What's next? (Again.)

When I was growing up, my mother often told stories about how colicky my oldest brother, her first child, was, and how, had someone come to the door certain nights to take him, she would have handed him over. (She didn't, and he outgrew it, and she had three more children, so I guess it was possibly worse in hindsight.)  When I became pregnant, pretty much my only big fear was that my child would have colic. So of course he did, and I survived it, too. (I didn't have three more, but that's a different story...)

My biggest fear in having breast cancer surgery was that I would get lymphedema. I know, it sounds ridiculous, given the other horrendous possibilities, but there it is. I dreaded the idea of it, and I watched for it. Then at some point, I stopped worrying - lots of other bits and bobs came up to distract, and I thought I had dodged the whack-a-mole mallet on this one.

So recently. when I went to see my radiation oncologist for a follow up, and he told me the swelling in my left breast was lymphedema, I felt blindsided. Wait - I don't have a giant marshmallow arm. My skin is not rupturing. No. Nope. Not. Kindly, Christy the nurse walked me over to the physical therapy office and helped me set up my first appointment. Surreal things were said: I would have "bandaging" and "garments" which sounds like both Egyptian and Mormon religious rituals. But there is no getting around it by disassociating: what's next is physical therapy for lymphedema, which is a big, ugly word for swelling somewhere because of blocked lymph flow in a body. My body.

After a few missteps in making time for treatment again, I went to my first appointment yesterday. My therapist is new and well meaning. She measured me up and down my arms and confusingly described the coming treatment. There will be massage (good) and big bulky bandaging, briefly (bad) and spandex sleeves, which I can get in black, hot pink, and leopard, according to my internet search. None of this is a big deal. Truly not. So why did I sit there nearly having a panic attack about the whole lymphedema mishegas?

Because, for the first time,  I started to feel like I had something wrong with me. Bear with me. I know that I spent last year in aggressive treatment for cancer, and it should be transparently evident that I have something wrong with me. But, honestly, I never thought I did. I thought it was obstacles, and hurdles, and hard work, and I put my shoulder into it and did it, as we do. I always thought I would go back to being me after, with weirder hair, but me.

This diagnosis made me wonder if, should I decide to, I could up and train for a 100 mile bike race (as I did, twice) or an 8K run (did) EVER AGAIN.  And I'm not ready to think of myself that way yet, as someone who could not do that. Do what she wanted to with her body, if she chose to.

So I did what any panicking woman should do: I went to a yoga class.