these stories, women reassess their paths in the world and subsequently map out alternate routes. They make choices and commitments that lead to radical transformations. Sometimes acting without role models or support, sometimes taking the risk of going against conventional wisdom, the women here think for themselves and let their internal strength guide them.
Listening to their inner, kickboxing Buddha, whose savvy wisdom they know to be true, makes the women in this chapter stronger, especially when, donning gloves and entering the ring, they know the match could be lonely or difficult. Trusting themselves when times are tough shows firmness of character, determination—feistiness!
So while these more pensive deeds may at first appear slower and softer than others in this book, let’s be real–they are among some of the bravest a woman can carry out in her lifetime.
Double Whammy
lynda gaines
My first surgery was a piece of cake, and necessary to remove a lump that I knew to my core would not be cancerous. In fact, the lump itself wasn’t. If it hadn’t been for those other “funny-looking cells” they shipped off to Yale, all would have been well.
Every woman who hears “breast cancer” in her doctor’s office is courageous. Keeping fears in check and making decisions under the cloud of “chance of recurrence” is difficult. So is keeping life as normal as possible while seeing a variety of specialists, doing mind- and body-altering drug therapy, enduring daily radiation appointments, and undergoing radical surgery. Even with support, one is very much alone; no two diagnoses, attitudes, and situations are the same. In the end, the individual herself makes the decisions. Brave women do it every day.
Yale found that the “funny-looking cells” were indeed early cancer. So just before Christmas, I had a second surgery to remove this material, which was then sent to my hospital’s Tumor Board for review. I tried not to let any of it impact my holiday spirit, but it did. Exhausted and frightened, I cried through office parties, family dinners, and Rudolph reruns. My surgeon tried to reassure me.
“My gut feeling, Lynda, is there won’t be more surgery.”
That’s good,
I thought,
because there’s
no way
I’ll be able to deal with a mastectomy.
Then I got the call.
The cancerous material was well dispersed throughout my left breast. The Tumor Board said the best bet was to removethe whole thing. I was in shock. The good news was that no additional treatment would be necessary. No mind-numbing, vomit-inducing therapy, no daily radiation appointments. The bad news was that after doing my homework (two second opinions), it looked like, yes, a mastectomy was in my future.
Once I had accepted the inevitable, I felt strongly that I didn’t want to have only one breast. To me, it was out of balance, and more shameful.
“I’ll feel embarrassed,” I said to my husband, “answering the door or running out for a video with only one breast. I’d always want to hide it.”
Besides, my mother had raised me to be a nudie. One of my greatest joys was going to parent-child swimming classes at the YMCA and taking a shower afterward with my two-year-old. Stripped of our suits, together we’d play and scrub openly in the shower. I’d been doing it for years with my kids. With only one breast, I feared I’d feel too self-conscious and would give that up.
No, one breast just didn’t feel right.
If I have to remove one,
I decided,
then I’ll remove both.
That’s what my gut said, but was that the right decision? Was I being misled by my own instincts? I began talking to women who had had mastectomies. I was searching for someone who’d “cut them
both
off,” hadn’t gotten reconstructive surgery, and hadn’t looked back. I wanted to find a no-breasted woman who was happy: someone in whose footsteps I could follow (easier to follow than lead!). But I couldn’t find her. The closest I got was hearing
Listening to their inner, kickboxing Buddha, whose savvy wisdom they know to be true, makes the women in this chapter stronger, especially when, donning gloves and entering the ring, they know the match could be lonely or difficult. Trusting themselves when times are tough shows firmness of character, determination—feistiness!
So while these more pensive deeds may at first appear slower and softer than others in this book, let’s be real–they are among some of the bravest a woman can carry out in her lifetime.
Double Whammy
lynda gaines
My first surgery was a piece of cake, and necessary to remove a lump that I knew to my core would not be cancerous. In fact, the lump itself wasn’t. If it hadn’t been for those other “funny-looking cells” they shipped off to Yale, all would have been well.
Every woman who hears “breast cancer” in her doctor’s office is courageous. Keeping fears in check and making decisions under the cloud of “chance of recurrence” is difficult. So is keeping life as normal as possible while seeing a variety of specialists, doing mind- and body-altering drug therapy, enduring daily radiation appointments, and undergoing radical surgery. Even with support, one is very much alone; no two diagnoses, attitudes, and situations are the same. In the end, the individual herself makes the decisions. Brave women do it every day.
Yale found that the “funny-looking cells” were indeed early cancer. So just before Christmas, I had a second surgery to remove this material, which was then sent to my hospital’s Tumor Board for review. I tried not to let any of it impact my holiday spirit, but it did. Exhausted and frightened, I cried through office parties, family dinners, and Rudolph reruns. My surgeon tried to reassure me.
“My gut feeling, Lynda, is there won’t be more surgery.”
That’s good,
I thought,
because there’s
no way
I’ll be able to deal with a mastectomy.
Then I got the call.
The cancerous material was well dispersed throughout my left breast. The Tumor Board said the best bet was to removethe whole thing. I was in shock. The good news was that no additional treatment would be necessary. No mind-numbing, vomit-inducing therapy, no daily radiation appointments. The bad news was that after doing my homework (two second opinions), it looked like, yes, a mastectomy was in my future.
Once I had accepted the inevitable, I felt strongly that I didn’t want to have only one breast. To me, it was out of balance, and more shameful.
“I’ll feel embarrassed,” I said to my husband, “answering the door or running out for a video with only one breast. I’d always want to hide it.”
Besides, my mother had raised me to be a nudie. One of my greatest joys was going to parent-child swimming classes at the YMCA and taking a shower afterward with my two-year-old. Stripped of our suits, together we’d play and scrub openly in the shower. I’d been doing it for years with my kids. With only one breast, I feared I’d feel too self-conscious and would give that up.
No, one breast just didn’t feel right.
If I have to remove one,
I decided,
then I’ll remove both.
That’s what my gut said, but was that the right decision? Was I being misled by my own instincts? I began talking to women who had had mastectomies. I was searching for someone who’d “cut them
both
off,” hadn’t gotten reconstructive surgery, and hadn’t looked back. I wanted to find a no-breasted woman who was happy: someone in whose footsteps I could follow (easier to follow than lead!). But I couldn’t find her. The closest I got was hearing
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