Confessions

So I thought I was getting off fairly light in terms of emotional fall out from the trauma of the past year. I thought I was just going to move on with my life like nothing happened once the treatment and reconstruction was behind me. Just a bad memory, you know.

Silly me.

I'm starting to realize just how angry I really am that this happened to me. Maybe its cumulative...maybe its anger piled on top of anger from my various life traumas, not just cancer. Maybe, I dunno. 

I do know I'm pissed. I recognized that fully this week when speaking with a therapist. It was our first meeting. As I told my tale of woe I realized I was spewing an awful lot of venom at the plastic surgeon, who suggested a few weeks ago that I might need to see someone. He was concerned that I cry like a baby every time I'm in his office. I assured him that I don't cry like that on a regular basis. He is special - he gets a bird's eye view of my meltdowns.

I like my plastic surgeon. Or at least I thought I did. His constant parade of vain self-absorbed patients who see him for face lifts, butt lifts, and bigger boobs really annoy me. His vanity patients, I call them. I'm different from them. Not only do I not give a rip about where my butt sits on my behind, but I've been too wrapped up in not dying for the past year to worry about any wrinkles that might be gathering under my eyes. Who cares about a few frown lines when you don't even have hair?

Everyone who works in his office from his receptionist to his nurse is drop dead gorgeous. I guess it's a PR thing. They are all very nice, but what does a 20-something with big brown eyes, perky boobs and killer legs know about life?? They don't know shit.

Then there's his condescending attitude when I gripe about how much the expanders hurt or how I can't sleep because of them. The last time I told him I wasn't sleeping well, he suggested I see my family doctor. I just cocked my head and asked why I should see yet another doctor to fix something he (the plastic surgeon) is causing? That seemed so stupid to me.

The final straw was when he looked me close in the eye and said "I think you're depressed". Really? Is that your professional opinion? Or are you just sick of having to deal with my tears every single time you see me? Are you pawning me off on someone else? Again?

The Cancer Center was very good at always making sure I knew what to expect. Or not expect. They made sure I was informed and they acted immediately when I called to complain about one thing or the other. They paid attention and responded. My oncologist looks at me when I talk to her. Unlike the plastic surgeon, who is probably too wrapped up in the beauty he is surrounded by to really listen to the woman with no boobs. 

Or maybe that beauty intimidates me. I have more scars than most at this point. I'm tired and my hair is grey. Maybe that's what I'm really pissed about....