It's time to get moving.
Not to take over the world, not to solve everyone's problems, but to stop wallowing. To let feelings in, but not allow them to overtake me as much as they have. To allow myself to feel, but not allow the darkness to swallow up the light. To look for the light switch(es) or the way out of the tunnel.
I soaked in the tub - waist down only, no water allowed near my breasts - this morning and read "Martha Stewart Living," a gift magazine that I don't usually read but enjoyed as a departure from my normal fare. I'm dressed, and wearing warm clothes, prepared to go to Lincoln Park.
Ryan is packing a backpack with snacks and a thermos of peppermint tea, and we're going to Lincoln Park to let Shep run around and give all of us some outdoor time. Tessa will collect nature samples - beautiful leaves, acorns, pinecones - of the season. I will breathe deeply in the misty air and look for joy in the gorgeous views, my scampering pup, my playful daughter, and my strong husband (who is back to himself and prepared to make amends and take care of me).
I saw my breasts fully exposed for the first time today, and looked in the mirror for the first time. They are two different sizes. There is swelling but I suspect that I needed that smaller implant, the one that we didn't have, the one that wasn't ordered. Maybe this means that I made a mistake moving forward with the surgery, but I refuse to see it that way. The mistake was the doctor's, not mine. I suspect that my breakdown would have been worse if I didn't have the surgery behind me. Maybe in a few years I'll go back for another surgery. Maybe in 10 years when it's time to replace the implants (they have a finite lifetime) I'll do it. I just hope that I don't get further encapsulation and need to do a surgery this year or next year, because I think I'd rather live with it than face that again.
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