Pi and I

Today, the sun is strong and there is not a cloud to be found. I am on the deck, dressed in a wide brimmed hat and a loose fitting nightgown. It is more than just an unseasonably warm day, it is PI, a date that reflects an irrational number and corresponds with Albert Einstein and my husband's birthday.

This time last year we were numbed by images of Japans devastating Tsunami. The year before we were beaten by the wrath of a fierce nor-eastern storm. Hurricane strength winds toppled trees while a steady surge of rain caused town wide flooding. It was the worst recorded storm in Connecticut's history. 

But today, on this happy Pi day, I am focused on my healing.

Today... I feel as sleek as a salamander. I have always admired salamanders.

I remember how, as a young girl, I would spend endless hours in search of salamanders. They would hide in moist dirt shadowed by overgrown vegetation. I would focus on the bend and twist of tethered leaves - evidence of their scurry. I would dig for them with my bare hands. Dig deep below the surface. Dig past slugs and worms and disjointed roots.

I loved the look and feel of packed dirt beneath my nail beds. I still do.

I am thrilled with my new, sleek, salamander physic. Bra's, no longer a necessity, are an optional accessory.

I am that happy little girl again - frolicking in the simplicities of my youth.

Miss Pegged surprised me today with two flats of pansies that I bare-handedly and methodically intermingled with cascading shafts of ivy. Together they will flourish in the sun drenched copper planters that line our 5th floor balcony.

I ignore twinges of burning and tearing and throbbing, and instead, focus on the simple pleasures of digging into rich organic soil. Smiling as it, once again, nestles in my unpolished nail beds.

This greenery shields me from our neighbors across the river. It shields me like a salamander.  Here I can hide topless, or bottomless, or, I can simply rest.  Fully dressed.   

I am a far cry from the misery of last Saturday. Saturday was painful and pathetic.  Saturday was the day I read my post surgery instructions that included the 1-800-suicide hotline number.

I medicated myself all day Saturday and most of Sunday. Got high on valium and vicodin, hoping I'd wake just in time for Tuesday.  Tuesday (yesterday) was my first post-op doctors appointment.  Tuesday was the day they yanked the four drains that sank into the center and surrounding walls of my chest. Tuesday was the day I removed my surgical camisole and released the detachable mini jugs filled with sludge from the oozing wounds of my missing breasts.

Tuesday I was set free.

Today I enjoyed a super sleek me.

Tomorrow, I receive my full pathology report - a microscopic view of the dissection of three of my lymph nodes, both of my breasts, my nipples and my areola.  Even a section of "suspicious looking skin" from the under-fold of my right breast.  Tomorrow, I get a glimpse of what my future holds.

xo, MOnkeyME

I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious.  Albert Einstein