My, how time flies...

Sometimes, it's weird how time flies.

Sunday, 1 year ago, I had my double mastectomy. 1 year and 2 days ago, I still had my breasts, nipples, normal sensation, etc. Now? I have foreign parts installed, tissue that's technically my own flesh and blood, but feel nothing, let alone hardly feel a part of me, and a strange numbing feeling in my chest.

I think Sunday, far more than my cancerversary, signaled that it's been a year since I felt "normal." Even knowing I had cancer in my body, I still felt whole. I still felt like myself. Once the scalpels invaded my skin, once parts of me were carved up and discarded, replaced by synthetic prosthesis, I became something... someone... else. I think the question still looms, who or what have I become?

The obvious response, given the context of this blog is, "SURVIVOR." But I'm not so sure about that. "Recoverer," yes. I recovered from surgery. I recovered from the infections.

But I didn't survive - at least, I'm not sure that I have. My breasts didn't survive. My hair didn't survive. My feelings and senses didn't survive. Most of the skin in my chest area survived.

My strength didn't survive. My cycling and athletics haven't survived... not yet. My ability to find ways to bounce back better than before hasn't surfaced, yet. I'm struggling to do it.

And I can't find a way to embrace the new boobs, yet. Perhaps if my nerve endings were still functional, I could. Or if everytime I flex a muscle, they didn't ripple and bounce around like a freakish body builder, I might be able to start. They still don't look like breasts.  One is larger than the other, one is fuller than the other, the horizontal scars are still visible, and have left some strange sculpting. They nipples still look like Frankenboob. Forget the cancer: If I had breasts like this before, I'd be seeking reconstruction.

By no means am I saying that Dr. Nordberg did a bad job - not at all! He did a great job, given what the task at hand was. The left side that is fuller and bigger is that way because of the scar tissue, etc - it was problematic from the beginning. The right side just settled the way that it did. And he's trying to fix things, but this is going to be a long time until it's close to where I envision being able to begin to accept them as being a part of me.

And my hair, oh, my hair. Yes, I'm not bald. But bald was a "cooler" look than what I have going on now. I look like a retarded Little Orphan Annie. Yes, it's great that I have the curls that I paid (well, my parents paid) for when I was in high school and didn't quite get. But they don't go anywhere. They curl in on themselves and don't grow down. It's like having a head of ingrown curly hairs. I touch my head and I feel a sheep, not my hair.

So, neither my breasts nor my hair feel like "me."

I don't know.

One year later, and I still feel so far away from really recovering, let alone surviving.

For my personal journey, the cancer was the easy part - it was caught before it caused any pain. Yes, I survived the cancer, I suppose. But what I'm really struggling to survive is the surgery, the treatment, the chemo, the after-effects, the recovery, the butchery.

Do I have enough cancer for you?

This week I've been struck by the notion that some survivors look at other survivors and judge them by how bad their cancer was. Now, I will never deny that depending on the diagnosis, other people's journeys will be more, or less, traumatic and challenging than others. Just like pregnancies, some women experience easier or more difficult pregnancies. However, pregnant is pregnant, no matter how you got that way and what your journey was. It's still a life-changing event, regardless of outcome.

It's the same thing with cancer. There is no such thing as "good cancer" or "bad cancer." There are good and bad prognoses, there are subjectively more difficult treatment plans, etc.

And yet, some people feel the need to look at some of us and say, "Well, you didn't suffer for as long as I did, so your cancer 'doesn't count,'" to which I say, "Bullshit."

That sounds harsh. I know. That sounds incredibly insensitive. But the minute you belittle another person's cancer experience, you kind of negate any willingness to be open to your plight.

Having cancer doesn't automatically turn us into saints. Jerks are simply jerks with cancer. Yes, there is the chance that being faced with something as significant and mortal as cancer may prompt us to rethink our approach to life, etc. But sometimes, it really doesn't.

The notion of judging another person's cancer as being "less than" is so insulting, too, because it presumes that the person who has the "lesser" cancer isn't aware that others have gone through hell and back. I am very well aware, for example, that I am surrounded by people who have endured things for many more months and years, who have had chemotherapy for much longer, etc, and that their cancers have a much higher mortality rate than mine. But that doesn't make me, or anyone else, any less of a survivor, and that doesn't mean that I'm less qualified than someone else to say, "I'm a survivor," have an opinion on the matter or work for the cause.

My opinion? Accept that everyone has their own cancer journey, and that for that individual and their family, it is (hopefully) the most disruptive, challenging and difficult experience of their lives, no matter the time span, prognosis, etc.

Perhaps, rather than reserve judgement about another person's treatment and cancer, leave it at "I have cancer," and provide support. Or walk away.

A blanket statement: If I have ever made anyone feel that I've made their cancer experience seem insignificant, my sincerest apologies. I hope I've never done that.