Somehow today is only two weeks since my surgery. It feels like months and months, which is annoying. Ten weeks to go until they’ll start reconstruction. Sigh.
It’s been… interesting. I thought I would feel totally different – in a bad way – for weeks. I expected to be tired and out of it and in pain and not myself, and none of that has been true AT ALL. People think I’m weird because I seem so normal and because I stopped taking painkillers so early. I have a hard time believing it’s even real – since when do I have a high pain tolerance? Since when am I not a huge baby? I guess I never had any real indication that I was that way, but this is still weird because it’s so out of line with my expectations.
I’ve already started forgetting I even had surgery. A lot of the time it’s obvious because my chest is so tender that I can feel clothes rubbing against it and because my muscles are so tight that moving certain ways feels weird. But there are times, even this early, that I forget I had a mastectomy. I forget that I’m totally flat-chested and just think I’m… me. Like nothing has changed. Again, I almost don’t believe I’m capable of being this adaptable but I guess I am?
There are still issues, of course. In typical me fashion, I have a hard time when good things happen to other people. I would never, ever treat them differently or say anything, but it does get hard hearing about people finishing their surgery process or having everything go wonderfully. I wouldn’t wish anything bad on anyone, but I do wish this was different for me, so it’s challenging. I have always struggled with being happy for people when I’m not happy in my own life, so it isn’t like this is unusual. But now that I’m an adult and generally try to be a nice person, I do feel bad for looking negatively on others’ positive experiences. I just have a hard time believing I’ll ever get there myself.
My mom said maybe all of this is happening so that I can empathize with others and be of more help to people in similar situations. I don’t buy into the idea that everything happens for a reason, but I can’t deny that when I first got my genetic test results I felt like there was… not necessarily some pre-ordained plan, but the idea that maybe I would do something with all of this. I still have no idea what that’s going to look like, but I suppose time will tell. Apparently this ordeal is trying to teach me patience, but something tells me it’s not going to work. Patience may be a virtue but it’s certainly not easy.