There’s one thing they don’t tell you when you are having a bilateral mastectomy. That sleep is going to be hard to get. I know it seems obvious that there will be the normal post-surgical pain, and that it will be hard to sleep, but as a dedicated side and belly sleeper, this has been a new form of torture that I remember from the late days of my pregnancies. Back nearly 10 years ago, when people asked me “What’s the first thing you’re going to do after the baby is born?” and my all-too-quick answer would be “Sleep on my belly!” It seemed like that day would never come, and now it’s come and gone again. It’s funny to be reminded of what I thought was a difficult time, has now paled in comparison to what I have to deal with now. I got through that and I will get through this too. So I have constructed a sort of ramp made of pillows in an effort to sleep in a semi upright position, and perhaps distract myself from the fact that I can only sleep on my back. It seems the silliest thing to complain about, but it’s these little excursions outside your normal behavior that Cancer is all about.
Take for instance dreaming. When I finally DO get to sleep I am apparently doing months and months worth of mental housework. I wake up exhausted and I swear it’s because my brain is trying desperately to clean up the clutter. I have some really CRAZY dreams. And not the kind that are entertaining, like “what was I thinking? That must be the narcotics talking!” Lately I have the kind that are terrifying and express a sense of desperation and fear that I am avoiding during my waking life. Like always, it’s only a matter of time before these issues are connected between the awake me and the sleeping me. I had a dream not long after my surgery that I was searching for food for my children, and we lived in some kind of primeval forest. It was cathedral, lush and green. Almost holy in a sense. I guess that’s what I get for falling asleep loaded with Percocet with Lord of the Rings on TV, but there you have it. I was turning over heavy rocks and logs that dotted the landscape with a somewhat absurd frequency. There was a growing sense of fear surrounding my thoughts of “what will I feed them” and “am I even looking in the right place?” that became the looming presence in the dream. There was moss everywhere and it kept obscuring my view and falling in my face. Despite there being very little sinister imagery, I woke up bathed in sweat and terrified.
It wasn’t until two days later that I connected the dream to my recent mastectomy. I breastfed both of my children for what some people would consider an extended duration and I haven’t worked in 6 months and lost my job because of my Cancer diagnosis. It seems so obvious in the daylight that this dream is a normal reaction to my circumstances. The forest represents the exploration of my subconscious mind, a desire to return to a simpler time. The rocks symbolize strength, or something permanent. The logs represent a transformation of a meaningful part of myself into something new, that I am headed in a new direction. The moss is my frustration with a process that takes a long time, and my lack of patience surrounding that. Food represents love, friendship, sex, ambition or pleasure. All these things have been an issue as I try to redefine myself in this new body and new life. I believe in this dream it represents all of these things in addition to representing the more obvious concern about supporting my kids. It is one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had, I woke up still smelling the forest and how the moss on the log felt on my hand.
The awake me can reason out and analyze such a dream, with what I’d like to think is some proficiency. It’s good to know that my degree in Psychology is not wasted, even though I only use it on myself. Who wouldn’t be afraid, facing all I have faced in the last 6 months? A nurse told me that I have hit the trifecta of life stress in the last two years: Divorce, Cancer, A Disfiguring Accident, Getting Fired. They are encouraging but I know what they are writing about me in their notes, that I am at risk for depression and all that comes with that. So I spend time thinking about what these dreams are trying to tell me. On the surface, it appears that this dream is about my fear about providing for my family. But this dream isn’t really about fear, although there is fear in it. This dream is really about strength. All those rocks that dotted the landscape are me. They are the things I have accomplished that I may not even give myself credit for, easily overlooked in the landscape of my life. And the log, that is also me: difficult to move and hard to look underneath. It’s not easy to look deep inside yourself and recognize all the things that make you YOU. There are earwigs and worms and yet it’s a wonderful microcosm that goes unnoticed. So is our inner emotional life. So I’ve been forced to flip my log and really examine what is happening inside me.
There’s a daytime dreaming that takes place as well, perhaps courtesy of pain medication, but it tends to come when I am alone at vulnerable moments. Lately that time has been in the shower. For the first two weeks after my bilateral mastectomy, I didn’t look at my body at all. It was hard enough to deal with all the pain and tending to my own drains and what not. But eventually that log had to be flipped and I stood naked in front of the mirror. There’s not much that can really prepare you for this process and to say that I handled it well the first couple of times would be a lie. There were hours of tears that took place after every time I bathed, and that was exhausting to me and the people around me. Probably worse on them because I am sure they wondered how long this would go on. But as soon as I got brave enough to look under that log, REALLY LOOK, it wasn’t actually that bad. The reconstruction I elected for has several stages and I have completed only the first part. So knowing there are more changes ahead is reassuring and that what I have now is not what the end product will be. That is simultaneously scary and reassuring. I hold this in my mind as the water runs down my face in the shower, almost like a mantra. I’ve been through this before, almost a little too recently. I found out I had Cancer when I was hit by a car and my face was split open by the force. I had to get 250 stitches in my left eye and I had two orbital fractures. 6 months ago I stood in the shower letting the water run down my face and told myself someday this won’t be noticeable. I rubbed Cetaphil all around the purple twisted scars and told them to lay flat. And they have. All my doctors have marvelled at how my face has healed, even through rounds and rounds of cytotoxic drugs. Now I have to do that again with my breasts.
I guess that’s the slogan here for life in general: What you have now is not what the end product will be. For good or for bad. Life will make you roll some logs and look under your rocks. You’ll be scared and frustrated but that’s all part of life in the primeval forest. Take the deepest breath you can and listen to what you are trying to tell yourself. I have gained more comfort from knowing myself than almost anything else in this process.
The hidden life of rocks and logs
mommography 