Scars Under the Skin

And Psychological Wounds that Aren't Yet Scarred Over

I’ve been having trouble breathing the past week. Maybe longer. Not continually, but when I’m quiet: driving, trying to sleep, etc. This stress response is nothing new, but it still makes me feel anxious and claustrophobic. Breathing exercises of any sort just make things worse. I’ve been asking E. to rub icy-hot along my intercostals at night. I don’t think it helps.

Eventually I do fall asleep. And I sleep well.

I felt the lump in my armpit about four weeks ago. I am shocked really that I let it go two weeks before seeing my oncologist. And even then, I didn’t make the appointment, it was a scheduled follow-up.

Today I had the follow-up to the follow-up. I was squished through all the mammogram angles. Then a doctor I’ve never met ran the ultrasound handle over the lumps in my armpit. Ran it over is wrong—there was a lot of hard pushing and apologies. Then the All clear.

Scar tissue. She said that eventually it would get smaller and be less painful, but for now, nothing to worry about. She was Eastern European and that might be why she got very close to my face to say all this. (A Norwegian doctor would prefer to phone you, or project their voice from across the room.)

I cried, lying there on the table, and was embarrassed about it, and was angry with myself for being embarrassed. She didn’t squeeze my arm, but I got the feeling she wanted to. It was sweet. The vibe. And as I’m writing this now I think how nice it must be for her to give good news to people.

This is what my life is now. Vigilance and follow-ups. I’m allowing myself all the emotions. The fear. The relief. Even the joy.

I'd told E. that if it was cancer again I would come home and drink all the wine in the house. And the absinthe. But now I’m drinking ginger tea. Still sober. And I’m trying to take deep and even breaths.

It’s okay. It’s fine, I tell myself. The anxiety doesn’t switch off suddenly like a light switch. But it is dimming.

I’m not looking at another chemo summer. Instead I’ll go ahead now and order the plane tickets to meet a friend in Paris, where we’ll eat and drink, look at all the beautiful things, and remember how good fortune can be such a fleeting gift, you’ve got to hold it with gratitude while you can.

And in my case: run up the credit cards at little French cafes.