I realise that the last couple of blogs have been on the ‘sad’ side of the spectrum. I write when the mood is right, and sometimes, I’m sad, and sometimes, I’m happy. Right now? I’m in a good place.
I’m sitting once again, at my Happy Place. Our balcony, enjoying a cup of coffee and breakfast. What am I eating you ask? Why, it’s a boiled egg, half avocado and slice of home made whole wheat toast. Oh with a good dash of Sriracha hot sauce. Honestly that stuff is like “whaa-aat?”. It can make cardboard (aka those ryvita crisp breads that were all the rage in the ’90s) taste so good you’d be rolling your eyes upward in a sexy-esque way just like Nigella Lawson does. All coquettish, sidelong glances at the box of ryvita, and a slow blink of those long (false) eyelashes, and a naughty giggle as you go, “oh go on then, spread that naughty sriracha on that tantalising ryvita, I’ll have another”. Please Nigella. Get a room already.
I’m looking less like Dr Octavius/Octopus from Spiderman, with only three tubes coming out of me today. Yesterday I went to visit my plastic surgeon. Dr W always has an air of positivity about him. After all, his primary job is to make people look better, albeit, with less facial expressions. Nonetheless, he brings the magic back to people’s faces and bodies – said magic is completely subjective of course.
Then, there are patients like me. Patients who haven’t asked for a dash of magic to erase wrinkles or to flatten their tummies. No, patients like me just want to have a bit of normality in our lives in the face of a traumatic event. Some have near death accidents that have scarred faces, fire accidents where the skin and body needs to be rebuilt. Things like that. Then you have women like me who in a very ancient Amazonian women-way screamed “take it off! It serves no purpose and will only get in the way!”.
So yesterday, at Dr W’s office as they were changing one of my tubes that refused to suck any fluid out of me (cringable story coming up below), Dr W asked me why I looked so tense. To which my reply was, “well, I had cancer. I’m looking at getting chemo. I have no breasts at the moment, and no nipples and these freaky tubes sucking body juice out of me. So yes, I guess I’m feeling a bit tense”. There, right then, was when Dr W stopped being the fun doctor with the incredibly smooth wrinkle free forehead, and he empathised. He said, “Well, by next week, I’ll get your tubes out. Then, after your first cycle of chemo, we will work on filling up your expanders. Once we’ve finished up expanding, then we’ll sort out your nipples with tattoos”. I nearly cried in relief. I’m a plan ahead sort of gal. I’ve sorted out our family summer holidays for the next 3 years (2017 Hawaii – Luanne, I’m looking at you kid!) so to know what the game plan was, was extremely important to me.
Quick side cringing story – so these tubes are attached to my torso, one on each breast and one on each axilla (that’s armpit to you plebs). Any woman out there who’s had breast implants knows what I’m talking about – high five sista. But one tube kept losing it’s suction. There I was, lying on the dentist like chair, when Dr W keeps fiddling and suddenly – it’s as if my life force was being sucked outta me, out of my chest, with a gurgling sound you hear on Walking Dead shows…. my eyes popped open akin to a woman suddenly being possessed, and all Dr W said was “oh, you felt that eh?”. Damn right I did. I hope you’re not eating your breakfast right now, as I am. As Bimble likes to say of my tubes, “it’s freaking me out”.
I feel that at this point, it’s timely to mention the plans of my future breasts. However, that is going to be another long post, and you’ve got to dash and I don’t want this to be the next Tolstoy. Short and sweet, say the “How to write blogs that don’t bore the pants of people” guide books. “Keep the intrigue to keep them coming back for more” is another golden nugget of information that I nod sagely at.
I’ve got tons more to write about. But for now, enjoy your brekkie, please don’t get grossed out, and spare a thought for the poor souls out there who’ve never tried Sriracha hot sauce in their lives.