After almost six years of publishing great lines here, I decided I’ve earned the right to offer my readers three great lines together: “The thing you have to learn is to accept the changes when they come. Welcome them if you can. See what they bring to your life that wasn’t there before.”  

Joyce Maynard’s illuminating novel The Bird Hotel is about a young American woman suffering a tragedy who finds herself restoring and running a small hotel at the base of a volcano in Central America. For me, these great lines represented three steps I needed to take.

For my April post, I had a great line picked out from Marianne Cronin’s Eddie Winston is Looking for Love—“Anger is the jacket that fear wears to keep from shaking.” I love the image the words invoke, and how in its message I could view an angry person in a new way. But in mid-April, an abnormal mammogram, ultrasound, MRI and biopsy had me headed for a bilateral mastectomy, and I haven’t had the energy to write one word.

I read The Bird Hotel about two weeks after my surgery. Now, three months later, as I struggle to accept the change in my body and prepare for another surgery, I’m ready to reflect on what these lines mean to me.

Step One: Accept the changes when they come.

After a colon cancer diagnosis and surgery less than three years ago, I never imagined I’d be in a breast surgical oncologist’s office with a rare diagnosis of pleomorphic lobular carcinoma in situ (PLCIS). “You do not have cancer,” she said, “but we treat it like stage zero cancer. Your choices are lumpectomy, radiation, cancer drugs, lifetime monitoring or a bilateral mastectomy.”  

I cried a lot. I had not been prepared to hear the words, “bilateral mastectomy.” That’s major surgery, and I’m a nervous patient, always have been. I sometimes faint before they take my blood, and I get uncontrolled shakes for any procedure. Before the blessed anesthesia comes, I nearly flop off the gurney in fear. I’ve also never embraced choices or change. I’ve lived in the same state my whole life. I don’t like travel or new things. I study menus before going to restaurants. I shop exclusively on Amazon if I can, because their simple return policy eases the pain of making decisions. And those aren’t even life altering choices. So, what could help me “accept the change” and decide?

Information and Support.

I scoured the internet and studied my condition (not always the best idea). I met with a radiologist oncologist and a medical oncologist. I spoke with friends and family. I got a second opinion from another breast surgical oncologist. I cried some more.  

I had to hear the same advice twice before it made sense to me. Once from the oncologist and once from my brother. “There is no wrong decision.” Other than doing nothing, neither choice was right or wrong for my diagnosis. I just needed to decide what was right for me. How do I do that?!

Step Two: Welcome the changes if you can.

I would never find surgery “welcome,” but searching for a way to welcome the change helped me make my decision. Anyone close to me has heard me complain about my DDD breasts. For years, it’s been almost impossible to find bathing suits, and I was on a never-ending quest to find comfortable bras. Clothes shopping became a loathsome chore as the tops and dresses I wanted to wear never fit right. My body had changed, and I wasn’t comfortable in it.

I imagined not wearing a bra and giving my aching neck and bra-strap indented shoulders a rest. Images of spaghetti-strapped flowy sundresses tantalized me. Choosing my cup size is a tremendous challenge, but I have a new strapless flowery hippy-type dress hanging in my closet to motivate me. I’ve been a petite woman with big boobs my whole life and now, I’m ready to welcome a change. With my surgeon continually hinting I should be content to be half the size I was three months ago, I brought my daughter to my last appointment to forcefully remind me I want to be smaller. I want to feel lighter and wear things I haven’t felt comfortable in since I had children, so yes, smaller, please!  

Step Three: See what the changes bring to your life that wasn’t there before.

Getting to Choose

After two cancer surgeries in less than three years, is it possible to feel a new sense of gratefulness? Absolutely, and for so many things.

I got to make choices. Many people don’t. I don’t know how many people get two stage zero cancer diagnoses, but I felt lucky when my colon cancer pathology came back with no further treatment required. And now, with a similar report—no chemotherapy, no radiation, no cancer drugs, and new smaller, perkier boobs—I feel grateful. Although my body does not yet feel like mine again and I’ve had a long, uncomfortable summer, I am quite cognizant of the changes brought to my life, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to survive.

Accepting Support

I also revel in the reminder of the immense value of family and friends. Last time, I recovered from surgery in the area I’d lived for most of my life. I had an amazing group of friends ready to help with anything we needed, even when I hesitated to ask. Now, I live in a new area, but the few friends I’ve made are reliable and generous (my neighbor is going to dog sit our seven-month-old wild puppy next week so we don’t have to board her, and my husband can be with me pre- and post-surgery).

My parents, well into their eighties, welcomed me into their home for twelve days after my last surgery (I couldn’t be around our new puppy). My sister flew in, and they all took care of me so perfectly, emotionally and physically, that I can’t write this without thankful tears slipping down my cheeks. My son took care of our new puppy (and my husband) while I recovered. My daughter accompanied me to doctor’s appointments with a strength and grace I was proud to witness. Lastly, there is my husband, who loved, loved, loved my DDD’s. I struggled with the mastectomy decision and worried about what my body would feel like for both of us. Without hesitation, my husband told me, “The only body part I’m with you for is your heart.” Yeah, I’m a lucky girl.

When life doesn’t go the way we expect it to, and it often doesn’t, it helps to be reminded of the support we have and need.

A New Way to Give

I’ve also discovered a new way to contribute something meaningful to the world. Since losing my job in 2020, outside of caring for my family, I’ve struggled to find meaning in my life. Especially since we moved to a new area, it hasn’t been easy to find my way. I’ve been volunteering at the library, and my essay coaching venture has been extremely rewarding, but I welcome more activities to bolster my self-worth.

As I lay in my hospital bed post-surgery, a volunteer offered me two hand-sewn donated mastectomy pillows. Heart shaped to fit perfectly under each arm, they were invaluable during my recovery. I knew then I’d found a new way to give of myself. I’ve made and donated fifteen so far (I even improved the design by adding pockets for ice packs) and I’ve set a goal of one hundred. They’re not perfect, but I love knowing that someone may find them as useful as I did.

Unlike my colon cancer post, which I shared to encourage people to get colonoscopies, I don’t write this to encourage anyone to make the same choices about breast health that I did. I write this to share the power I gained in being my own health advocate. I researched, evaluated, and made the best choice for me so I could take charge of the future I wanted—and that’s empowering.

Thanks, Joyce Maynard, these are three great lines.

If you’d like to read more about The Bird Hotel click here.

If you’d like to read about me, click here.