through mail.  The interesting thing is they don't stop sending them to your house once you have breast cancer.  That Victoria's Secret keeps right on coming.  A painful reminder of what is happening in your life and the loss of the most defining parts of being a woman.  But looking through the sales catalog also can bring hope about where you'll be in a few months.

With the first stage of my reconstruction I had to buy bras for the first time in a year and a half.  Shopping was a very depressing experience.  Much, much more so than I ever imagined it would be.  Going into that dressing room was one of the emotional things I've went through during this trial.   I thought I would just buy some cheap bras from Wal-Mart or somewhere like that and be done with it until my final surgery.  When all is done I'll treat myself to some nice bras was the plan.  And this I did.  And for two weeks have been pretty reserved to wearing them.  Uncomfortable physically and mentally.  They just were not flattering-at all.

Last night I was in Knoxville.  I passed Victoria's Secret and for some reason went inside.   I told the sales lady that I had reconstruction and would need to be measured as I am a different size than before.  This was the first time I'd ever told anyone in this type of situation.  My nerves were on high and my adrenaline pumping while talking with the saleslady.  What was I doing there?  Victoria's Secret????  The thought kept going through my mind that I didn't deserve a nice bra.  That because of my forever changed breasts I should just be okay with a cheap Wal-Mart bra.  However those did me no favors in flattering what I have.  They were bras that made me more depressed about the point of my life I am at. 

The saleslady was wonderfully understanding and did my measurements.  I cannot wear an underwire so she helped me pick some bras that she felt would work for my situation.  There wasn't much of a selection.  Almost all of their bras have an underwire.  However, I was very impressed with their professionalism and their genuine concern about making sure my needs were met and that I was comfortable with the process.

As I tried the bras on I suddenly felt very womanly!  For the first time in a long time.  I had not felt that since last year and had given up hope I would ever feel that again.  But putting on a good bra that fit great, well, that boosted my confidence.  The saleslady helped me find the perfect bra that fit well for the stage of reconstruction I am in.  She also found one that covers my scars very, very well.  Even though I am a very much smaller size than before, as I looked at the bra under a shirt they had for me I felt beautiful.  I felt like a lady.  I felt pretty.   I felt like I deserved that bra!!!  My outlook on my looks totally changed in that one moment.  It was unbelievable the power of a good, womanly, well fitted bra can do for your self esteem.

Ladies, have you had breast cancer and reconstruction?  Treat your self to at least one bra from Victoria's Secret.  There IS a difference in the bra I purchased and the one I got at Wal-Mart.  Not only in fit but also in confidence.  Amazingly so.  I hope if you do have reservations about your new look and what type of bra that you will try at least one great bra.  Maybe it will help you in your journey to getting back to normalcy.

Depression Era Man

Today was my first oncology appointment with Dr. Charles since finishing my Herceptin treatment in March. I walked into the office to that familiar smell of chemo.  It’s amazing the memory of our noses, even after several months.

There was an older lady sitting near the door with an easy smile.  Beside her was her husband.  A man with a cowboy hat, overalls, flannel shirt, red bandana and work boots.  He didn’t have an easy smile.  He reminded me of a type of man, the depression era man typical of Monroe County; the kind of man I’ve been privileged and proud to know; a man that reminded me in many ways of my daddy. 

His wife’s name was called and the lady with an easy smile handed her flowered pocket book to her husband.  He clutched the purse awkwardly while she was back for her treatment.  What a sight it was, this depression era man holding a flowered’ly pocket book.

When the lady came back to the waiting room she walked to her husband.  He had the easy smile when he saw her walk around the corner.  As he handed her the pocket book he asked her “Am I shed of you now?” and giggled.  (He meant getting rid of her pocket book for those not understanding of that generation.  Not referring to “shed” of her physically.”) 

