A Sad Day

" And I'll be cross," I said, " if I ever have to have the other one off,  after I told you to take it off when you did the first one." "Our standard response" he said sheepishly, "in the early days in the face of the panic after diagnosis is to refuse to take the non cancerous breast off."  In my 'It's one year since the mastectomy check up with the BSS" I surprise myself with 2 things - anger and tears. The tears were in my voice when I answered his question about whether I'd changed my mind about having a reconstruction. "No" I said shaking my head firmly, and the tears burst into my throat and nearly spilled from my eyes as I said I'd had enough surgery, thank you. Which lead into my "cross" statement.  In the days since my check-up I have simmered with anger and frustration. And like a pot of water left simmering too long, water has been spurting out of my eyes most of the day.

I'm frustrated because once again I was judged as not being able to make my own decisions and be responsible for them. A man decided that I was in no state of mind to make a clear decision; decided to protect me from "bad stuff". Why do they do that, and what am I left with as a result?

I will be 49 soon and I have lost It. "Do you feel different, possibly that your thoughts are muzzy?" When I tell him no, I feel as if I have lost Me, He asks, in what way? Where do I start?  My slower thinking; my problems with words, or my appearance?  My hair is grey and so curly it frizzes. This means I have to keep it short or I look like an over styled poodle. I cannot eat very much, or my stomach and bowels twist themselves into knots. I have lost weight. On the one hand good because I fit into size 6 again, on the other, my remaining breast has shrunk in size and no longer matches my false breast, and my beautiful bras don't fit properly. I look back with longing to the days of age 42 - 48 post childbirth and breast feeding when I had a figure of sorts. Those were my prime years I think. The problem is, nobody cared, and nobody cares now either. We all know it is not how you look that is important, it is how you are. Blam. (word made up by my then 3 yr old who knew enough not to swear).

This is how I are: emotional: angry; sad, frustrated. Hormonal. Men should be really grateful for hormones, and PMS and Menopause. They can blame them for women's emotions and be excused of any wrongdoing, or omission. I think I will write to Sara Groves and ask her if God just gives her the words to my life and I supply the meaning, or does she feel what she's writing about?  From her latest album, Invisible Empires comes this line "it's hard to feel obsolete."

I feel obsolete, but I have to think of my DH who also feels thus, as he waits to hear whether he will keep his job or not (again). I cannot change anything that has happened,  or have any control over what may happen, and at the moment I cannot seem to change how I feel either. I heave sobs into DH's warm neck as he pats my back and says "we'll get through this... we'll find a way. It's OK, he says, you're just having a sad day." I take an aspirin and pray for strength. I pick up a library book and start to read about a 49 year old woman whose behaviour is so disgusting I find myself praying like a Pharisee, thanking God I'm not like her! Then I have a silent laugh to myself, get up and do my housework.

"Pain is no measure of His faithfulness" sings Sara, "He withholds no good thing from us. I will open my hands, will open my heart; I am nodding an emphatic yes to all You have me". As I listen, I change my minds pitiful picture of myself to one of a threadbare picanin, running alongside a gifting car, on a dusty road, under a hot summer sun, with arms outstretched, hands cupped ready to receive, and willing to share.