This is love...

God is our refuge and strength,

    an ever-present help in trouble.

~ Psalm 46:1

Saturday.  It is the fourth day out from my surgery last Tuesday, and it started out rough.  The On-Q pain relief system balls that had been feeding my body a steady and slow drip of pain medicine for the previous 3 1/2 days got removed on Friday.  I asked for them to be removed because wearing the pain relief system, that  I originally dubbed "Amaze Balls", had become like a chain around my neck. 

For the sake of education and because I know you are curious, I am (with great humility) including the two pictures below.  The first picture is of an On-Q pain relief ball, and the second is a picture of me (well, my torso, anyway) sporting two of these pain relief system balls zipped up inside bags that are hung around the neck when moving around.  It should be noted that I am also covering up surgical drainage tubes and bulbs under that top, so I am extra poofy at the hip line.  The pillows under the arms are partly for comfort where lymph nodes were removed, and they have the added purpose of reminding me to not lift or move my arms too much.

Seeing the second picture can perhaps help you understand that after three days I wasn't sure the trade-off in pain relief was worth the pain in the neck carrying these things around was becoming.  They were nearing the end of their life, so the risk of regret seemed small, and I just couldn't know until they came off, and their catheters removed from my chest, how much they were helping me. 

I made my choice on Friday, and by Saturday I found out.  

They helped quite a bit.  

It is now Saturday evening, and my original five pills of Tramadol are now gone and I am left with Gabapentin and Ibuprofen and Tylenol to manage my pain.  While the pain is very real, I don't want to ask for more narcotics.  The pain is pretty awful at this point, but I think I can manage this level of discomfort, trusting that it will get better.  I keep thinking surely I'm near the end of the worst of it.  

In a way, embracing the pain may be the better course.  When I left the surgery center on Wednesday morning with a PECS block still in effect, and my "Amaze Balls" around my neck, feeling little pain, it was easy to imagine that I was Super Woman, and I know I moved my arms in ways I was instructed not to.  I didn't do it rebelliously, but rather, I would completely forget the instructions to not lift anything that weighed more than a can of pop, or to not reach forward or to the side.  The instructions were clear.  "It's Tyrannosaurus Rex arms until the drains are removed." But my brain didn't seem capable of computing that instruction when I felt like Super Woman.

Today it has become very clear that I am not Super Woman, but, rather, a comically short-armed, big-headed dinosaur.  Today, in greater pain (physical and emotional) I was feeling very sorry for myself when I suddenly I got a group text from Peggy B  - one of the gals in a small group of lovely friends that stays in touch at this point mostly through texts.

The text simply asked, "How are you feeling, Becki?"

I jumped at the opportunity to pour out my heart that was hurting.  I got a bit raw.  And that is when I started to see God work. 

"Thanks for asking how I am, Peggy.  Emotions are kind of wonky because of pain, but also because of how I look.  I'm guessing that things will eventually settle down some.  There is swelling that will hopefully resolve eventually.  

Nerves have been cut, and now that the pain block is probably completely worn off, the nerves fire sometimes unpredictably, and sometimes directly related to something I just did.  Either way, it's like being zapped by electricity.  I cry out and want to grab and protect what isn't there.  And when I touch what is there, it sometimes hurts because the skin is so tender from mid-chest up to the collar bone.  I have no idea whose collar bone I have now, but I do not recognize this one that sticks out too far and is covered with skin that shimmers like a tanned chicken hide.  It's painful to look at, let alone touch.

And just like that, I am now completely awash in fatigue and feel like I may not be able to even finish this text.  

I will say before I finish, though, that today I have tapped into some online communities whose sole purpose for existing is to emotionally support women who have chosen mastectomy with no reconstruction (also known as "aesthetically flat closure" or just "flat closure".  Tapping into these resources has given me hope that what I look like today will evolve as I heal and the swelling resolves.  But I have to work to keep my head in that space.  It's hard to see something that looks freakish today and hope that it will become something less so.  The physical discomfort right now is an additional hurdle in that game.

Is that too much?  I was a little more raw with you ladies than I'll probably be with people I see regularly."

My friends encouraged me that it is impossible to be too raw with them.  I knew that.  That's why I love them.  That is why we can go for years without seeing one another and in one text or phone call I am transported back into the company of friends who accept me just as I am.  We pick up where we left off, and we rekindle the love that was sparked 10 years ago around Lori E's kitchen table.  A love that grew more and more as we met in each other's homes and other venues, in some seasons meeting regularly, but eventually sporadically, now rarely, but always sharing our hearts with one another.  

