The Lights of an Operating Room
Today I am grateful for a nice evening out with my boys and for the blessings of life that come daily.
Today is the ninth anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy and it calls to mind the memory of operating room lights. Or lack of memory as the case may be.
Operating rooms have bright overhead lights like you don’t see anywhere else. It’s a good place for very efficient lighting because very important work is being done. Part of me would like the opportunity to be an awake observer in the OR, but for now the extent of my experience has been being the one who is getting most of the attention with none of the memory.
I have had four surgeries and two surgical procedures that have had me either being wheeled into the OR or walking there myself. Those overhead lights have been my last recollection most of my pre-op trips.
Nine years ago, December 17 was a Wednesday. It was the third surgery to address the cancer in my right breast. It could be said the first two surgeries failed because there was cancer left behind, namely some elusive DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). I look at it this way: those first two surgeries provided me the information and the circumstances that led me to this third surgery.
It wasn't an easy decision, but it is one I have not regretted. Years have passed, memories fade a little, but the feelings rise quickly when I think about this date and the strange vacancy I felt for months post-surgery.
This post titled Grief from 2014 and this one from 2015 titled Not Less of a Woman, Just a Woman Less Her Breasts share some more of my emotions about having my breasts removed. This post from my first year of blogging also includes two poems about the loss and healing that took place then and continue in ways to this day.
Yes, loss and grief and healing are part of this experience. Significant parts. Today, and every day, another significant emotion is gratefulness. I am here, alive and well. Tens of thousands have died of breast cancer since the day my breasts were removed. Today is a gift. Being healthy is a gift beyond measure.
The lights of operating rooms and the light of a new day dawning. They are both lights I appreciate today.
Today is the ninth anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy and it calls to mind the memory of operating room lights. Or lack of memory as the case may be.
Operating rooms have bright overhead lights like you don’t see anywhere else. It’s a good place for very efficient lighting because very important work is being done. Part of me would like the opportunity to be an awake observer in the OR, but for now the extent of my experience has been being the one who is getting most of the attention with none of the memory.
I have had four surgeries and two surgical procedures that have had me either being wheeled into the OR or walking there myself. Those overhead lights have been my last recollection most of my pre-op trips.
Nine years ago, December 17 was a Wednesday. It was the third surgery to address the cancer in my right breast. It could be said the first two surgeries failed because there was cancer left behind, namely some elusive DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). I look at it this way: those first two surgeries provided me the information and the circumstances that led me to this third surgery.
It wasn't an easy decision, but it is one I have not regretted. Years have passed, memories fade a little, but the feelings rise quickly when I think about this date and the strange vacancy I felt for months post-surgery.
This post titled Grief from 2014 and this one from 2015 titled Not Less of a Woman, Just a Woman Less Her Breasts share some more of my emotions about having my breasts removed. This post from my first year of blogging also includes two poems about the loss and healing that took place then and continue in ways to this day.
Yes, loss and grief and healing are part of this experience. Significant parts. Today, and every day, another significant emotion is gratefulness. I am here, alive and well. Tens of thousands have died of breast cancer since the day my breasts were removed. Today is a gift. Being healthy is a gift beyond measure.
The lights of operating rooms and the light of a new day dawning. They are both lights I appreciate today.
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