I'm Back

This is my first attempt at the computer since the night before surgery. I have much in my heart to share; but have not had the physical or mental strength to do so yet. Yesterday I did not want to see or talk to anyone, as my emotions are at the surface and I'm trying not to cry too much. I cry a little and move on. Crying is one of God's gifts -- a healing release we need.

The morning before surgery, I looked at myself in the mirror. Took one last look at my breast and said with tears, "Good-bye, old friend. Thanks for the memories." On with the show now. Time to move on -- I have no out, do I?

I used the phrase, "I'm Daddy's brave litle girl," several times the day of surgery. Especially going into the starkness of the operating room, and hearing the operating nurses preparing the instruments for surgery. I closed my eyes; it was too much for me. Like the worst dream I've ever been in, yet at the same time, peace surrounded me -- I'm His little girl -- will He let harm come to me now? I must trust Him; He won't leave me now. I tried to think of it as an adventure. Hundreds of people were praying. I felt God's peace throughout the day.

They couldn't wake me up. I didn't want to wake up; I wanted sleep -- do I have to come alive again? But I must come back to reality. Not the reality I want to live in. Please, take this cup from me, Lord, but not my will, but yours.

That first night, I felt God speak to me throughout the night -- quiet and still. I am helpless and unable to take care of myself. He sent me caregivers -- Cheryl, Natalie and Doug, who tenderly cared for me. Humility -- helpless I am; I had a sense I was like the "English Patient," and have been calling myself that ever since. If you haven't seen that movie, I suggest you watch it. I feel like I have been through a terrible war -- parts removed, pain and exhaustion, unable to care for myself, but people care for me now.

Two days ago, the ExtraMural nurse removed the large pressure bandage and applied another smaller bandage. She asked me if I wanted to look -- I didn't. Natalie and Doug did, though. I felt comforted somewhat that they got to see what I looked like before I did. It took the horror away somewhat; like they shared my pain and took the burden from me.

I have been followed around by my Hemovac drain for the past four days, from which my wounds drain. My little buddy. An annoyance, yet a comfort as it takes care of my wounds; the blood flows into it. Natalie became an expert in its use. This morning, my Extramural nurse, Brenda Haney, came and removed the drain tube from under my arm. Some more pain released. She was so encouraging to me, and is going to contact the Canadian Cancer Society for me to have a one-on-one with a resource person. So much to learn now.

Mom and Natalie took me up to my bedroom and washed my hair. N & D's spa, they said. Cheryl, Mom and Doris did my hair two days ago the same way. We got a picture of this interesting beauty treatment. Lying on my back, with head draped over a huge tub, two people supporting my neck and one washing. Beautiful. Women know how wonderful it is to have their hair washed. I am blessed; what care people are giving me.

I have been journaling my feelings over the past couple of days. Some of them are perhaps too private to share on the blog, but I am putting them in my 'book.' Some I will share over the next few days. I'm seeing a new aspect of God as well, and learning about how frail I really am. Without God, where would I be?

Mom and Natalie have been cleaning the house for me the past couple of days. When all else fails, clean, I guess. God is not failing me, however, He is here, in ways I never saw before.

I must go have lunch now, prepared for me by my wonderful daughter and mother. Doug is home now and we await Susan and Morton's visit (friends from Grand Manan). I will write more later.

I must keep in mind that this is the middle chapter of my book. Thank you for praying -- please continue to do so. Next week will be another step, when we receive the results of the pathology report. I do not want fear. I want anticipation. Love you all.