The Big Question

Some days are better than others.

Today is a better day, but I’m learning that a better day doesn’t mean I’m okay. 

I’m still picking up pieces of myself, and sometimes I’m tired of having to be strong.

Tired of explaining surgeries, procedures, risks, and recovery as if I’m reading someone else’s medical chart. 

Because this isn’t someone else. This is my body. And sometimes I just want it back. 

I found out my first breast procedure is scheduled for December 9th, although it could be moved up anytime between now and then. 

Someone asked me how I felt about it. I didn’t know how to answer Relieved., Terrified, Grateful, Angry. Honestly all of it.

I’m relieved because this brings me one step closer to reducing my risk of cancer. But I wish I didn’t have to lose pieces of myself to feel safer in my own body.

They are going to cut around my nipples and try to save them. I will lose all sensation in my breasts. Sometimes I stand naked in front of the mirror and just look, really look at them.

At the shape of my breasts. My skin. My nipples. The little imperfections I probably spent years criticizing without ever imagining there might come a day when I would desperately want to keep them exactly as they are. 

Sometimes I touch my breasts and think, Remember this. Remember what your skin feels like beneath your fingertips. Remember the warmth of your hand against your breast. Because one day soon, you may touch that same place and feel nothing. 

How do you prepare yourself for that? How do you say goodbye to a part of your body while it is still there? They’re still mine. But I’m already mourning them, and that breaks my heart. 

There is something cruel about knowing the possibility of cancer can take things from you before cancer ever does. It takes your peace, your sense of safety. 

And eventually, it asks you a question you never imagined having to answer:

What are you willing to lose for the chance to live?

That question hurts because I already know my answer. Whatever it takes!  But knowing I would choose this again doesn’t make me less sad about what I’m losing. 

I can know this is the right decision and still hate that I have to make it. I can be grateful and angry. I can be relieved and heartbroken. I can desperately want my future while grieving the body I have today. 

I don’t have to make that grief inspirational. Sometimes I’m simply sad, sometimes I’m scared. Sometimes I look in the mirror and cry because I know the woman staring back at me is about to change again. 

And maybe I don’t need to make peace with that yet. Maybe, for now, I’m allowed to stand in front of the mirror a little longer. 

To touch my skin, to memorize myself, to love these pieces of my body before I have to say goodbye to them as I know them now. 

Because survival isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes survival is choosing the thing that breaks your heart because you want the chance to keep living.

So yes, today is a better day.

I want to live!