Caught up - and does size matter?

I'm caught up.  Really.  It's amazing.  I've been behind the 8 ball for so long now that I'm sure I've missed something major.  It's just such a miracle that I actually got everything done I intended to do today.  And I finally got everything done that I've been needing to get done at work since late November.  I know, it seems impossible.  And yet . . . well it seems to be true.  I may have passed a milestone today. Just 16 days back at work and I'm up and running again.

OK, now for the disclaimer you had to know was coming. Of course, to get caught up, I've been doing almost exclusively task work - operational things that were obviously not done and now are done.  In doing so, I've been skipping out on more important things like checking in with staff, colleagues, and friends and reading about all the "opportunities" HR tech analysts, consultants, and vendors send my way each day.

Now that I can breathe, I need to take stock and decide how I want to do this new role I have at work.  I need to consider how I want to do it long-term, not in this quick "do all the tasks" way, but in the "how can I make a difference" way and "what are the opportunities we shouldn't miss" way.

Despite the caveat about being a task master, it was a great day. And to top it all off, as I was traveling to a meeting across campus, for some reason the morning of my one-and-only half marathon came flooding back at me. I'm sure it was the weather. It was just like that October day in 2008. How glorious that morning was. I could run 13.1 miles. I was prepared and excited. Just remembering that day gave me energy and hope that I didn't know I was lacking.

Val had a great day, too. She got back all her tests from last week and really well. As a result, we are pretty sure we'll see another A report card on Friday. And today at school, Jason was in the group of about 5 kids who were told to quit answering questions because they were hogging the class participation. He was very proud to be in that group and to relay that incident. He's studying multiplication now and very excited about it, too.  Ken was the "odd man out" today though: he was sick. Just a sinus headache thing, but bad enough to have him sleeping through half of the day, which is really unusual for him regardless of how crappy he feels.  He's making it up tonight though by playing xbox.

Last night I was up pretty late trying to research implant sizes.  It's crazy, I know.  I just can't figure this out.  How am I supposed to know what size will be best?  The shape will be different than these expanders and that makes all the difference.  Having 410cc or 490cc in a hot water bottle is different than the same amount in a balloon.  Grrrrrr.  So I've been trying on clothes all the time trying to figure out what is impossible to figure out.  I'll never be like I was before.  I have to let that go.  Things will never fit like they used to. So how will I be in the future?  That's what is eluding me.  However, I did find a web site last night that offered some pics along with critical information like age, weight, height, and implant size for reconstruction (not augmentation, which is totally different for implant decisions).  Anyway, that site helped a bit.  When I meet with my plastic surgeon on Thursday, I'm going to ask him what he thinks of 450cc (part way between where I was at xmas and where I am now).  I guess splitting the difference is the safest thing I can do in this guessing game.

Another breast cancer survivor who is about 3 or 4 months ahead of me (Emily) wrote about an imaginary fight with an unknown, judgmental, clueless person at a yoga class.  She relayed this daydream about some stranger seeing her in her yoga top and talking about how shallow Emily must be to have such obvious breast surgery.  I would have laughed, but it was much too real for me to do more than crack a smile. I totally get that fear. And right now, in the next 2 days, I have to make the critical decision that will seal my fate. If I go too small, my breasts won't reach past my stomach and I'll always feel fat and undesirable.  If I go too big, I'll be the one ridiculed by those-who-know (but aren't really my friends) for "taking advantage of the situation" and by those-who-don't-know for "striving to be Barbie." 

In Emily's imaginary fight, she strikes back by letting the clueless person know she had cancer.  In my imaginary situations, I fear the passive aggressive route. No one will actually say anything within ear shot. It will all happen without me knowing.  But I'll know. Or suspect. Or perhaps I'll just always be paranoid and no one will ever have a thought or care about it in any way.

Regardless, we all know it's not about them. It's about me. All I'm trying to do is get back physically - and with self-confidence, too. The motto at my plastic surgeon's office really sums it up for me - "To restore and make whole..."