Pre-surgery comeback continues....

Tomorrow I am going to schedule my mastectomy. I'll see if they'll put me on the calendar for the Wednesday after the CT-scan to recheck my lungs. We can get all the pre op work done and only call a halt if they don't think the results are good enough. Since I'm no longer coughing much, and my lungs feel better, I'm confident we'll get the go ahead. I will feel better knowing there is a date in place. For the rest, I feel in limbo. As I wait for my lungs and the rest of me to heal from the chemo, I am in a self-imposed semi-quarantine. I am basically home-bound and restricting visitors. This is hard to do without becoming stir crazy and depressed. I do go out twice a week to a private Pilates session that is helping get me back in shape. And I do coach clients and attend meetings by phone. There is email, texting, Facebook and phone calls, all of which keep me connected. A nd there is Butters, who is never far from my lap (even in the bathroom!) The great news is that I am healing! M hemoglobin count is on the way up, along with other important blood levels. The fog of fatigue is lifting and I am feeling restless and bored. I am walking at least once a day and running (very) short distances to get my heart rate up. This is impressively awful, with me literally gasping for air after a moderate jog of 50 feet or so! But the trend is positive. And my hair is growing back. It is happening in a weird way, coming in faster on the sides and back (male pattern baldness...VERY attractive!) and far more gray than before. I've been coloring my hair for a long time and can't be sure, but it seems there is more white sprouting than my roots would have promised. The other odd thing is the texture, fine like baby hair. I hear it may come in and be gradually replaced by normal hair. Have to say I hope so! I think my eyebrows are coming back, but the evidence for eyelashes is awfully close to wishful thinking at this point. I wish I didn't care. It would be nice to report that vanity had given way to a deeper and more spiritual view of myself. Well, sort of, maybe. I mean, in the end, we still live in the world in which we are attracted or not to each other based on physical attributes. Beautiful people make more money, get the interesting jobs, and on and on. So its hard not to be bummed to find myself emerging from this chemo significantly lower down on the pecking order. I am fatter due to the keep-your-stomach-full-to-avoid nausea plus no energy to move around effect. To also be grayer, possibly lashless, not to mention one-breasted. Well, it's no fun, that's all. Worth it, definitely, but no fun. So what kind of meaning can I create from it? What would I gain along with the freedom to stop caring how I stack up a bit earlier than I had hoped? It used to be that youth was not the only thing worth having, when middle age meant an increase in a different kind of status. Now we want to be sexy until we die, and we pursue that dream through plastic surgery, diet and exercise, makeup and hair dye. Big effort, isn't it? And, in the end, a losing battle. So here's the thought... I embrace strength, fitness and health, do what I can to dress up the exterior without extravagant effort and decide to love the result. Decide to own my middle-agedness with humor and as much grace as I can muster. God, I hate the idea. I resist it, feel ashamed at the loss of status and power it implies. So I have internalized the cultural devaluation of older women, at least those who are neither thin no youthful-looking. Ugh! On the other hand, I'm not naive enough to think I create my own rules, that being comfortable in my own skin means I won't pay a price with others. Fatter and older is not better in our world. Worth thinking about further. Another exception to my isolation are rehearsals for a cabaret performance May 2. To give that up seems too high a price. So I went last week. The lack of breath is a challenge, and I have lost some range and transitions between chest and head are rough. But the voice is still sound and will come back. To be there again singing is balm to my soul and a promise of a future beyond sickness. On a final note, Steve and I just took the dog to the reservoir and walked a good 2 miles! I am tired, but did manage a short sprint at the end before my knee complained too much. Running is not a good form of exercise for me but I am coming back! Surgery and radiation still too come, but I am hopeful the worst of this is behind me.