I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

“Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously.” 

~ Hunter S. Thompson

What does it mean to listen to your body? Often, it means that people think you are crazy when you talk about your health and body. From family, friends to doctors and nurses. Even before my mastectomy, I have spent my adult life learning to maneuver the medical establishment and how to advocate for my health and to heal my body. This path of wellness has taken me for quite a ride. One of the biggest lessons of this has been that the wellness of the mind is the precursor to wellness of the body.

Some history... If you haven't read my previous posts about my mastectomy and reconstruction you can click here to start on Part 1 and give it a read.

I am far from the only person going through heavy shit with their health. I have had many students over the last 10 years that have had baggage of health (mental & physical) issues, students that I have done my best to teach tools to in an effort to better choose how to deal with the hand that they have been dealt. But what does that even mean?

Not a one of us is immune to having things in their life get totally fucked up. Either by crappy adult decisions, decisions we must learn to accept as our our own, or by things totally beyond our control. When going through my hysterectomy, broken elbow, broken pelvis, mastectomy & reconstruction - mind you all this went down in a 7 year period - each morning I had a choice on how I wanted to live the day. Some days I did well, I read and practiced my yoga (off or on the mat), I talked and reached out to people that I loved and that loved me, people I respected, went to the gym, did the things that nourished my soul and body. This is the tale that most teachers, mindfulness teachers & writers will tell... how they applied all these amazing mindful techniques to be a better human. And don't forget, to pay them for all this amazing insight and tools on living a perfect, healed, life. However, what I can also share with you, in total Just Faking It honesty, is that about 40% +/- of the time, I was not coping in a healthy way. Some days I coped by sleeping late, drinking too much booze, smoking too much weed, spending well beyond my means. Alienating myself from the healthy people in my life. I would wake up in a shitty mood and choose to stoke that fire of shittyness and wallow. Need proof, if you see me out and about - check out the damage to the rims on my car thanks to those poor life choices ;)

The interesting thing to me in admitting that in about 40%+ of the time I did not cope in a healthy way, is the freedom of simply embracing that. Embracing my own crazy. That if we are really working on our own wellbeing and wellness (mind & body) then we can cultivate the ability to learn from the garbage decisions as much as the good ones - sometimes we learn way way more from those poor life choices.

Following my reconstruction and being filled with hope as to a new, healthy, future, there was one thing that I could not shake. My unwillingness to compromise on my new path of living. This unwillingness to compromise is both totally awesome and a driving force in my life post mastectomy, but it is also a thorn in my side.

I made the choice to not participate in anything that does not bring the good into my life. The first thing that went were the friendships and relationships that were not nourishing me. Relationships are not often looked at as a means of wellness in our lives, or as a catalyst for living better. But if you take a second, I'll wait...... to think about it. How much do the people we choose to be around - from family, to friends, to employers and coworkers, to strangers - impact our energy, perspective and wellbeing?

How many people do you spend time with that you dread seeing, that you know will leave you exhausted (energy vampires)? How many people do you spend time with that make you feel alive, ready to live deeply and incredibly? How often are you leaving social situations where you spend the next minutes, hours, days kicking the shit out of yourself mentally for how you "should" have responded or acted in any given situation? What would your internal dialog tell you if I said that WE ALL DO THIS? In the last 20 months since my final surgery I have forced myself to really watch my thoughts, actions, reactions and then to do something about it. My social circle is about 1/3 what it was prior to my surgery.

Just like in cooking, when you reduce something down, it gets complex. Concentrated. Beautiful. And that is where I am beginning to find myself now. I have a handful of close friends and family. I have stopped putting effort towards connecting and communicating with family/friends that don't enrich my life, and with that my inner narrative has began to changed too. Look, I am not saying go be an asshole and tell off anyone that you don't feel like is contributing to your life (in person or through social media) - that is simply a dickish thing to do - don't do that. I am saying that by beginning to watch my thoughts, my physical response to the people I interact with on a daily basis, I have allowed myself permission to pare down my circle of trust. I am now surrounded by a beautiful and complex group of humans that support me (and me, them), but more importantly, call me out on my bullshit and when I reinforce old patterns by repeating old stories that are not accurate at all, they let me know. Guess what? This is yoga too! Those friends and family that are no longer a part of my day to day are still loved and I would still be there to support them if asked, I just choose to limit the amount of energy I am now putting out.

