Weeks have passed

It has been a couple of weeks since my surgery. I’m healing from the wounds left when the surgeon went into me. He left several “holes” which must heal on the outside, and I suppose that the inside looks every bit as bad, it is just that I can’t see those wounds. It is very much a good analogy to how my family has dealt with this—the wounds on the inside are often much more difficult to detect.

For now, I deal with the comments from those who don’t know I’ve been on this journey, “Hey, how ya’ doin’?” that I don’t know how to answer; and to those who do know, “How are you, really?” I don’t know how to answer either.

I’ve decided on a universal answer: “I’m healing.” This is pretty true with everyone, cancer patients or not; wounds visible or not; no matter how we feel. We are all healing from something.

I went to work three weeks after the surgery. I only worked a few hours each day, but . . . I worked. As the doctor said, “you look absolutely fine when you are dressed. But you’ve just been through major surgery.” I’m supposed to remember that, in case I could forget. On the fourth week after surgery, I got up late every day and worked for 90% of the time.

Some people at work know that I was gone—some didn’t notice. Others have figured out through the grapevine that I’ve been through something. Some just know that I’ve been given some time off, and they think up a hundred reasons why I get time off, and they don’t. I don’t particularly feel the need to tell them. If they are close, they know. If they aren’t—they don’t really need the details.

Oh, the details! Cancer is something that everyone is curious about, but no one really wants to know the painful details.