I love caprioscas. I tend to unfortunately overdo the things I love. I felt a tad fragile today as a result. So today I am so grateful for the best toasted panini in the world, roasted vegetables, pesto and haloumi cheese, with gallons of freshly squeezed orange juice. I love the ladies at Alfresco in Doonan, they always remember us, they are always open and welcoming and because they made me feel human again.
I am very grateful for my torch. And for Mel for taking us camping so I have this torch. The lowlight in the kids loo has blown. I haven’t replaced it yet. It’s been over a week now. And no, it’s not because B is away, I replace the light bulbs even when he’s home. It’s one of our things. It’s because I bloody keep forgetting to buy a new light bulb. So, I’m grateful for the torch today because I forgot again and because the girls really don’t like a dark loo.
I couldn’t get warm today. I was so very grateful for the only warm spot I could find in my home.The winter sun streaming in to my kitchen. Believe it or not, I simply sat in that patch of warmth and had my morning coffee. Bliss.
I was recently asked if I was happy with my breasts. So, here’s the thing, my left breast was removed completely, nipple and areola too, and I had an autologous reconstruction , which is using my own flesh, via a latissimus dorsi flap, so part of my lat muscle and back skin was removed and whilst still attached moulded into a breast mound. They had to use my own flesh for various reasons but mostly because I had previously had radiation and a prosthesis does not very successfully adhere to radiated flesh. Because my cancer was close to the skin they took that too, so I also have some back skin on my breast. That was stage one. Stage two was to add a prosthesis as my new boob once healed was hardly a boob compared to my other one. Stage three was to add a nipple. Apparently the best flesh to use for a nipple is your vulva. Same silky feel. How fucking hilarious. No bloody way. Bad enough I have to lose my breast and my nipple which was very important to me as a woman, nudge nudge, but no fucking way were they going to fiddle with that part too. I like that part of me just as it is. I mean really, could you imagine knowingly walking around with your fanny on your boob? So instead they used the skin around my caesar scar, dipped it in tattoo dye to approximate my nipple and areola colour and shaped it to form a nipple. Actually for those of you who haven’t seen it it is quite amazing. I just feel absolutely nothing. In fact sometimes I’ll walk too close to a wall and wonder whats blocking me, and realise its my own boob. Oh and I know some women, in fact most women have hair that grows on the areola. Well, every now and agin I spot a hair, but it looks a tad short and curly to me. Giggle. Oh and I have another party trick … if I flex my lat, my boob responds. Finally my right boob has been surgically altered to match the left. A prosthesis added and the nipple moved in alignment. So, they look sort of similar bar the scars and those other little details already mentioned, they’re bigger than I’m used to, and one is completely numb, but I just love them. So, yes, I am happy with my breasts. Very happy.
I opened my computer midday today to be greeted by this little alert. I am grateful for cheeky little girls who know how much I love them. And who share my sense of humour. And who have their own gmail accounts so I could do exactly as she asked when she asked.
I’m trying to understand why women do it. Stay with men who abuse them. Physically or emotionally. Stay with men who repeatedly have affairs. It saddens me that perhaps its because they feel thats as good as it gets. That they are more fearful of being alone, of not deserving more, of not being financially sound, of what people might think, of shattering the illusion of happy families. It all just saddens me because it is just sad, when a persons hopes and beliefs about love and care and trust and respect are continually shattered. I do understand the need to protect and provide for our children, but accepting abuse is not doing that. No matter how much you love. Or are loved. It is teaching your son its ok to treat women in this way and teaching your daughters that they don’t deserve more. Imagine how much taking a stand might teach them. It will be sore and devastating and often financially debilitating but it has to be better. In ways you won’t know now but your children will one day thank you for. What saddens me most is all the excuses. It is simply not okay to abuse anyone. No-one gets to avoid taking responsibility. Everyone, everyone has a choice. Not to do it. And not to accept it.
I am grateful for tuesday evenings, no I lie, I have become grateful for tuesday evenings. Now I see it as my ‘mindful picking up balls meditation’. (I do try not to count.) There is something about quietly picking up tennis balls with a tube tennis picker upper (obviously) for an hour, that is calming and reflective. I love being the quiet observer. There but not there. Just for an hour. Now if I could only figure a way to make the girls actually enjoy tennis, but I am grateful that they do it for me. They will thank me one day. They will.
I felt really awkward this morning at gym. An older (well, older than me) australian lady was going off in a very judgemental and actually quite aggressive way about muslims in particular (said in a hushed tone), but then it became about anyone being ‘allowed’ to live in Australia, and how they should live according to the australian ways and customs and save any beliefs pertinent to their culture for their homes. Including their language. Apparently a french couple were talking to their french child in earshot of her at a school outing, at which point she felt it her moral right to reprimand them for not speaking to their child in English, the spoken Australian language, if this is the country they have chosen to live in. In amongst the ignorant rant, there actually were some issues definitely worthy of debate in terms of multiculturalism, if it is truly possible, and how to integrate yet respectfully retain one’s own culture in a new country. But there was no nuance with this lady. She was extremely dismissive of immigrants generally. I felt awkward because I am an immigrant. I assume because she was speaking so openly in front of me and attempting to include me in her conversation, that because I look similar to her and speak English, I’m ok. Seriously? I felt awkward because it just wasn’t the place to have this debate yet my silence and refusal to interact in the conversation in anyway may have implied acquiescence. I wish she was an isolated case. Why are people so fearful of difference. Not all people of different faiths or cultures are fundamentalist, extremists, and then, in my opinion, misguided and worthy of fear. Do some people honestly believe, really believe that if someone just looks different to them, speaks a different language to them, believes in a different god to them, or none at all, has less money than them, has more than them, they are not deserving of kindness. Of acceptance. They are not equal? Honestly. Do you?
When both our beautiful daughters were born I remember being overwhelmed, not only with love (and relief that it was all over), but also with gratitude that they were healthy. And still today, right now, this moment, I am so very grateful that my precious girls are healthy. I do know this is something most of us do take for granted and seldom even realise or even consider how grateful we should be for that reality. Every now and then something makes us stop and think and give thanks. Today it was the link I was given to a youtube clip of a wonderful brave young boy with cerebral palsy. What a beautiful boy and family, who bring joy and empathy and compassion to the fore in so many people. The wonderful image of his courage and tenacity hasn’t left me all day.
I am grateful for home. I love weekends away. But there is no place like home.
grace and dignity 