New Existence

Since Tuesday, I have been in quite a bit of pain. At first, it was unbearable, like those prickly wires people place to prevent intruders from coming in – all localized in the chest area. It’s most present underneath the breast area. Any wrong turn or too deep breath activates the pain to form a larger throb, like needles prickling and sinking in deeper. I can’t raise my arms, and I cannot apply pressure downwards or upwards.
The pain management schedule has been a godsend, and it has been so helpful in minimizing the pain to a dull throb. It’s there; sometimes, it goes away, but I am highly aware of it, given my limitations.
I made the mistake of lifting my arms to adjust my pillow, and it felt like the muscles on my chest and arms were ripping away slowly. I immediately regretted the action.
The sweat, anticipation, and bracing of the potential pain have been high. The loss of mobility has been mentally exhausting. Still, I am thankful for my attempts to ensure that my space was a nest for recovery with as much readily available to me as possible and minimal reliance on others. I don’t want to bother others already taking so much of their day and time to help me.
I don’t know what progress will look like, but I do know that now, with no narcotics, the pain is feeling different. I can’t wait for the next round of steristrips and gauze to be removed. I am so lucky that the drain was removed, though. No pain came from that area, but when it was removed, you literally heard a pop. The drain itself is so mind-bending. It’s a tube attached to me that collects liquid that is oozing out of me. It was bright red like Coolaid and very watery, then clear with a tinge of yellow. I have no clue what it was. I am astounded that more people aren’t talking about the body horror that cancer encompasses. This liquid should not be outside my body. I love body horror from the likes of Pinhead to the Thing morphing itself to its next victim, but existing through the body horror of surgery and recuperation and cancer – well, that really is on another level once one personally experiences it.
I now see commercials for cancer medication, and seeing the content of movies – most recently Late Night With the Devil – and cancer being used as a plotline or a thing to market to is a gut punch. It feels cheap, and it feels exasperating.
According to the post-op appointment yesterday, I won’t receive a refill of the medications that helped ease the pain. So, I will brace for what that looks like. Pain is still there, and now I have to figure out how I will manage it. The body is miraculous, and my best-case scenario is that the pain is gone once my body fully adjusts to the change and heals.
My therapist said something a week before surgery. It was a bit weird indeed, but as she tried to arrange the words – the main message was this:
Cancer is not something to be grateful for/ this situation sucks/ but if there is any silver lining in this situation – it’s that I am thankful I am 31 when the cancer presented itself—highlighting that I am healthy. I am ready to fight and rebound faster than if this disease had presented itself to me at a later age. I am healthy and ready to fight, and the odds are good.
Another peer who I was introduced to who was diagnosed in her 40s also struggled to string the words and the message that: this shit sucks, there is no grander cosmic lesson, but having this disease present itself will change me fundamentally and above all – this process will force me to be stronger.

This entry makes no sense in editing it. It’s word vomit, but thank you for reading.