“My times are in your hands; deliver me from the hands of my enemies, from those who pursue me.”
Psalm 31:15
For those of us dealing with a cancer diagnosis, we are aware of the ticking countdown clock.
How long do we have until the next thing in our lives changes?
The Most High is there, no matter what.
No matter HOW the clock counts down!
(Cancerventures Book Excerpt):
…From the time I received my surgery date, to the actual event itself, I was in preparation mode.
I was acutely aware of the countdown clock. It’s a certain number of showers I have left with my breasts. It’s a certain number of times I have left exercising with my breasts. It’s a certain number of times left I would wear my bras.
As a larger busted female, I had a complicated view of brassieres. I tried to find the most feminine ones I could wear- black, lace and animal prints, mostly. These undergarments were necessary to be considered a fully dressed woman. But, once home, I took them off as soon as I could. For, no matter how racy or pretty or delicate they appeared, my bras were still uncomfortable. (Sometimes, I even unhooked them while I was still in the car).
But now, with my mastectomy countdown clock, there was added poignancy. It was a mourning process. Each day that passed, I was ever aware, as I chose, put on, hooked myself into, wore and took off each bra. I was mindful I was running out of bras and days.
My last bra was black lace with white polka dots; I had just bought it two months before my diagnosis. I’d love to say that last bra day was spectacular, punctuated by exquisite sunrise and a full itinerary of incredible adventures and romance. No, it was more like a regular Tuesday; I did laundry. Not exactly the stuff of Victoria’s most exciting secret or of a feline agent provocateur, pouncing on her exotic tryst. It was my last bra/breast day, nonetheless. And I took note of it.
I didn’t even leave this last bra of my real breasts on all day. Again, it was too uncomfortable, pinching my sides. When I removed it during the early afternoon, I could have easily thrown it in the garbage. But I didn’t. It’s washed and put away with my other bras. I’m keeping them for now, for how long, I cannot say.
This commemoration is not silly. You do what works for you. Rituals can help us come to terms. This is momentous and sacred. If you want to light candles, hold a funeral for your bras, complete with Kleenex box coffin, go for it. This is a loss. It’s a major life-altering moment. If you choose to do nothing, that’s okay too. This isn’t about performing; this is about you being as at peace with a life disruption as much you possibly can be. Whatever that means for you, do it…