I challenge you, my reader friend, what does your circle of trust look like? Are they nourishing you? Are they challenging you to human better? Are you fully present when you are with your circle? Watch your thoughts when you are not alone, notice how your body and breathing change as you move through your day. Do this without judgement or expectation, just watch.Through this watching decide if you like this pattern or if you are choosing to change how you are moving through your day. Some days you will nail it and some days it will be akin to attempting to nail Jello to the wall. But that is life, that is practice.

As we wrap up another year and decade choose to be a light. Hanukkah ends tonight, for those of you that are not in the know, to celebrate this holiday those of Jewish faith light a menorah (candle holder) each night, using a special candle to light the rest. This candle is called the shamash. Literally translating into the helper or servant. Its job is to bring light to the other candles and to be of additional light. This is my main goal each day from now until my last breath, to be the shamash. And to surround myself with other shamash.

Happy New Year, happy new decade, happy practicing on this next trip around the sun!


"Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality & duplicate it" 
~ Bruce Lee 

A Write Return

Someone once told me, that to be a writer, you must write. But what happens when there is just so much going on in your mind that you can't seem to get the words out on the page? That the stories you want to share become this tsunami of incoherent babble so you just say f*ck it and nothing happens. For almost two years.

The last time I sat down to put preverbal pen to paper was in March of 2018. In the thick of the reconstruction of my chest following my mastectomy. In the midst of being totally and completely adrift emotionally, physically and spiritually. With the literal weight of my decision to put my life on hold for the sake of my physical health. Since then, my mantra of "just faking it" has been put more into daily practice than ever before.

Shortly after getting cleared at the end of the mastectomy ordeal I retired from the company I helped to grow over the last almost two decades. I walked away from health insurance, stability, a paycheck, and familiarity that had been my safety net through so much. But I knew in my bones that this was the only choice I had. I did not get spared from the reaper to continue living status quo. The lightest I have felt, for as long as I can remember, was leaving the meeting with my business partner/boss after having just given my notice. The first big step toward my future and into the unknown.

The paramount lesson from my ordeal with my breasts was that tomorrow is not a promise. That at any moment in time, everything can, and will change. Change is the only constant in life. As 2019 began I made the commitment to return to myself, my authentic self. Easy right? Sure, we all know who we are, right? HA! Nope... The girl that once was physically strong and emotionally rock solid was not the girl looking back at me in the gym. The girl that was once adventurous, sure of herself and powerful in the face of things that frightened her had left the building. As I began to put forth effort to live again with every cell in my being, I found myself terrified of everything, of every part of my daily life.

Somehow throughout the process of gaining my health and hopefully longevity I had developed a crippling fear of life. The duality of being pulled to live as fully as possible, not only for myself but also living for the many friends that have left this earthly plane via cancer, while I was given the gift of continuing life. I was feeling/experiencing fear in almost every part of my life, it was part of each thing I did, every day. I began working with my partner in his residential construction company not only doing the bookkeeping and office management but also on site painting and helping with other laborer type things. Fear here too... but there was a freedom and empowerment that came along with that choice. To go from running a company to being low man on the food chain was glorious. To listen to music, paint and make things beautiful began to awaken me again, the deep me that had been in hybernation for a long winter.

When I would be on site painting, there was a wave of peace that would wash over me, a zone I would fall into that I had never experienced before. Not only did I love working with my man and not being behind a desk all day, but it began to be almost a moving meditation. A one pointed focus each day that allowed all the other mountains I had been carrying to fall away. So thats what I did, I painted. I taught yoga. I practiced giving myself time to continue to heal. To work through what I had just been through. That I was given a second chance at this life thing. For the record, being in this practice of healing and moving through is scary, scary beyond words. It is messy. It is challenging, that is, from what I have been told, is how a person knows that they are actually healing.

