I am two weeks out of surgery, and I am here to tell you I feel shockingly good. I’m almost afraid to say it, like I need to knock on wood. But of course there will eventually be more hard days, whether I revel in the fact of my healing or not. So I’m here to revel a little.

Physically, I feel shockingly good. I almost have to tie my left arm down at times to remember that I am not supposed to lift any weight or strain – which includes things like opening tight lids on jars or rolling Lucas over in bed – for two to four more weeks. When I found out I had cancer, the small me was mad about all the times I’d made healthy choices in my life. To what end!?!? Just to end up with cancer?!? (A more grown up part of me answered back: there are truly no drugs/meat/toxins I actually miss in my life. And I LIKE exercise. Come on now.)

But now that I feel so physically good, I am celebrating my overall health. My god, how lucky I am to be ten days out, now 15 days out of this major surgery and feel so good? Like, walking one or two miles last week, five today. Like, if I didn’t have a scar that hurts when I move too quickly, I’d be back to running. Bodies are amazing.

Even more miraculously, I am doing well emotionally. I couldn’t write this last week because I thought, maybe I’m in denial. Maybe the waves of grief are still there, below the surface. But for now, the void on my left side feels surprisingly right. Like, maybe I am fine being shaped this way. Sometimes, when I close my eyes and feel my new chest, I feel not a lack but a clearing. Like a layer that separated me from the world is gone. (I have so many unanswerable questions. Like, am I feeling my heart now closer to the surface? Maybe a more real me can emerge? Has the essential me felt buried under all this body? Or am I doing mental gymnastics to adjust to this body so adeptly I don’t even see myself doing the tricks?)

I felt so much fear and grief at the fact of losing part of my body. I was so sure that the “me” in that body shape – the me with two breasts, the me in my body that is inseparable from my heart and mind – was the only way I knew how to be fully me. I grieved because I was sure that I would be fundamentally altered, the essence of me changed, by the amputation. And sometimes that does feel true. I am physically and psychically altered. Except that also, the grief mostly is gone and a profound surrender has taken its place. Like the grief was a giant wave, but the surrender is the whole ocean. I am feeling fine with this new version of me. At least for today.

You might ask, what about the self that wailed? By the calendar, that was so recent. But I feel myself living in another kind of time right now. Kairos time. Deep time. Like existential time, time that wrinkles, in quantum time where one particle can be in two places at once. I honor the part of me that was afraid, that would love that old, known body back. Some days, though, especially in this suspended sort of magical time, I can hold it all: the missing my two-breasted body and the glorious inhabiting of this new one.

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I am writing this in the first person, as if I’ve done the healing, but really, I am so clear that this has been a collective effort. Some days, when I open the door to receive a meal delivery, I think I should feign a limp or something to look more like I need the food. (not really, but you know.) I still need so much more rest than before, so the meal deliveries make a big difference physically. Burke is a good cook, but right now I can’t do much for Lucas so Burke is on all of the physical Lucas care. And also, it feels like yet another reminder that I/we can let ourselves be nourished and cared for. I am healing because so many people are caring for us. I am still so, so moved.

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I wrote most of this before my appointment yesterday. Then, I met with my surgeon, and her admiration of her work on my body helped boost my confidence. She thinks her work to create my half flat chest looks amazing. She is very confident she probably got all the cancer out. There was 0.8cm growth in one lymph node. That is small, she says. There was none in the second. (Apparently, in this pathology/study of the lymph nodes, they can find even one cancerous cell! I met someone who had ONE breast cancer cell in a lymph node.) So in my case, zero breast cancer cells in the second node is good. I still have questions. Like, could there be another cell that slipped past the second lymph node and is still out there? This is the guess work of oncologists, I think. I will have another appointment with her in a couple weeks. Either way, it feels good to have a surgeon stare at your pretty massive, tender scars and admire your body. And it feels good to hear there is a good chance all the cancer has been removed.

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As a bonus for reading this far — a recommendation. A revelation. My friend Sha came to help/visit this weekend, and it was so good to have him here. And it was a beautiful weekend, so we made multiple family trips to the lake. (Of course, Burke jumped in both times.) On Sunday afternoon, after the lake dip, Ida suggested we go get ice cream. Burke and I thought, we’ve had so many treats recently… But Ida suggested it by shouting, “Who wants ice cream?!?”and Sha shot his hand in the air. I wanted coffee, so we headed to the new, fancy coffee shop near us that also has soft serve ice cream. Anyway, here is the revelation. Espresso is so good. Ice cream is so good. Together, they are affogato, which is possibly the best thing I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Which is even better than the sum of its parts, as they say. Thank you Ida and Sha, for enabling me to taste my new favorite treat!

Saturday roll around Seward Park with Sha.

Ida asks, “Who wants ice cream?”