I awoke Friday morning to a wound three times the size it was the day before. I could be the poster child for "Wounds gone Wild" and there is no celebrating the wild part of it. As I went to find all the supplies to clean and dress the wound, a box showed up on our doorstep.
My new swim suit- made for women with a mastectomy. I had such hope of wearing it soon. I believed this time I was healing for good. I tried it on with the triangle of my bandage sticking out and no skin visible to attach a prosthesis too. Epic fail, again.
The more I take in stride, the more I am asked to take in stride. And yet it has me constantly heart-kneeling with open hands to receive the fullness of His blessings. Because I don't think we're meant to examine one piece of what is given to us, to the exclusion of all the others.
So after a quick tear filled call to my Superman who sat and listened patiently, I laid it down again. I pour out loss, anguish, uncertainty... and try to make room for peace.
The wound care nurse sighs when she sees months worth of her diligent efforts, go for naught again.
The only option that has been presented to us as a "maybe" solution, is a skin graft surgery. A major operation. Is this "chemo" break meant to help me find a solution to my open incision?
Each decision carries so many ramifications. So often we seem to solve one problem only to trigger two more.
I truly don't know what my next move should be, if any.
A break from chemo, doesn't stack up to a break from all things cancer. I'm feeling a little adrift, trying to figure out what to grab onto, and what to let go.