Aftermath

The internal stitches are starting to dissolve. Day by day the skin lies flatter. My surgeon cleared me to get in bodies of water with a bandage. He said the lake of the Ozarks is particularly dirty. I laughed.

I've done some research, realized it's harder to operate on radiated skin. Decided to insist on genetic testing before radiation. If I have the rare BRCA, I'll have a bilateral mastectomy. Ironically, if I did that there would be nothing to radiate. So I go with that, because with that decision I guarantee only one sucky thing has to happen, not two. Mastectomy or radiation. Not both.

This week I get my radiation tattoo and find out about drugs and genetic testing. My husband is in Indianapolis. My daughter is volunteering at a retirement home. I'm 90 days into my new job. I go on vacation next week.

I need this vacation. 2016 sucked.

I am watching THE HANDMAID'S TALE. To some extent, I remembered that in my moments of humiliation and pain in my surgery, that mine is not such a bad story to tell. Everyone in my story acted in my best interest.

I don't forget that.

My story is pretty trivial, except to me. As are all of our stories.

ONWARD.