2019 turned into the year of the cocoon. Where I went inside myself to plant the seeds of who I am on the other side of it all. To start to organize everything that has gone down in this decade that is now winding to a close. The loss, the love, the wins, the losses, the adventures & travel, the excitement and let downs. The 10 years packed full of living. I must acknowledge though, that I am, just like you, faking it. I have deduced though, through what some would argue is too much self reflection, that this next chapter requires me to start writing again. To kick my fear straight in the dick and put myself out there. To share my stories of life. So I start now, on the eve of my 40th trip around the sun, to write again. To tell my stories and observations with the intention that I might connect with others out there needing their own connection to help them through their own life adventures.

Ive said it before and I am sure I will again and again, none of us know what we are doing. There is no manual. There really are no rules to how we can design our lives. As long as we continue to strive towards our own authenticity and to create large areas of healing within ourselves.

all photos and writing ©2019 Jen Marcussen

My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter III

My journey started nine months ago. In that time I feel like I have lived 3 different lifetimes, or maybe it is more succinct to just say that I feel like I am living in dog years. When I first decided to publicly share my experiences with this unnerving medical adventure, my intention was to provide a voice to those, like myself, that fall into a grey area somewhere between no big deal and a cancer diagnosis. But now that I am about 30-ish days out from the final (hopefully) step in the reconstruction process, I can say, without hesitation, I was a total asshat for thinking I could tell anyone else how this experience would be for them. All I can do is share my experience and hope that someone, someday, finds value in it.

The morning that I walked into the hospital for surgery I was resolved that I was doing the absolute best thing for my health. And I was scared totally shitless. I had convinced myself that the hard part was the surgery, and that once I was home that it wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be horrible. It is hard not to actually laugh out loud as I type that, damn I was naive.

I have been very lucky and blessed to have wonderful doctors and nurses that all helped to take care of me throughout the entire process, but specially following the 6 and a half hours of surgery. As I woke up in recovery and got my bearings, I wasn't really in pain - a pleasant surprise. Then I remembered that I might not have nipples anymore... as I hastily lifted up the coverings I saw that in fact, I did still have them! The recovery room nurse happened to watch this discover go down and as I looked up from my new chest, he was smiling and laughing at my response. Going into surgery they had prepared me that there was a 50/50 shot in getting to keep them since it was all going to depend on the mid-surgery biopsy results where samples would be sent to pathology from behind my nipples to make sure they were free of cancer cells. All in all I felt pretty ok as they rolled me up to my hospital room for the night. By the next morning they had me up and walking around and getting me ready to go home. All very routine and essentially unspectacular and uneventful. Again, I need to acknowledge the people supporting me in this process. My partner that stayed with me all night on what looked like a very uncomfortable pull out bed, being woken up every 2 hours as the lights were turned on to check my vitals, drains and mainline me pain relief. At no point was he anything other than supportive, loving and profoundly patient.

The ride home from the hospital was fucking horrible. With expanders stitched into my pectoral muscles, every bump and dip in the road radiated through my body. They took out 600 cc of material from my right side and 590 from my left, they replaced it with 350 cc of fluid to begin the expansion process. So with each bump, the fluid sloshed and pulled at the stitches and tissue where my breasts used to be. All I could do was just breathe and cry, and wait for the ride to be over. Once I was home it quickly became clear that comfort was a thing of myth and legend that would elude me for the rest of this process. I am grateful for the advice of my friends that had been through similar processes, having told me to make sure I have loose pants (think anything easy to pull on) and button up shirts and a comfortable robe. This really saved me a lot of unnecessary pain and aggravation.

Day's one and two are a blur. I had intended to avoid pain medication opting for just cannabis and my yoga to help with the pain... what's the saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions? For three weeks I religiously took the medication I was supplied and supplemented with cannabis. Take the drugs they offer to you, the pain the first few weeks is no joke. One of my closest friends flew up to help take care of me so my partner could go back to work and I would have help since I was officially incapable of doing anything for myself. The compassion shown in the acts of helping me bathe, use the bathroom and just be there is hard to put in words.