They walked out, this cute old couple.  To his 1970’s something red Ford truck with cattle panels for the bed.  He walked her around to the passenger’s door and helped her inside.  For some reason that was one of the sweetest moments I’ve ever seen.  It made me think of my daddy on Saturday mornings when I was little.  Momma would sleep in for a while.  I would hear daddy walk quietly into their room and whisper in this sweet, quiet voice at her ear, “Belle….Belle….. it’s time to get up Belle.”  Daddy’s birthday was the 9th.  He may be sorely missed by his family but he is in heaven with his wife, my momma, who had an easy smile. 

China Cabinet

Brought my momma's china cabinet to our new house last week. My sister, Lynette, painted it for me today. It's amazing how small it seems now. I remember being small and the cabinet was so big! In my memories it seemed larger than life. I never tried of prowling around in it. Nothing ever changed but I was sure I would find a treasure. The treasure is now the cabinet itself. Funny how things change....

You'll Never Be The Same

You’ll never be the same.  Not physically.   When cancer hits and the treatments begin you are forever changed.   It’s something no one thinks about but I wish they did.  I’d been more prepared.

With my breast cancer I had a lump.  Physically at that time the lump was the only change with my body.  But then came the mastectomy.  I was a bit nervous.  I’ve never been a vain person and losing my breasts didn’t hit me as hard in some ways but in others it did.  However, I liked my breasts to be honest.  I was never one to push them up.  Rather I strapped them in; inside my turtlenecks.  But I still was happy with my breasts.  I think I cried once over the idea of losing them forever.  The day of the mastectomy I was emotionally okay.  Or think I was as far as I remember.  I was comfortable all day.  Enjoying seeing my friends and family.

The only time I became frightened was right before I was put to sleep.  I was shaking at that point because for the first time of the day I was alone.  Alone in a scary room.  I remember lying there talking with my anesthesiologist.  He spoke a little to me and was quite comforting.  My nurse kept walking around the bed doing things nurses do.  Then I hear another anesthesiologist ask my anesthesiologist what kind of surgery I was having.  He said bilateral mastectomy.  The other said “Poor thing. She is so young”.  I wanted to scream, I hear you all talking about me!  The nurse patted me on the shoulder and said “they are just trying to figure out where to put your IV dear.  It cannot be in your arm so they may put it in your leg or foot or neck.”  I panicked.  I said in a loud rush to the nurse “I had a bad experience with a IV in a neck……my momma died, at one point before she died they had done that to her and punctured her lung.  I have bad memories!!!!!”

The nurse at that point was trying to get me a “I don’t care shot”.  She understood my fright from the trauma of losing my momma and the association with the neck IV.  The anesthesiologist came over again and was looking at my neck telling me he was going to put my IV there.  I said in a rush again “You don’t understand!….I had a bad experience with a IV in a neck……my momma died, at one point before she died they had done that to her and punctured her lung!”  The nurse is now frantically trying to give me my shot.  The anesthesiologist tells me “I’m good, I’m good, no worries, in and out, won’t feel a thing”.  Then he flung my bed up so that my head was lower than my feet.  He fiddled with one side of my neck and said that side wouldn’t work- he said “you’ll just look like a vampire bit you there tomorrow, no worries.” Then he started on my neck on the left side for a moment—just felt like he was feeling around on it.  Then he says “See, I told you I’m good.  In and out.  It’s done.”  I didn’t feel a thing…..then the “I don’t care shot” went in.

When I woke up my breast were gone.  One of the most defining parts of a woman’s body, I lost.  Still I didn’t grieve that much.  I had bandages that covered a flat chest so there was really nothing to see or worry about.   I remember Chris saying after everyone left the hospital that night “you are sooo flat”.  It was kinda a freaky thing.  I had a bladder problem that night that was quite traumatic or I would have sailed right through having a mastectomy. 

The next week to the surgeon Chris and I went for the removal of the drain tubes and bandages.  I remember laying on the table and Chris was sitting in the corner.  The doctor cut the bandages away.  As Chris watched the bandages fall aside he said, “Are you not going to look down?”, as I hadn’t done so yet as the doctor cut away.  The doctor said “She probably doesn’t want to.”  All I wanted to do was look into Chris’s eyes.  I did.  And what I saw there….. What I saw there made me know that everything was going to be just fine.

