Look, no hands

Arms either. If you’re dreaming of having a new rack, you might to rethink that. Getting breast reconstruction hurts like hell, and I’m one of those people with a pretty decent pain threshold. Plus, you’re not supposed to use your arms. (Don’t tell the doctor I typed this blog. I’m not supposed to do that either.) Every dish, every kid request, every everything has to be handled by Brian, so he’s not happy. I’m on narcotics for pain, so I can’t drive either. I can’t believe I’m yearning to do mundane tasks, like put my own clothes on, much less away. I know people have it way worse. I’m getting a claustrophobic feeling of wanting to escape my own body. No wonder. It’s been under attack since last November. To top it off, I couldn’t get Steven to write another blog. He said, “I don’t want to write about my mom in pain.” I was waiting for him to say, Because that’s so boring.

THREE POSITIVES:

1- Hey, at least I have hands. Arms too. They’re pretty cool, like how they pick stuff up, drive a car and go all crazy when I get cheesed.

2- Brian dropped me off at Case Study Coffee on his way to a meeting. So I’m watching people with steady paychecks and really cute shoes go to work. One day soon, I hope to have steady pay and cute shoes. Preferably in the fall.

3- Some of my friends who are also dealing with breast cancer have been told they have between 10-20 years to live. None of the medical staff I’ve worked with has said anything like that. If they did, I’d buck that thought off in a second. Seriously, who really knows besides whatever god you believe in?