I have begun to refer to this and the next 10 weeks of recovery as the death of ego. There is no way to mentally prepare your self to having loved ones help you dress and undress, help you bathe, help you use the bathroom, open doors and do just about anything else you have ever taken for granted being able to do for yourself, is such a mental mind screw. Specially if like me, you are used to being incredibly independent.

The first real substantial blow to my ego, the first time I attempted to shower without much assistance. I had disrobed and forced myself to look in the mirror at my new body - or at least my temporary, rebuilding stage, body. I cried, hard. Ugly cried. If you are going through this, just know that nothing anyone says, anything you read, pictures you see online, none of it will prepare you for the first real sight of the cost you have paid for your health. That shower was so difficult, not being able to really do anything other than let the water run on my body and just breathe.

3 weeks after the surgery I went in for my first fill of the expanders. My surgeon is wonderful and gave me a good pep talk and discussed how I was handling everything. He shared that all the tissue that was removed was tested and free from cancer! Relief! Then he told me he wouldn't be doing a fill that day. He told me I had to be off all the chemicals that they had prescribed for me before they could do a fill, that I needed to be in my body to pay attention to what was going on. So cold turkey I was done. No more meds. 3 days of withdrawal from the opiates that had been prescribed for pain. I went back a week later determined that nothing else would slow this process down.

The filling of the expanders is just weird. I had intended to video it, but was so in awe of the experience I just plain forgot. My surgeon had warned me that many women experience some anxiety with the fills. He really should have said "shit is going to be really challenging for the next week or so". Once the 75cc were in each breast I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I couldn't take a full breath - or more accurately, felt like I couldn't take a full breath for the next week. A week long, intense, hard to put words to, anxiety attack. It only abated as I approached the second fill. That one, actually provided relief for being in the car and generally moving around. With the expanders 3/4 filled they became my rock boobs and no longer sloshed when I moved or rode in a car. I ended up only doing 3 fills. I physically could not take any more expansion so we did the absolute minimum needed to be cleared for the final surgery. It would be a minimum of 90 days from that last fill until the next surgery but by the time I was scheduled, it will be closer to 4 months. Or exactly 6 months from the first surgery (precisely what my surgeon said it would be).

I am not the same person that I was a year ago. I will never be that person again. I have struggled with putting this post together because of how lost this whole thing has made me feel. How incredibly detached I have become from my story of me that I have told myself, and reinforced for the last 37 years. The reality that it is ok to be angry, really fucking angry, that this was a necessary choice to protect my health. That its ok not to be grateful all the time that it wasn't cancer throughout my chest. My perspective has shifted profoundly. I am no longer willing to do anything that does not support my contentment and happiness, life is just to damn short. With not being able to sleep and dealing with depression and anxiety, I have been counseled by many people in my life that I need to get on benzos for the anxiety and anti-depressants. That if I would just take a sleeping pill I would be able to get rest. Each time I have said no. Each time I have become more frustrated. I strongly believe that I have to feel the feelings, to see them, be in them and then move through them. That is how you heal, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually. Healing is an unavoidably messy process.

Being off my yoga mat for 10 months now has given me ample opportunity to practice so much of what I teach that has nothing to do with physical (asana) practice. There is this practice of Tapas, a Niyama, that has to do with being disciplined, and the translation literally means to "burn". It can mean cultivating self-discipline to be in the fire of life to burn away the 'impurities' physically, mentally & emotionally. Ultimately creating a path into our own greatness. When I teach this, I use the analogy of a forrest fire, burning everything away to create space for the new. The wildflowers are always the first thing to grow back after a wild fire. This practice has taught me to be in the fire, to not hide from the pain, to tell people when I am struggling and need support, to cry my face off when I need to, to yell and rage that this is the hand that I was dealt. And, most importantly, to not feel sorry or guilty for doing any of that. This practice and this surgery has taught me to let go of acting and living from a place of fear. This practice has helped to give me courage to know that I do not have to listen to the douche in my head telling me I am not strong enough or good enough to get through this. To accept being loved and supported through this process. This practice, through this process of healing, has lead me to more self trust and inner strength than I could have ever imagined being possible.