No one warns you about the first time you are standing up and look down at your new body after a mastectomy.  It’s quite traumatic. Your body is so out of proportion!!  I said, “I never knew my belly was that large!”  Nor does anyone warn you of the trauma of the first shower.  The first shower where you wash your chest, a chest that is now flat.

My plans from the beginning was no re-construction.  No, nada, none.  I didn’t want it.  I went through six rounds of chemo, 33 radiation treatments and 12 Herceptins.  All the while never planning reconstruction.  Chris didn’t care.  He really didn’t want me to either.  He was tired of seeing me hurt.

Then summer came when all treatments were done and hair was coming back.  The last thing that defined me as a breast cancer survivor was not having breasts.  And you would be surprised how many people notice!  Throughout my treatments I’d put on my scarf over my bald head and Chris would take me on the town for movies and dinners.  It was hard to have everyone checking out the scarf at first, and then of course their eyes would fall down.  To see what kind of cancer I had.  “Did she have breast cancer?” They would wonder. I tried to go out as much as I felt like it.  Yes, I was self conscious.  But I went. I didn’t want to look back in a few years about this time in my life and felt I hadn’t LIVED! 

With my hair growing back and the right clothes in winter no one knew anything about my cancer.  In fact I received tons of compliments on my hair cut.  To which I would reply, “thank you”.

Then summer hit.  Let me just say, there are no clothes for adult women who are without breasts.  My mother in law wanted me to get “falsies” since day one.  A false bra.  There would be no way I’d wear that.  That is just not me.  I wouldn’t even wear a wig.  There was no way I’d get up every morning and put on a prosthetic.   I hate wearing make up, I hated wearing a wig, I hate shopping….I’m not wearing a prosthetic. 

But shopping this past spring changed me.  Clothes are cute these days.  But are either scoop neck, V neck, tank tops, halter top…. And I was 20 pounds heavier from the type of chemo and steroids I had taken.   There was nothing I could wear.  And forget wearing a bathing suit.  Course I was told I could get a prosthetic bathing suit.  But hey, with my luck I’d be swimming and one would float away!

So I decided to go for reconstruction.  My biggest question was what kind and when.  With my job the only time that would work was August.  And since it took 4 months to get an OR that worked perfectly.  Planned in April so August it would be.  And a TRAM Flap procedure it would be.   A very invasive type of reconstruction but when all goes well it’s the best.  On the front end lots of pain.  But great results later.

The reason for the TRAM Flap:  I couldn’t stand the thought of implant reconstruction. Six to eight hour surgery to get my expanders in.  Right back muscle would have to be taken and used to re-enforce my new right breast because of radiation damage to my skin.  Then four months of expanders—going each week to have a small amount of fluid inserted until I reached a suitable size—ouch.   Then surgery to get the final implant.  Then those implants might have to be replaced in 15 years or so?  Implants don’t last forever.  And I really didn’t like the thought of something foreign in my body.  I came to the conclusion a long time ago that my body hates me.  I’m sure it would reject implants.   I decided the TRAM Flap was the surgery for me.  Maybe.  I was pretty scared.  I wasn’t sure. 

Chris was.  He said the surgery was elective.  I didn’t need it, it wasn't a necessary surgery.   It was 12-16 hours long.  Very invasive with potential of lots of blood loss.  Risk of blood clots. Dangerous.  ICU for two days.  Hospital for 7 days.  Maybe back to old self in three months.  I could die was his thinking.  He didn’t want me in anymore pain.

My last fear?  The thing that almost put me back to the decision of not having surgery?  What if I ended up worse a monster after this surgery than I am now?  I got used to my body without breasts.  As used to it as one could.  I was comfortable with it—however I never looked at it that much.  What if I have this  surgery and look worse????  That was the most scary part.  I look bad enough.  I didn’t want to look even worse.

I told Dr. Herbig I knew I would never be perfect again.  It’s just a fact.  My body has not been the same as since the mastectomy and never will be.  I have scars.  Large scars.  My breasts will never be ideal.  My belly button that I loved would be gone with a new one made. I told Dr. Herbig to just do the best she could.  I trust you I said.  Trust you to get me as close to normal as could be.

