leanne’s dream log
mountainous ski lodge with biopsies instead of skiing
last night i dreamt that moya and i were driving up a mountain to get to the place where she’d have her breast biopsy. the road was narrow with tight curves, for some reason i thought it was a mysterious road, and a cliff went straight up on the right and straight down on the left (much like driving north on hwy 1, i suppose). it was a bright and sunny day with white puffy marshmellow clouds. the road ended in a trailhead and we got out of the car and hiked up the trail. there was a large victorian building at the end of the trail that i instantly recognized as a ski lodge (i love the parts in dreams where i just k-n-o-w). but there was no skiing at the “ski lodge” and no snow. instead, there was big view and a receptionist who took moya’s health insurance and doctor and surgeon information for her biopsy and sent us off to the lounge. the waiting room had big comfy soft chairs and a bar — which was tended by christy shepard. i procured martinis for me and moya and we sat in the big comfy chairs and looked out at the view across mountains and valleys and waited. i was confused about where i was (what country, where on the map, that sort of confusion) and the view from the puffy chair made me wonder if we were in provence.
then spike was scratching at the window and opening the curtain — letting in 8am sunlight — and i woke up.
a bit o’ background for help in interpreting (!)
. . . christy shepard provided fantastic couples therapy services for me and moya in the late 1990’s
. . . we were talking about france at the anti-war march on sunday
. . . we’ve been talking about going on a hike thursday evening before moya’s friday event
. . . dr susan love’s breast book talks about outpatient surgery as being a bit like going to a spa
. . . i love puffy fluffy clouds — ricky lee jones and the orb sing a song about little fluffy clouds that moya put on a mixed tape for me in the late 1990’s
thoughts from leanne
a few thoughts from leanne who loves moya and her breasts but not just for her breasts :)
i get anxious and sad and nervous and fearful about *s-u-r-g-e-r-y* (such an ominous word though it seems like it’ll be such a minor event) for biopsy and anxious about the results and glad that there’s something being done to better define the calcifications. isn’t it ironic that they’re called “calcifications” and the thing my bones lack are enough calcium and here moya has extra calcifications. okay so calcium for bones isn’t the same as calcifications.
i hear from and talk with all these people who think it’s not that big of a deal to have your breast sliced into in two places and it’s oh-so-common and happens all the time and you go back to work the next day and … well … never happened to me before so it feels oh-so-uncommon to me and i think it’s a big deal. i feel like i’m having some overly dramatic emotional reaction. i’m struck by something to do with loss. perhaps the loss of a few grams of body tissue? or the loss of certainty of health (not that certainty really exists)? that we’re healthy until proven otherwise.
i’m also grossed out by the description in dr susan love’s breast book of making an incision and digging through tissue to get the calcifications out and all those stitches (and, oy, the picture of pulling tissue out makes me nauseous — and i don’t need any more nausea these days).
i know the anxiety is not at all rational and logical and doesn’t take into account the facts and information about the probable results of the biopsy — that dr grissom is extremely talented and experienced; and that it’s fabulous these are found early and can be removed instead of waiting for lumps and bumps; and it happens to 20% of gals; and “they” (the experts) know a lot about what to do even with uncertainty about what to do; and, being a stats geek, i know that 90% benign is really superduper high odds, and, anyways, i get weepy over the thought of a surgeon slicing pieces out of moya.