Thursday afternoon, after my visit with the surgeon had a chance to settle in, I started to struggle with feelings of guilt. Mostly, though, I just felt like a burden.
So, that night, when I laid my head onto my pillow, I finally decided to let go.
I released everything I kept inside of me yesterday, but I think I also let go everything that has been gnawing at my heart for almost two years. In a way, it was me giving up control over many things: my body, my life, my emotions, and my pain. I cried so hard that I could barely catch my breath.
It felt amazing.
I didn't wallow in my self-pity on Friday. I decided to make the most of my last weekend before being sliced and diced twice.
We bought furniture and bedding, and we picked out paint for the new place. We drank. We went out to Sunday breakfast. We finally agreed to book an anniversary trip to NYC, where we will stay at a nice hotel and not worry about spending money for once.
On the outside, I looked put together this weekend. I put makeup on. I did my hair instead of pulling it back in a hair tie. I shaved my legs, which is a huge accomplishment during winter. I wore thongs. (I know you were dying to know that.) Doing those things made me forget how screwed up my body is inside. Because for the first time in a long time, when I looked in the mirror, I didn't see a lump in my breast, or ovaries that didn't work, or a uterus that I am not sure could ever carry a child.
I saw me. For a moment, I looked whole again.