2021 was a strange year for the world at large, and also for me personally – for non-Covid related reasons. We are nearing the end of the second month of 2022 and I am still daily processing everything that has happened since 08 December 2020. I’m on the other side of one of the biggest personal mountains I have ever had to climb. The events and effects of which will stick with me for years to come, I’m sure.
Being an accountant means that numbers are my ‘thing’. Numbers are probably the easiest way for me to make sense of a situation, whether in terms of time, or money, or quantity. And, there is an inexplicable sense of warmth and fuzziness that takes me over when a set of financial statements or a spreadsheet is complete and balanced… So naturally, after the craziness that was the last 14 months, there are still a lot of unprocessed ‘numbers’ floating around my mind.
The concept of ‘gains’ or ‘losses’ in accounting terms are fairly black and white and calculable (for the most part anyway). As the new year rolled on in and the final stretch of my recovery reached a sort of end-point, I began reflecting on everything that happened in terms of ‘gains’ or ‘losses’. These are much more grey than they appear in the finance sections and some of which are in no way numerically quantifiable – more subjective, I guess. But irrespective of what the concepts are called, I have certain ‘losses’ that I want to process and file away under experiences-that-changed-me-for-the-better part of my heart. And on the other side of the spectrum, there are ‘gains’ I want to continue to grow in self-awareness or just spread awareness that someone else can learn from my experience without necessarily having to experience it.
LOSSES
345 days – how long I had my ileostomy
I did not have a lot of time to prepare for life with an ileostomy, and honestly, even if I had I doubt it any kind of preparation would have improved or changed the experience. It was something I had vaguely been aware of could happen, but kind of lived in denial until I woke up with it.
It was a hard transition, specifically after being discharged. In the hospital it felt more manageable as there were lots of amazing medical professionals who lent a helping hand – a much bigger one than I had realised until I got home.
It was a lot to cope with and get used to especially while a large portion of my abdomen was still healing internally as well. I was still sore, grieving and incredibly tired – not at all in a good mental space to deal with how drastically it had changed everything. It changed what and when I ate, what I wore and how I slept, especially at home when it was all up to me.
Instead of befriending it and getting used to it, I became obsessively aware of it at all times, not because it was sore. It was like I had a new, and very demanding, limb that could betray me at any moment. The longer I had it the more I dreaded leaving the house and the more put off I became by certain foods. I was not the most graceful of ostomates (that is a post for another day) as I allowed it to keep me from doing this I wanted to do or normally enjoyed.
I was, am and will always be grateful for what I learnt from the experience, but I am hoping and praying that I never have to go back there…
45 cm – the length of visible scar tissue
From the two long incisions to all the little holes where I was tubed and needled, my body will be marked until the day I die. I’ve never felt like I was particularly beautiful by society’s standards, and with that I have always been fine for the most part. I was not confident, but I was content with how I was created. The undue pressure put on women, or anyone for that matter, to look ‘perfect’ every second of every day has always broken my heart, as it can unnecessarily rob someone of their happiness and uniqueness.
Remembering what my body used to look and feel like in comparison with what it looks and feels like now leaves me insecure and vulnerable in a way that I never was before. Surgeries and treatments don’t really come with a reset button. I want to hide and cover up, even when I know that if it weren’t for the instruments or hands that made those scars, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of this darn mirror in the first place.
GAINS
Awe at wonderfully the body is made
There is no question in my mind that the human body (or any living body for that matter) is something to marvel at. There are a multitude of different systems and cells big and small that work together in perfect harmony that keeps us alive and functioning. Where there is an injury the body will heal. Where something is lacking the body starts to compensate for it.
Recovering from multiple surgeries and from 6 weeks of radiation was super hard. There were moments when I felt like my body couldn’t take anymore pain or discomfort, but somehow it did. And other moments when it felt like it was never going to get better, but then one day it did.
And, all of that is no thanks to me in any way. I did not create my body nor do I even control what goes on inside of it. I have merely been entrusted to look after it. I will strive to do so as best I can.
Awareness of resilience
I’ve not really been an ‘athletic’ person since I did gymnastics when I was like 10 or 11. When we moved towns I shelved any gymnastics dreams I may have had at that stage and haven’t really found any other sport that I took so much pleasure in. I have done some things casually over the course of my life – tennis, running, MMA, yoga. But I have not really prioritised putting as much energy into my physical being as I do my mind.
It took being diagnosed with cancer and going through a heck of a recovery journey for me to understand the unmatched determination that goes into the work that athletes do. Only now do I understand that resilience is a skill learned, and not a natural talent. It takes an unfathomable amount of inner drive to continue to put one’s body through what feels like endless beatings – whether that is pushing to walk a little farther each day or quite literal ‘conditioning’ kicks to the abs.
I will never forget the incredible sense of triumph I felt just walking a few steps after being too weak to do so only a couple of days after surgery. It was slow steps with lots of support in the beginning, and now a year later it doesn’t feel or look like I had that battle to start with.
50 cm – current length of my hair
I have always wanted to donate my hair so that they can make a wig out of it for someone who may have lost their own due to cancer. It has been a dream, not so much a goal until I found out I had cancer. It was a big worry (which sounds incredibly superficial) that I was going to lose my hair. I have always looked after my hair as best as I could – not using too much heat, etc. Although I did wash it everyday which is not the best. Thankfully, my treatment process didn’t call for anything that was going to make me lose my own hair, that just cemented the ‘dream’ into a ‘goal’ to do this one seemingly small thing for someone else. It won’t change their journey or lessen their suffering, but it is a little positive that could make them feel a bit better when they look in the mirror.
Because of what my hair could potentially mean to a stranger, I am taking extra care in looking after it. As I was fortunate enough to be able to stay home (and not see anyone other than hubby and furbaby for days on end) I was presented with the golden opportunity to start training my hair to go without having to wash it everyday. I have gone from once a day to two / three times a week. I want to let it grow out for another 6 months or so before chopping it off.
Shattered Warrior 