I am an educator. If not by trade (which I am sometimes), then by personality. I have always taken the time to explain things to people, the why. I suppose that is the reason for this (rambling?) blog.
It started when I was in kindergarten. I don't have a vivid memory of this actually taking place, but I have been informed that my mother received a call from my teacher, asking her to have a conversation with me about why I don't need to teach the other children in the class how to read. In first grade, I was given a reading group to lead. In high school, I tutored other students in chemistry. College students. (Thanks, Mr. Worley.)
I had to educated myself extensively on the subject of breast cancer, from the perspective of a patient. Although I am not qualified to speak at a pathology symposium regarding cribriform vs. micropapillary growth patterns of ductal carcinoma, I can certainly hold my own in almost any other setting about the joys of mastectomy.
It has been six weeks since my last surgery, and I have healed beautifully. I am FINALLY able to sleep (yay!), and I feel great. I am slowly getting stronger, and I have less pain. On a soft tissue level, my range of motion is still limited. I have strength deficits as well, especially with activities that involve any overhead or protracted motion that recruits the pec major.
Despite my continued shortcomings, I feel like I was able to completely wrap my head around my brush with cancer, and I am so incredibly blessed that I had this experience, my experience. I know that my reconstruction is truly a work of art, and I can't thank my team enough. On a deeper level, I am a living example of the importance of early detection.
My recovery has been so remarkable that sometimes I forget what life was like before I received the very concerned call from my doctor. I have forgotten what it felt like to have an intact body. I can barely remember the absence of shooting nerve pain. I almost forgot what a really great hug felt like, until yesterday, when I was finally able to really squeeze my little boy. It was so sweet, I had to do it three times.
I now educate my patients and clients on the physical or physiological processes taking place within the landscape of their own bodies, in an effort to broaden their understanding of the why. The experience that I've had over the last six months has allowed me a deeper empathy for them regarding their healing experiences, and for that I am grateful.
It started when I was in kindergarten. I don't have a vivid memory of this actually taking place, but I have been informed that my mother received a call from my teacher, asking her to have a conversation with me about why I don't need to teach the other children in the class how to read. In first grade, I was given a reading group to lead. In high school, I tutored other students in chemistry. College students. (Thanks, Mr. Worley.)
I had to educated myself extensively on the subject of breast cancer, from the perspective of a patient. Although I am not qualified to speak at a pathology symposium regarding cribriform vs. micropapillary growth patterns of ductal carcinoma, I can certainly hold my own in almost any other setting about the joys of mastectomy.
It has been six weeks since my last surgery, and I have healed beautifully. I am FINALLY able to sleep (yay!), and I feel great. I am slowly getting stronger, and I have less pain. On a soft tissue level, my range of motion is still limited. I have strength deficits as well, especially with activities that involve any overhead or protracted motion that recruits the pec major.
Despite my continued shortcomings, I feel like I was able to completely wrap my head around my brush with cancer, and I am so incredibly blessed that I had this experience, my experience. I know that my reconstruction is truly a work of art, and I can't thank my team enough. On a deeper level, I am a living example of the importance of early detection.
My recovery has been so remarkable that sometimes I forget what life was like before I received the very concerned call from my doctor. I have forgotten what it felt like to have an intact body. I can barely remember the absence of shooting nerve pain. I almost forgot what a really great hug felt like, until yesterday, when I was finally able to really squeeze my little boy. It was so sweet, I had to do it three times.
I now educate my patients and clients on the physical or physiological processes taking place within the landscape of their own bodies, in an effort to broaden their understanding of the why. The experience that I've had over the last six months has allowed me a deeper empathy for them regarding their healing experiences, and for that I am grateful.
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