When I really started focusing on this practice of being in the fire and letting it burn, that is when I started feeling profoundly grateful.

I have a long way to go still. My body is different, and will always be different than the one I knew so well. In 32 days the expanders will be removed and the implants (foobs) will be installed. I will be a t-rex again for a few weeks as my body heals again with new scars and new incisions. Those around me frequently remind me that this one will be "easier". But really, that doesn't matter to me at this point. Pain is unavoidable in a well lived life. Suffering, however, is a choice. The practice is being present so we see all that is funny and awesome about life even in the moments of profound, unavoidable, pain. Like immediately following my last fill, I came home and went to plug in my phone. Bending over to grab my charger cable, I kneed my self square in the rock boob. I was laughing and crying at the same time. My partner didn't know how to react, he froze as he watched this all go down. Through the laughter and tears I told him it was ok to laugh. It hurt like hell, but it was so damn funny that I have no boob depth perception that I gave myself a direct shot.

I suppose the one thing I want to convey as I wrap up this long post, to anyone going through this process or supporting someone going through this process, is to allow yourself to be on your own journey. That no one can tell you how this is going to feel or how long it will take you to heal. No amount of googling will show you what your reconstructed breasts will look like. I could give you advice like use Bio-oil on your scars twice a day (it is like some crazy voodoo, my scars look incredibly good). I could suggest building a pillow fort each night to help you sleep. But you know what, you will figure it out on your own, you will figure out what will work to support your own story and healing. Be in your fire, be in the uncomfortable, let the wild flowers grow. This shit is not easy, but is anything easy that is really, truly, worth while?

32 days until the next chapter, the next check point.

My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter II

~ Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway ~

-John Wayne-

The moment that I cut and pasted the link for my first chapter of this adventure into Facebook, I gave myself an anxiety attack. Fear is like that I suppose.. or maybe its that I am experimenting with vulnerability for the first time in my life. Or maybe it was the worry that my words wouldn't be taken the way I intend. That instead of seeing this public sharing of my story for what it is; a way to share this story, in whole and in complete honesty, with the hopes that someone else going through a similar experience can know more about what they can expect, but also to know that they are not alone. I also wanted a way to share what I am going through with my friends and family without having to repeat myself in a thousand single conversations. I was afraid, almost paralyzed, that it would instead be seen as some sort of attention seeking act.

Fear like this is nothing I am a stranger to. In fact, fear is very much a part of my life. I am kind of a chicken shit when it comes to a lot of things (the dark, heights, tight spaces, flying etc). It is almost a game to see how well I can push through the fears, mostly because my main fear, fear of missing out on things, usually overrules whatever other fear is coming up in that moment. That is exactly the reality I am living in this present moment, right now, 12 hours from surgery. No matter how deep the fear, if I am not proactive now, I will miss out in the future. So just like the fear I had standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon, almost exactly a year ago, I will move through this all one step at a time.

In the days since posting my first chapter I have gone through an intense rollercoaster of emotions. Forcing myself to really go beyond my comfort zone to let people in. And maybe more importantly, going beyond my comfort zone to reach out for help. I was very lucky to have a student/friend that has gone through an elective hysterectomy and bilateral mastectomy after testing positive for all the BRCA mutations. It was in a moment of complete and total overwhelm that I reached out and asked her to lunch. Leading up to this lunch (confession) I have torturing myself by reading countless threads in support chat rooms for women going through this procedure as a result of cancer, or BRCA. Every night for days, when everyone in the house was asleep, under the cover of darkness, I would read all these women's stories. Story after story of how incredibly horrible the pain of the surgery is, how crippling the expanders are, the body identity issues, problems with surgery and on and on. Effectively making me neurotic and riddled with anxiety. 

