Reflections from a Preppy Ghetto Girl...
When I left the hospital yesterday I was fairly calm. I called my husband and told him what our recommended next move was and we both agreed to proceed full speed ahead. I did stop off at Starbucks for my PSL but didn't really have the appetite for it. (Gwen, I had no time to stop off at uber tony Richards for a pair of Revas as I had to sail off to school to pick up Becca from Girl Scouts!) I drove through Bruce Park near my old 'hood and watched the young women running and playing tennis and going about their day. It was a perfect afternoon. The sun was out and the temperatures neared 70. I headed on to I95 with all the traffic heading Northbound. As traffic came to a standstill in Stamford I had to get off. Suddenly I had all this nervous energy that I needed to release but no where to do it. I blasted the radio and opened the windows. I needed to do more than sing. I needed to shout. I veered off the highway in Darien (rhymes with Maryanne) a tony, quaint, Waspy and some say snobby town. Hotel California was on the radio. I didn't care who saw me or heard me. I needed to do this. My Big White Ass Gas Guzzler has a fancy stereo system to boot. I had the volume up to 53. Ghetto Blaster loud.
And I shouted, er screamed along...
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
this could be heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...
Welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel california
Any time of year,
you can find it here....
I didn't feel 40... I didn't feel like someone who had "failed" a mammogram, but instantly I was transported back in time. I was in college with one of my best friends... Laura and I were singing in our dorm room... It felt good and cathartic. I made no excuses nor apologies. Nor did I roll up my windows as my expensive gas guzzler and I soared through the streets. When the song ended I had to take several deep breaths. I needed to run. To really run. To run so hard I could feel the pavement below radiate from the bottom of my feet to my core. I could have run for hours and hours and hours last night. I haven't run in years. But I couldn't run. I had to head back home. Shakira then came on ... her Hips Don't Lie. And this time I was singing along to the sultry Latin singing sensation. There was a gentleman standing outside the food store on the corner of the Post Road and Mansfield Avenue. He looked at me in horror as he approached his little silver Audi convertible. Part of me wanted to flip him the finger, but I wouldn't have dared. I did give him that Don't Mess With Me I Have Had a Fucking Horrendous Day Glare. And the light turned red. And I didn't give a damn. I kept on singing... and then I sped off just like any preppy chic with ghetto tendencies would do!
My need to run was getting stronger. I needed to somehow direct this energy. I could feel myself tensing up and getting angry. Really angry. And I had the Mean Reds. And I knew just how Holly felt and what she meant... because this rage was indeed the Mean Reds.
Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Soon I was near home and near school. I had to switch gears and emotions fast. As of yesterday morning I had only confided in one friend. And my children certainly know nothing. And somehow I distracted myself out of my rage and my forced my normal happy self to return.
I've become obsessed with boobs. I wonder if this is normal? Seriously, I have been checking everyone's out! And of course I can't stop checking mine out. Seriously, I should just walk around topless attached to a mirror for crying out loud! Every time I change I feel the need to stare at them. And once, I even just took my shirt off to take a look! These two appendages that I have carried with me for all these years seem so new to me. Is it normal to want to touch them?
Other than in the shower I have never really touched my breasts. Not really how I got my thrills! But suddenly everything about them is mysterious and fascinating and new. They are amazingly soft and tender. I can't feel the lump in question as it is too deep but I do feel the cysts and the dense tissue. Suddenly I am in awe. They will no longer be put to use in the manner for which they were created as I am done having children, but I don't really want to say goodbye to them either. Today I did something I don't do. I put on a very form fitting shirt. I'm no longer going to hide them. It's high time I flaunt them!
I've done a great deal of soul searching these past few days. And a great deal of research. Yes I have used the Internet which is normally not the wisest thing to do, but I have learned that in most cases these lumps and bumps are nothing to worry about. I'm doing all the right things as are the doctors working with me. This new optimism is refreshing.
