Read Tears and Unexpected Setbacks Part 1 here.
I awake with a start. Like most mornings “Ouch!” is the first word that crosses my mind. The sun is filtering grey early morning light through the bedroom shades. I must have tweaked my broken hand in my sleep. It is already throbbing. It has been more than a week since I fell during a jog and broke a bone in my hand. My hand and knuckles remain swollen. The bright blue of early bruising is only now starting to evolve into a deep purple. It took a full seven days for my knuckles to define themselves out of my hand’s puffy bruising. This has been a difficult setback.
I lay in bed for a moment gingerly wiggling the tips of my fingers hoping this will help to mobilize the fluid that has built up in my hand overnight. I remember many months in the very recent past where my first thought of the day was also “Ouch!”. My mind wanders to those days and weeks after my cancer diagnosis and subsequent double mastectomy. There was so much pain…hours…weeks…months of pain. This is nothing like that. The pain comes and goes. The more I exert myself, the more my hand hurts and the pain is localized only to my hand and wrist. After the mastectomy everything hurt all the time.
Before my cancer diagnosis I would have taken this broken hand in stride. Inconvenient? Yes. Painful? Somewhat. But overall a frustrating inconvenience. But now I am not processing a simple broken bone. With each new throb of pain and each new frustration I am reliving the pain and frustration of my cancer treatments. Each time I struggle to open a bottle or pull my clothes on I reexperience the still-raw wave of post-mastectomy emotions…frustration, sadness, fear, despair, and desperation.
This reemergence of unprocessed emotions became painfully clear to me after a shocking and unexpected outburst. My husband’s friend invited us to a low key pool party and BBQ at their new house. Since the beginning of COVID I avoid “parties” and group gatherings at all cost but his friend assured us there would be few people and plenty of space to spread out.
With some hesitation I agreed to go. I reminded myself I could always wear my N95 if proper distancing wasn’t possible. In my pre COVID pre cancer life I loved pool parties and would jump at the opportunity to swim and sip some drinks poolside. Now, however the amount of thought and preparation that goes into this benign afternoon get together almost completely destroys any enjoyment I might get from the experience and leaves me wanting to give up on it entirely.
It started with clumsily pulling my clothes on. With my cast I am unable to swim so I chose a tank top and shorts. I considered wearing a bathing suit under my clothes but decided it was too much of a chore to try and take my clothes on and off at the pool.
Next I carefully covered my open wounds. No one at a pool party wants to see gross and gaping hand, elbow, and shoulder wounds. I pulled the bandaids out of their packages with my teeth and carefully placed them on my body…three on my knuckles, one on my hand, two on my shoulder. As I struggled to open the packages I felt my frustration growing.
I winced as I clumsily tied my hair back. I cried out a time or two as shocks of pain zigzagged through my hand bringing tears to my eyes. I carefully put on my makeup. As I worked I thought about the logistics of the party. My persistent immunocompromise means I have to wear N95s in closed spaces. I would have to wear the mask walking through their house…I dreaded the thought.
Not only do I hate the social embarrassment of being the only person wearing a mask, I also dread that I might be called upon to explain why I was wearing it. Sometimes I just don’t feel like talking about personal medical issues with acquaintances or strangers. Then I was reminded that I am unable to put on a tight fitting N95 one handed without assistance so taking my mask on and off would be a challenge.
With each new thought and each new potential frustration my anxiety increased and my desire to go to the get together shrank. The memories of the mastectomy recovery flooded my mind and the memories of dozens of my dying immunocompromised COVID patients drowned me in fear. Looking back I had wound myself into a full fight or flight response.
With these unpleasant thoughts racing through my mind, I made my final preparations. I placed my arm in a sling and made a checklist in my head. Sunblock. Check. Mask. Check. I still needed to wrap my cast in plastic to protect it from water. I pulled out a soft lunchbox cooler and placed an ice pack inside to ice my hand and prevent it from swelling. And then it happened.
Try as I might I could not zip the cooler bag one handed. I could feel my stress bubbling up with each failed attempt. I tried and tried again with my good hand each time failing to move the zipper an inch. And then like a volcano my frustration exploded. With a furious scream I threw the cooler and ice pack to the ground. I looked up to see my husband and dog both surprised and staring at my outburst. “I’m not mad at you I’m just frustrated!” I yelled and stormed up the stairs where I sat on the landing half way up and started to cry.
I was embarrassed by my outburst and swimming in a mix of new and old frustration and fear. My husband and dog both crept around the corner. I shook with sobs. My hand throbbed. I was buried by the rush of uncontrollable emotion. My husband gently told me to stay home and left for the party without me. I was grateful yet wracked with guilt feeling I had let him down by forcing him to attend yet another event solo.
My Aussie curled up on the stairs next to me and waited. I sat and cried on the stairs long after my husband left. Wave after wave of tears poured out of me. It seemed like it would never end. Finally my dripping nose forced me to the bathroom for a tissue. With a splash of cool water across my face I was once again in control of my emotions.
I stared into the mirror and barely recognized myself. Where was the brave, confident, spontaneous woman I have always been? The one who has traveled across the country and world solo? The one who confidently saves lives in the hospital? Who jumps at the opportunity to experience something new? How did the preparations for a simple summer afternoon pool party turn me into this scared puffy-eyed puddle staring back at me?
I have been turning this over in my mind ever since. Where did that fearless woman go and how I get her back? In the meantime, I guess I better spend some time getting to know this new me. And once again I am faced with a moment of fear. What if I find out I don’t really like her that much?
