Hello, Failure

Of all the enemies of literature, success is the most insidious

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Failure of the Day: Not Even About Escrow

The surgery went well and easy: no pain and less memory—I recall maybe a total of four minutes of all of Friday. That Ativan is serious business.

The doctor was good to his word and showed me the mass he removed—that part I remember. It was the size and shape of a button on a very fancy little girl’s winter coat. More importantly, it is not malignant; the doc called the following Wednesday to tell me about PASH (pseudoangiomatous stromal hyperplasia), which is a lot of syllables to say fibrous lump that grows for reason we don’t understand. So yay! Another weird and rare disease that is NOT cancer, and 2 more inches of surgical scar to add to my collection. That’s 31 inches total on my torso, for those of you playing at home.

It was an interesting intellectual exercise for me, though. I would not have been sad to see my breasts ectomied clean off, and that’s a complicated thought process: is wishing for breastlessness the same as wishing for a cancer diagnosis? It took me several long days to sift out my serious desire to NOT have cancer from how tired I am of having boobs. But once I had found the distinction, I was surprised by how strong my desire for it not to be cancer was, and then I was surprised by my surprise. So I suppose we’re right back where we started: a weird girl, a weird body, and way too much thinking about both. But a happy ending, at least.


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