The day before the surgery I went to Dr. Herbig to be “marked” up for the incisions.  I looked like a side of slaughtered beef.  I took a list of questions and comments with me.  Which is pretty unusual for me but this was a big deal surgery.  Question 1—how much would I see her, my doctor, during my hospital stay?  Sometimes you never see you doctor.  Question 2—pain management—I knew this was going to be awful.  Question 3—when can I be up and around again????  Comment to her #1—If one breast died in the first two days I wanted both cut off to start over next year.  I did not want to have one breast after this ordeal.  She said would probably be impossible to fulfill that request.  Comment #2—I’m modest.  My biggest fear (and I know this is of utmost stupidity) is being laid out on a surgery table completely uncovered.  I see the hospital TV shows and it seems most of the bodies are covered for most of the surgeries.  I told Dr. Herbig I just wanted her to know who I was and about my modesty.  Comment #3—My momma died at UT 20 years ago.  I know the hospital saves a lot of people.  They performed a miracle on Duncan.  But momma died there.  I told Dr. Herbig I never, never, ever, ever wanted to have not one procedure done at UT.  But I had heard such good things about her that I decided to over come that fear.  Comment #4—I know I won’t be perfect, just do your best, I don’t expect a lot, I don’t expect perfection.  Comment #5—I have bladder problems and to leave my catheter in as long as possible and if I say I need it, I need it.

The surgery went well.  I was a little scared of course.  Luckily at UT Lynette and Chris and Leslie were with me right up to the very minute I went in the OR.  What a huge difference in my stress level than at Ft Sanders during my mastectomy where I was alone for 20 minutes or so right before.  The surgery was 13 hours.  Great I thought!  Better than 16.  I think I did well considering my belly was cut off and made into my breasts. 

I had one complication when I went from ICU into a regular room.  My bladder froze.  I told them it would before I had surgery and I told them what would need to be done to fix the situation.  I was not listened to.  I was in a room straining my guts out for an hour trying to urinate while begging for a catheter.  All the straining hurt my new belly button.  It almost died.  I also damaged my incision in my belly as well.  This was a bad, bad, painful experience in which my friend Kelley and Bridget witnessed.  I wish they had not seen it.  I know it was traumatic for them.  I told them I was sorry. The damage set back my healing for a few days, maybe a week.  Dr. Herbig says things all will work out.  But my new belly button is no where near as pretty as it was the first time I saw it and my belly is crooked.  But both are alive except for a small portion of tissue around the belly incisions.  My breasts are healing fine and are amazing in how real they look and feel.

So now I am home.  I’m not sure what my new body will look like six months from now.  I’m very afraid I will look worse than before surgery.  But perhaps it’s only because I’m not used to the new look.  And it won’t really matter anyway.  I’m the only one who sees me.   

I’ll never be the same.  Not physically.   When cancer hits and the treatments begin you are forever changed.  The body in the mirror I see is not one I recognize.  At times it’s repulsive.

Not only does cancer make you start wondering about meeting your maker, and questioning if I will hear the words I’ve desired to hear my whole life: “Well done my good and faithful servant”, but it makes you re-exam the important things in life. 

The vanity I have developed is my most hated part of this process.  I’m hoping that when this journey is over that will be over as well.  I almost feel guilty at times for having breast reconstruction.  The process makes me feel vain and wonder if people think vanity is the driving force behind reconstruction.  I know it another silly notion of mine.  But breast cancer and all the things that go with the disease can make you question lots of things in your life.

In reality when I look back over the past year and half I realize that this has been a very hard year physically and emotionally.  However, I can honestly say that it’s also been perhaps the best year and half of my life.  The love that I’ve experienced from family and friends has been unbelievable.  The love has been overwhelming, not the cancer.

I'll never be the same physically.  BUT, I hope that I'm a better person from the experience of living through breast cancer.  I hope it makes me a better friend when those I love hit hard times.

You’ll never be the same……but, if you want and choose it, you can be even better than ever before.