And then in the midst of them sending me encouraging texts, Greg asked me to come guide him while he started to launder some of my things.

As I walked through the house I looked out a back window and saw these flowers sitting on our firepit:  

I don't know when the backdoor neighbors put them there, but my finding them couldn't have been more timely.  I had Greg carry them inside (because I'm now employing T-Rex arms, and obeying the "do-not-lift-anything-heavier-than-a-can-of-pop" rule.)

Inside, I sat down to send my neighbor a text.  Letting her know the flowers from her garden had lifted my spirits more than she could possibly imagine.

Then I noticed that some other friends had texted me.  And, Peggy W., one of my oldest friends since we moved here, sent me a text reminding me she was coming this evening with a meal. 

At 2:20 I got back to the original group text where the others were carrying on without me, and I explained what had happened while I was away:

"Well, between flowers, and you and some other friends texting me in such a short time, I am now filled with a powerful reminder that I am loved.  By my Heavenly Father and by precious friends he has given me.  I was crying earlier with tears of self-pity, but now I'm crying happy tears."  

And later this evening I was surprised with a group text from my sisters.  I was so tired by that time, I could just manage a rambling text explaining what the day had held.  I wanted them to know it had been a good day; I pressed [send] and drifted off to sleep for a while, feeling loved.

We earthly parents want nothing more than to comfort our hurting children when they are frightened, lonely, hurt or broken.  How much more does our Heavenly Father desire to bind up our physical and emotional wounds and remind us that we are His. That he loves us, He redeems us, and He has a far greater plan for us than we can imagine.

From a simple "How are you?" text, to garden-cut flowers, to a hearty home cooked meal, friends and sisters were the hands and feet of Jesus to me today.  I received the gift of our Heavenly Father's love through them.  I am inspired, even in my pain, that someday, again, it will be me that can be the hands and feet of Jesus.  No act of kindness is too small to convey this love and care.

And I looked around and remembered all over again that I had received love from others many times this week.  It wasn't that I didn't recognize it at the time, but today it flooded my heart with gratitude all over again.

Flowers delivered on Wednesday from my sisters in Florida and Colorado.

Thank you, Sherri & Debbie!

Flowers brought on Thursday from a long-time friend 

who now lives just down the road.

Thank you, Amy!

An edible bouquet on Friday from Greg's brother and sister.

Thank you, Todd and Amy!

And cards from friends far and near wishing me a complete recovery.

Daily, there are texts from different friends checking in on me.  My long-distance friend, Pam, finds time in her very busy life to check on me several times a week - often several days in a row.  I look forward to a visit (and a meal) from my good friend, Lynne, this coming week.   And a visit is on the calendar from Becky, who is younger than me and has, in recent years, battled an aggressive breast cancer.  And my friend, Jean, who is currently recovering from knee surgery, and is a breast cancer survivor herself, texts me every few days.  My husband is patiently managing the emptying of my surgical drains several times a day (because I can't reach them with T-Rex arms), and is managing laundry and anything, really, that I ask him to do.  He's a trooper.

And every other day for the next two weeks, old and new friends have signed up to bring us a meal on a Meal Train page created just for us.  I mentioned Peggy and Lynne, but there is also Vicki, Marti B., Kirsten, Kay, Kim S., Amy H, Jackie, Bonnie and Michelle.  I can see the faces that go with those names and I am humbled.  When Vicki told me a couple of weeks before surgery that she wanted to organize a Meal Train for me, I truly thought it might be unnecessary.  But in this compromised state I temporarily find myself, I am so very thankful she and our friend, Bonnie, didn't give up too easily.  Thank you, sweet friends.

And an even more amazing thing is...  these tangible things do not represent even half of the people I know are praying for me.  Some of you are praying for me.  Many in our church family are praying.  I have been told that strangers in other churches are praying for me.  My dear friend, Dory, who has her own story of pain, has texted me at what might seem funny times of the day and night when she has thought of me and prayed for me, and each text has come at a time that I was needing that prayer and the "voice" of a friend  - like the morning of surgery when most of the world was asleep, Dory was awake and she contacted me, letting me know she was praying.    All of these things are sweet reminders that I am loved and that we are called to love one another.

I am blessed.  

I am loved.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, 

that we should be called children of God! 

And that is what we are! 

The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

~ 1 John, 3:1

I hope that soon I will be back to writing somewhat regularly and visiting your blogs.  Right now, even though I am not responding to comments, I cherish every one that is left here.  Thank you for stopping by!