The day that we met for lunch was a beautiful fall afternoon in Boulder and my friends sunny perspective and support matched the backdrop. During our two hour lunch on the patio, she shared her story with a smile. There was no talk - other than my rapid fire questions - about pain or the agony of it all. Instead, she shared all the wonderful things about making the decision to be a 'previvor' instead of hoping to one day be a survivor. When I would ask about pain she would respond by saying things like "its surgery, you've had surgery before, you know how it goes" or "I don't remember pain, it was uncomfortable, sure - but not painful". Following up with "I am so glad you are doing this to take care of your health" and "you will be fine". But finally it really was her telling me that after having a mother and sister that had cancer, she had spent her life thinking about when it would be her time, her turn. That since the surgery she no longer thinks about cancer or her body turning on her with no warning. Fear was no longer a fixture in her mind.

Shit was profound! It was like my mind did a solid 180 from that conversation. It was such a different take and perspective, someone that was sharing with a smiling and didn't regret her decision one bit. Even with that foundation shift it didn't fully sink in until my pre-op appointment with a very robotic nurse (zero bedside manner) who chose to hound me about my choice to move forward with surgery and shrug off my questions and concerns. My mom finally interrupted her weirdness to tell her that I have been dealing with these masses and biopsies and surgeries for 18 years. Wait...18 years. 18 years of every lump, bump, weird sensation being a reason to worry. A cause for more debt and bills. 18 years of wondering if this was the time it all changes. I got it, in that moment, the essence of what my friend was trying to tell me about her experience. That this choice of pro-activeness is far more than the preservation of the physical body, it is a great step towards the cultivating of mental health & wellbeing. 

While I am still experiencing fear about this whole thing and what my new normal will be. I am really excited about the thought of no more biopsies or mammograms. I stopped reading the chat rooms, in part because of my realization after my visit with my friend, but also because I started to really think about how we, as human creatures, process unfamiliar things. Usually its as pain. And maybe, by posting these blogs, by being really honest about what this whole process will be for me, that maybe it will empower others going through it to reach out as well to take care of their mental health the same way they are taking care of their physical health. I hope that someone reads these words and lets go of some of the stigma of not having any reproductive organs or their (original) breasts and talks about this all. The highs, the lows, the good, the bad... the horrible and the wonderful. I have done my best to not let my very, overly active, creative imagination run amuck. I stopped worrying about what bra I was going to need for after, if people will show up (working on my trust issues) to help me, if there will be pain, if I can handle this... and on and on - see... overly active. Instead I am trying to find my faith and move through my fear, because I know in my heart the land of thriving is on the other side of fear.

So tonight I say thanks to my girls for all the times they have enriched my life! For all the times I didn't need a fake id as a teenager and all the tickets I should have been written, I say cheers to you boobies! And for all the times I have been poked and prodded, cut and biopsied, and subjected to the mental warfare of waiting and uncertainty, I say peace out titties! You're no longer welcome here, you are being replaced and upgraded. Ok, I am ready, lets get this show on the road. 

My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter I

~ In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is no time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions" ~ 

-Carlos Castaneda-

Before I really get into why I am writing this post, I want to remind you - my lovely reader - why it is that I started my little verbal outlet. I named this blog Just Faking It because we are all faking it. None of us know what the hell we are doing. None of us know what kind of curve ball life is just waiting to lob at us when we are distracted and paying attention to something else. There is no manual on how to adult. We simply don't know when, or how, our lives will evolve or change. Like it or not, we are all just along for the ride and really don't have control over a whole hell of a lot in this life, save for how we react to it. It is in the reaction, we have a choice. Buckle up kids.. this is going to be a long one.

My health has always been one of my biggest practices in patience, impermanence and non-attachment. I have, throughout my life, been dealt confusing hands when it comes to my overall health and well being. In my mind, I like to think I have handled it all pretty well; in truth - and in clear reflection - I have not coped with anything, I have tucked it all away in my mind palace. Hoarding my emotions, not talking about my experiences, making a choice to just keep on moving forward. One foot in front of the other. But this time is different. I am older, wiser <insert laughter> and generally more open to evolving and growing into the healthiest strongest person I can be. In that vain, I am sharing my current chapter.

