imperfect repair does not make this less complete

I won't say much about the earrings, except that the job is complete and both Laura and I are happy. Laura walked in tonight, saw them on me, and said, "Are we done?" with a mix of hope and delight in her voice. "We are done." The earrings are just wrong enough (through no fault of the sweet jeweler, who did a great job with what I gave him) to be right; asymmetrical and not in fact something I would pick out in a store, but they are mine and they're done. I am immensely happy wearing them tonight and am glad to have them on this journey. Having these, kind of showy as they are, as my theme earrings during chemo is like finding out your animal spirit guide is a bird of paradise. Weird, but I'll take it.

Pictures of the shaving party, currently scheduled for the 16th or 17th, will feature the earrings.

My mom once wrote an aphorism that said, "Imperfection does not make me less beautiful," and my dad did this painting of a scraggly tree to go along with it. I am feeling like that's a good message for me to hang onto these days. I am increasingly aware of the physical imperfection of my lack of breasts, which sounds odd, since I've had 6 weeks to get used to my new architecture. But the first month or so was all about bailing out the flood of the fluid and stamping out the fire of the burn. And now that the fire and flood are gone, I can take in the damage left behind. I rummage through the wreckage now and then and study my chest, sans boob. This is how it is. Imperfection does not make me less beautiful, I tell myself as I rub in some more vitamin E, feeling no more sensation than if my chest were made of tupperware.

Yani gave me an article about phantom limb sensations, something from her "cog neuro" (one never says the whole name of the course) class. It talks about how various sensory areas of the brain are near each other, and therefore sometimes when someone has lost a leg, he or she can "scratch" the phantom limb by scratching their face. It says that a similar effect happens with some women who have had their breasts removed: they can have phantom breast sensations by touching their collarbone, sternum, or sometimes earlobes. I have touched every square millimeter of said areas, and no one is picking up in the breast department.  The article said it takes some time for the brain to do that rearranging, so hope springs eternal. If you see me scratching my collarbone, feel free to tell me to get a room.

Last note for tonight: Though I am seeing 6 clients a day this week, between things I am nesting. We both did this before surgery, and the impulse has reappeared before chemo. Sunday I painted an underused space on the second floor, with some help from Ting and Dave. I am so happy with it, and plan to do some serious blobbing in that old counseling chair of mine. You can't see in this shot the lovely Buddha that is watching over me, or the sleeping cat in the other corner. Though I am scared of the next several months and what they will bring, all is still in a Container of Good.*


*thank you, Augusten Burroughs for this concept