To be so personable is to feel pain so undeniable. Pain is an obnoxious child beating on the window. That child in me is insatiable, fidgeting badly … I just wanna scream “go away”!  

The cause and effect of not going outdoors in the winter inevitably brings on depression for me. By the end of February, depression became that blizzard in my head since having a mastectomy. Looked through some photos one night — my sense of humor was on vacation. I felt blase’, posted this status to social media friends just to vent, “Recovery progress good and not so good…”I was an awful wreck for what felt like an eternity.

And at times, I failed to see the future in my redemption, if there was such a thing. But I tried to see.   “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9.

More than usual, songs stirred mixed emotions raging in me. So here, even if you don’t like rock music, Metallica’s tone reflected my anguish as I felt the boy Hetfield’s anguish, an unforgiven boy. Lyrics, symbolism deep as my pain had begun. I felt the yearning, reaching through time…  “Unforgiven” and “Unforgiven II”

The key (of life?) and stones falling, the past and future in his grasp, frustration and irony.

Hetfield is a music genius — my rebellious nature always drawn to deep, dramatic music, especially with hard rock. With my own singing I felt my agony trying to escape from my wrangled body, my fists fighting breast cancer, my heart pounded while I felt the rage build inside me, Metallica blaring out of my laptop – cranked it up while singing at the top of my lungs …


It really discouraged me that I got so darn tuckered out to drive only thirty minutes to the doctor’s office. Just because I was joyously out of the house, on the way home I stopped at Petsmart, bought a few fish, adding to my tropical tank. Once I got home, I laid down for a nap and awoke stunned to realize I slept two and a half hours.

Couldn’t keep up with laundry. It’s all in the basement so I don’t care… till I need some clean clothes. Outa sight, outa mind …

After a phone call complaining of being such a zombie all the time with the medication, Dr. Jew okay’d I cut the dosage of Hydrocodone, or take Ibuprofen instead for the pain. I could not tolerate this feeling of being so inconsolably decrepit. Consolation was uneasy but altering the medicines enabled me to drive a bit more, giving me that little bit more of the freedom that I was used to. Note to self: don’t ever take driving for granted again. Emergency surgery didn’t hurt this much to repair a collapsed lung, therefore prescribed Morphine till I was released.

This go-round, my chest spasms made me want to scream. The sharp spasming is the reality of having half my chest taken off. It really wasn’t, yeah I’m being facetious here … I wash and dry my face after tears erupt every five minutes. My nurse, Mary Kate suggested I resume taking the full dose of Diazepam to minimize those painful spasms. I heeded her advice.

Without regular exercise, muscles get stiff and risk becoming permanently atrophied. Damnit I didn’t want that. I had things I needed to do, like bow hunting, fishing and gardeniLIFT3lbng! And lifting up little granddaughters onto my lap. I started trying to lift my arms in some circles and lifting very small weights while resting in front of the TV, seemed to ease the intermittent spasms. I am not a wuss but it brought on tears.

An unforgiving winter and breast cancer sadness had overcome my usual smiley face. I wanted there to be a lightbulb moment but the 60 watt died. I knew all my depression would, as they say, only “cut off my nose to spite my face”. Damn old sayings. I could not see it. I tried. Stalwartly I wrote out all the ugly thoughts, jotting down the most horrible shit — it was a relief, good to get it out, it began to purge my soul — but it’s still in third person, still not quite describing the hell inside my mind here. Just wait…

I knew I had a mountain to climb. My foreboding was too prophetic. Likewise, my descriptions on these pages can be contradictory and even stupidly humorous, helping heal the godawful doldrums.

“The full moon’s tide is like a blizzard raging inside my essence beyond the hospital’s reach.”