Taking a really good look

"You look great."

You. Look. Great. A very, very sweet compliment I have been receiving from people at church, friends, family. Because compliments in general make me twitchy, I usually squeak out something like, "oh, thanks" or "I try" or I just chuckle, blush, and mutter something incoherent. 

I'll admit it, I do look pretty good for just having had major surgery. I'm maintaining my weight, my new haircut is working well, I'm dressing more comfortably, if not a tad slouchy, and that feels good. But. There's always a "but" with me. 

When I had the remaining drain taken out last Thursday, it was my expectation that the nurse would remove the steri strips at the same time. These are like "paper stitches" that were covering the incision, from my sternum all the way into my arm pit. The actual sutures are inside. Sort of a blind stitch I guess.

"I am happy to take these off," she told me, "but it's actually easier to do after a warm shower." Well, that made sense. One strip literally fell off after a few showers. It didn't seem to be one that was totally necessary. Others were peeling and barely hanging on. She said that dry as they were then it would tug on the incision site. Shudder. "I love that plan. Tomorrow is a shower day, I'll just do it then." So it was settled. 

I had looked, of course by then I had looked. Every morning I looked, shower day or not, re-wrapping the ace bandage and getting dressed. But, it was like that part wasn't really me. Here's my hair, my face, my arms and legs, hands, toes in need of a pedicure in the worst way, but that general area seemed completely detached from me. It is weird admitting this now, but those little white strips provided just enough coverage that I could avoid thinking about what was underneath, and just think that part was not me. Not now. 

The nurse was right, of course. The shower loosened the strips enough. I did have to sort of pull, but it didn't hurt. Then the strips were gone. Now it's all exposed. Now I have to look, and really see, me. And what is there, and not there. It's startling. Alien. No, it's not the same as losing a limb. Or an eye. I can still walk, brush my teeth, read a book. I can function exactly the same with one breast as I could with two. But, it was a part of me and now it's gone. Really gone.

I confess: yesterday I felt very sorry for myself. I cried, and whined, and thought why me. I'm human. But this morning in my prayers before Mass I thought about how no one gets out of here without hurt and pain of some sort. It's just part of the program. (Babies cry, after all.) I thought about every one in church this morning. All their sorrows, concerns, problems. And all the people praying for me and reading this blog, same thing. It brought me to tears. All of us just want peace. And that doesn't come from us. It doesn't come from physical health. It doesn't come from looking good. It comes from looking for God. 

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith." Hebrews 12:1-2 (emphasis, mine).