The path.

It has been a while since I blogged. And it has just become clear to me that the desire to write often comes after some dark moments when the need to reach the surface (and the light) again becomes unbearable...

Truth be told, the scars from my January mastectomy are feeling not only physically healed, but also were emotionally softened during my solo road trip to California in June. Over the 500 miles, I felt myself driving further and further away from the pain and loneliness that comes from a cancer diagnosis. In my case, a second breast cancer diagnosis (November 2024). This bucket list trip was all about connection and healing. I aptly named the trip my "F-Cancer Road Trip". The bond that I felt with my friends, my cousins, and the beautiful landscapes along the path filled my cup to absolute overflowing. I hugged redwoods, climbed mountains, swam in icy waterfalls, put my feet in the cold Pacific, and laughed until I cried with some complete strangers. I was on a high that can barely be described in words. In fact, that may be why I was too intimidated to blog about it. I told myself that I just wanted live it. I didn't need to write about it. I didn't want the pressure. It could all just be for me...

Cedar Creek Falls, San Diego

Shortly after returning, reality came crashing down with one phone call. 

The nurse from my dermatologist office had a softness and empathy in her voice that sent alarm bells ringing through my entire body. It was news from the biopsy that was taken the week prior. Just one week after my road trip. The nurse, on the other end of the call, gently explained that I had squamous cell carcinoma on my face and would need to have Mohs surgery as soon as possible. She wasn’t kidding about the urgency, as she was magically able to schedule me two days later for surgery. Although I was relieved, it all happened so fast that my head was spinning. Thank god I already knew and trusted the plastic surgeon who would be conducting my surgery- she was part of my amazing female mastectomy team. However, I was not prepared for the pain of the surgery (if you haven’t received SIX injections of lidocaine right above your lip and under your nose, just trust me it HURTS). More importantly, I wasn’t prepared for the aftermath and the path forward.  

Thank God my nurse friend was with me to unbandage my mystery wound the next day. It would not have been good for me to do it alone. When I was finally alone, I had the courage to look in the mirror. All I could see was the dark, almost black, stitches intertwined with a dark brown clotting agent and some gruesome blood. I was NOT ready to process the 2 + inch incision that now led from the right side of my nose down to my lip. Nothing could’ve prepared me. 

Now, despite the shock of all of this, this wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was the opening of an old emotional wound that I thought had healed… With this new cancer diagnosis came an unwelcome permanent reminder in the form of a scar on the center of my face.  I had been branded this time by cancer. No clothing can hide this wound.

I know the scar will fade. I’m very aware of how the body can heal. 

But I also know the very complicated process of healing the internal wounds. The wounds that can be carefully covered up with a smile and an “I’m doing well. Thanks for asking.” 

The scar on my face feels like a metaphor for what cancer has done to me.  I literally cannot hide it anymore, although I try very hard with makeup every day. The symbolism is not lost on me, and so now I find myself on the intermible healing path again. The anger is real and raw. The “why me, AGAIN?" is a constant unwelcome internal voice that unrelentingly interrupts my thoughts.

And despite it all, I am aware of that this too shall pass. But not without a healthy dose of new pain and not without teaching me an unwanted lesson first.

I’m in the waiting stage. The moment right before I break the surface for a breath. 

Mercifully, I can see the light.