Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Who Is The Unfairest Of Them All?

It's been three weeks since my visit to the O.R. and, I'm not going to lie, the road to recovery has been a lot bumpier than I had anticipated. Let's just say that the combination of my oncological surgeon having to perform an "aggressive" mastectomy followed by my plastic surgeon having to do some clever "manipulating" in order to implant the turtle shell, I mean, tissue expander under my reconstructed breast doesn't make for a great combination. But, no surprise there, the removal of any body part, essential or not, is going to cause aches and pains. That's what pain medications are for...lots and lots of really good pain medications. Although, it wasn't the physical pain that was causing the set back in my recovery, it was the mental anguish. Which, unfortunately, there is no amount of Dilaudid to ease that kind of pain.

A few days after surgery, I was getting out of the shower when I caught a glimpse of the woman looking back at me through the foggy bathroom mirror. I wiped the condensation to get a better look and...

...AAAAAHHHHH!!!! Who is that woman who snuck into my bathroom and overtook my reflection? Sure, we speak the same, have the same brown eyes and the same freckle on the tip of our nose but the person staring back at me is certainly no one that I know.

The first thing that came to mind was the famous question from the classic fairy tale, Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs. Only this time the question wasn't being asked to seek the answer to who is the fairest of them all, but the unfairest.

Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the unfairest of them all?
"Thou, O Lisa, art the unfairest of them all."

No kidding. And, unfair is being generous more like hideous. I couldn't take my eyes off of the image staring back at me. For a brief moment, I tried to take comfort in the words that have always provided ease during one of cancer's perilous blows, "It's only temporary." Only this time, that wasn't the case...that boob is never growing back. I could feel my eyes starting to well with tears. I thought to myself, "Keep it together. Whatever you do, do not cry. Do NOT...." Too late I could no longer hold back the tears as I grabbed my chest certain that my stitches were going to burst open from my sobbing.

I know what you must be thinking, pathetic, right? After all the miseries that I have withstood these past months and this is what brings me to my knees -- vanity. I don't know if it was the shock of the railroad track incision that replaced the spot where my right breast once resided or the exhaustion of dismissing the mental strife that I was experiencing from the procedure but the words of warning from my plastic surgeon no longer provided comfort in the reality of the moment -- "Just remember, don't freak out after surgery. Reconstruction is a process that will take place over the course of several months - you have to be patient." Well, my patience had run out and I was definitely freaking.

After a few more minutes of crying and cursing God for allowing this insidious disease to take one more thing from me, I finally lifted myself off the floor, dried off and manipulated my way into one of my husband's shirts...loose garments are key to post-op recovery.

Later that evening when my husband got home from work, he handed me a package that came in the mail from one of my dearest friends. Here is the little gem that was inside:

Amen to that. Here I am breaking down like a beauty pageant contestant who lost her chance of winning the crown due to tripping on stage in her six inch heels sending her falsies and hair piece flying into the face of one of the judges. Well, this latest physical change to my body has nothing to do with winning a beauty pageant, and everything to do with ridding my body of a serious disease. A disease that is looking to claim more than just a breast...a disease that is looking to claim my life. Go ahead, take my breast -- it's a small sacrifice to make for the gift that I get in return, my beautiful life with my beautiful husband and children.

One week after the melt down, I was brushing my teeth when my eyes lingered on the woman looking back at me in the mirror. Instead of noting the usual pre-cancer criticisms, like it's time to slather some Olay Regenerist on those small creases gathering in the center of my forehead or pull out one of the Crest Whitestrips to brighten that dull smile, I made just one observation - "Lisa, you are beautiful." Sure, I'm not waiting for a call from Disney begging to cast me as one of their "fairest" princesses. But, for the first time, in a long, long time, I like -- no, love -- the woman looking back at me. Not because of the brows and lashes that have finally started to fill in but for the beauty that radiates from within. The beauty that comes from knowing that from this point forward a healthier woman continues to emerge. Wounded? Sure. But no longer sick. I told you, cancer, that you didn't stand a chance.