A brief back story... My body likes to make tumors. So far, I have been very lucky in that none of them have come back as malignant. The first masses were removed when I was 18, one week before my 19th birthday. Back then I was told the masses were pre-cancerous and needed to be removed to make sure they didn't grow into something nefarious. Turns out, science later proved that the type of mass will not turn into cancer, but the lumps were already gone and the scars on each breast already healed. My 20's and 30's have been marked by the standard ups and down but also peppered with, "we need to biopsy this mass"and then seasoned with "this mass needs to be removed". I honestly could not tell you the exact number of biopsies I have had performed on my breasts up to this point, but I know it is more than 15.

After moving back to Colorado in 2013 I got very sick. The doctors were confused (as they often are with me and my health) and at first thought it was chronic altitude sickness, that my body wasn't making enough red blood cells to adapt back to the Colorado altitude. After 6 months of fainting and imaging they discovered an orange sized mass in my uterus and one on an ovary. The gave me a choice on how to deal with what they had found... scary ass drugs with side effects that would shock you or a hysterectomy. I chose the hysterectomy. Around this time my medical mantra became "solutions not treatment of symptoms". The surgery and healing was about what I expected. However, the mental healing is still an on-going project. I learned a very valuable lesson through this, I suck at reaching out and asking for help. I also learned that most woman that go through similar issues never, ever, talk about it. We endure, one foot in front of the other.

So when this new round of nonsense started I fell back into my old patterns. Remember... we are all just faking it and sometimes life is a practice.

At the end of May I went in for a yearly physical. I had blown off my regular screening last year because I was enjoying life and figured I was fine. I felt fine. Hell,  I had backpacked from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other. It had been two years since I had been screened. During the physical my GP asked me if I had anything I was concerned about, so I casually mentioned the lump I had been feeling in my right breast for a few months. I knew the drill, mammogram and then ultrasound. Always the same. I got scheduled for the following week for the mammo. That was June 6th. I went in and chatted up the nurses and radiologists, honestly not taking much seriously at this point. It wasn't until the 4th time I was called back into the mammo screening room (during this first appointment) that I felt like something might be up. That something might be different this time.They sent me over to the ultrasound room because they needed to do that now too. Immediately. Again, not surprised but my intuition was definitely working overtime.

The nurse got me set and the Radiologist came in. She did the screening, grabbed a chair, rolled to me and grabbed my hand. "Jen, this doesn't look good and you should prepare yourself". Well, shit. Then, "are you available tomorrow at 1pm for a biopsy". I was, and got scheduled. After that first biopsy of this round, the Doctor decided I also needed an MRI to get some very clear imaging while we waited for the biopsy results to come back. The MRI was done Friday (of the same week). Again, totally 'routine' feeling. Went and had the images taken and went back to work. I received a call 5 hours after informing me that they found 5 more masses. 6 total now, 3 in each breast. I guess anything worth doing.. am I right?? <-- humor...

Through the following weeks I went through a total of 8 biopsies, 3 MRI's and honestly lost count of all the imaging. The results came back either a type of fibroid or as a complex sclerosing lesion. But no cancer. I am sure you can guess the mental toll this is all taking. I limited the people that knew about what was going on, looping in a few friends, my parents & my partner. It was just too hard to talk about, yet it was all consuming. From the 6th to the 26th my boobs took a beating. They looked like they had lost a knife fight.

After I finally got through all the 'diagnostic' I was set up to meet with the Breast Surgeon. He is the same one that operated on me in 2015 when the last lumps were removed. He is wonderful, and we had a very long appointment talking about my situation and options. In the appointment he told me that he didn't know how I found the mass that started this whole adventure because of the density of my tissue. He shared that with my health history to date that he had no idea what the 'right' plan would be and asked my permission to have my case presented to the breast cancer board at the hospital where everything would be discussed, and they would come up with treatment plans. I both felt relieved and really, really worried. The doctors on the panel, many of whom had seen me during June diagnostics, came back with a recommendation for me to test for BRCA mutations and schedule to remove the two most concerning masses. One of which they were pretty sure was a complex sclerosing lesion, and while it is not cancerous, it can hide cancer cells. The other they were not sure what it was. Then regroup and make a new plan when the pathology comes back.