This morning I was referred to a general surgeon and an appointment was made for Tuesday morning. I then decided to call a friend who is a highly respected doctor at Greenwich Hospital and told him of my ordeal. He urged me to seek someone else instead, the woman in charge of the Breast Center at Greenwich Hospital. She does not do general surgery as she is a breast surgery specialist. I was then told to use him as my reference and recommendation. I am so grateful to have friends in high places. I tried calling the breast surgeon's office but it was closed for the weekend. Luckily they are open early on Monday morning and I will schedule a meeting with her then. I'm pretty certain that this will involve a biopsy of some sort as the area in question is rather deep. Admittedly, fearful of needles, I am not looking forward to this. But knowing that we are moving quickly and proactively has put my mind at ease. I still need to schedule an MRI. And so that is where we stand at the moment.
Once again, I am immensely humbled, touched and overwhelmed by your comments, emails and messages of hope, prayer and kind, sage words. Thank you!
And I shouted, er screamed along...
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
this could be heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...
Welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel california
Any time of year,
you can find it here....
I didn't feel 40... I didn't feel like someone who had "failed" a mammogram, but instantly I was transported back in time. I was in college with one of my best friends... Laura and I were singing in our dorm room... It felt good and cathartic. I made no excuses nor apologies. Nor did I roll up my windows as my expensive gas guzzler and I soared through the streets. When the song ended I had to take several deep breaths. I needed to run. To really run. To run so hard I could feel the pavement below radiate from the bottom of my feet to my core. I could have run for hours and hours and hours last night. I haven't run in years. But I couldn't run. I had to head back home. Shakira then came on ... her Hips Don't Lie. And this time I was singing along to the sultry Latin singing sensation. There was a gentleman standing outside the food store on the corner of the Post Road and Mansfield Avenue. He looked at me in horror as he approached his little silver Audi convertible. Part of me wanted to flip him the finger, but I wouldn't have dared. I did give him that Don't Mess With Me I Have Had a Fucking Horrendous Day Glare. And the light turned red. And I didn't give a damn. I kept on singing... and then I sped off just like any preppy chic with ghetto tendencies would do!
My need to run was getting stronger. I needed to somehow direct this energy. I could feel myself tensing up and getting angry. Really angry. And I had the Mean Reds. And I knew just how Holly felt and what she meant... because this rage was indeed the Mean Reds.
Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat, and maybe it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid, and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Soon I was near home and near school. I had to switch gears and emotions fast. As of yesterday morning I had only confided in one friend. And my children certainly know nothing. And somehow I distracted myself out of my rage and my forced my normal happy self to return.
I've become obsessed with boobs. I wonder if this is normal? Seriously, I have been checking everyone's out! And of course I can't stop checking mine out. Seriously, I should just walk around topless attached to a mirror for crying out loud! Every time I change I feel the need to stare at them. And once, I even just took my shirt off to take a look! These two appendages that I have carried with me for all these years seem so new to me. Is it normal to want to touch them?
Other than in the shower I have never really touched my breasts. Not really how I got my thrills! But suddenly everything about them is mysterious and fascinating and new. They are amazingly soft and tender. I can't feel the lump in question as it is too deep but I do feel the cysts and the dense tissue. Suddenly I am in awe. They will no longer be put to use in the manner for which they were created as I am done having children, but I don't really want to say goodbye to them either. Today I did something I don't do. I put on a very form fitting shirt. I'm no longer going to hide them. It's high time I flaunt them!
I've done a great deal of soul searching these past few days. And a great deal of research. Yes I have used the Internet which is normally not the wisest thing to do, but I have learned that in most cases these lumps and bumps are nothing to worry about. I'm doing all the right things as are the doctors working with me. This new optimism is refreshing.
This morning I was referred to a general surgeon and an appointment was made for Tuesday morning. I then decided to call a friend who is a highly respected doctor at Greenwich Hospital and told him of my ordeal. He urged me to seek someone else instead, the woman in charge of the Breast Center at Greenwich Hospital. She does not do general surgery as she is a breast surgery specialist. I was then told to use him as my reference and recommendation. I am so grateful to have friends in high places. I tried calling the breast surgeon's office but it was closed for the weekend. Luckily they are open early on Monday morning and I will schedule a meeting with her then. I'm pretty certain that this will involve a biopsy of some sort as the area in question is rather deep. Admittedly, fearful of needles, I am not looking forward to this. But knowing that we are moving quickly and proactively has put my mind at ease. I still need to schedule an MRI. And so that is where we stand at the moment.
Once again, I am immensely humbled, touched and overwhelmed by your comments, emails and messages of hope, prayer and kind, sage words. Thank you!