Now we are into July. I had surgery to remove the two masses. Immediately following the surgery the Doc went out and spoke to my partner to let him know how things went. He shared that he had to cut through many cysts and fibroids to even get to the stuff he was trying to take out. Once he got in there he wanted to help me by cleaning it up but couldn't because of how much he would have to take out to make it "clean" in there.

It took a week to get results. I physically heal quickly, I don't use chemical pain medication and swear by cannabis for pain and inflammation. My body rebounded. My mind.. not so much. Waiting a week is bad, bad, bad stuff for a creative mind. The results came back that they were both complex sclerosing lesions and no cancer found. Relieved and so frustrated. At the advice of the board - whom I refer to as the meeting of the 'ologists' - I went and had the BRCA test done. My results were negative. Relieved but frustrated. I just want answers, a plan and some peace when it comes to my health. I wanted, needed, something to do battle against. Not the ghost I was fighting. 

The board met again to review my case now that we had all the testing, imaging, biopsying, pathology (etc.) reports. At the beginning of August I got the phone call from the care coordinator that they had met and came up with my choices and a statement. The statement: "you are high risk and un-screenable"... the choices: I can have an MRI and mammogram every 6 months from now until the last breath I take or I can move ahead with "additional surgery" that they deem as preventative treatment (medicine).

In that moment I had only one thought, if I have no uterus or ovaries and then have a bilateral mastectomy will I still be a woman? Even typing those words here, now, it makes me cry. Even thinking those words makes me cry. The wonderful care coordinator suggested that I scheduled with the plastic surgeon so I could get all the information I would need to make a choice. 

So I did what everyone does to start their research, I started Googling. Leading up to the appointment I searched every key word I could think of that related to my situation - no BRCA, no Cancer but high risk & un-screenable - as well as the actual surgery. I found stories of people that were sorta the same, or at least had some similarities. But nothing that was the same as me. When I would watch videos about mastectomy and reconstruction they would use the word cancer 20 or 30 times. But that wasn't me. They would talk about BRCA diagnosis or their mother or sister dying. That wasn't me either. While I do have a family history, its not a first degree one. I wanted to be educated enough that when I met with the surgeon I could ask questions to help me in deciding. Problem was, the more I researched the more questions I have and the less I felt sure of what the right choice would be. If there even was a 'right' choice.

After meeting with my rockstar surgeon, both my partner and I felt much more comfortable with what now seemed inevitable.  So I scheduled it. My boobs have been voted off the island. While I am fully aware that nothing in life is a certainty,  I have a profound hope that this will give me my best shot at longevity and health. 

On 10/4 I will be checking into the hospital for the first of two surgeries to remove my breast tissue and then reconstruction them into boobs 2.0. (I thought it was pretty funny that I kept wanting a sign that I was making the right choice and got scheduled on 10/4.. the universe must be saying, yes, right?) Even when I am rolling into the operating room I don't know that I will be 100% that I am making the 'right' decision, but it is the decision that will hopefully provide me with the most peace and the greatest shot at health. The first surgery will be hard, recovery the first 3 months even harder. But nothing good came without a bit of work to earn it.

So if you have made it this far let me bring you into the current, present, moment. I am writing this today because I wanted a way to share with my extended friends and family what has been going on, without having to have the same conversation over and over and over again. I am writing this so it is Google-able, so that others going through this might have a shot of finding it and knowing that they are not alone, that just because it isn't cancer doesn't make it awesome, or easy, or any less scary when your body turns on you. That you can be really pissed off about your situation and that it is ok. I am writing this because while I am healing I am going to need a whole lot of help.

For the first 2 weeks I will not be able to use my arms at all until the drains are removed. I will be needing help with literally everything. From weeks 2 until 6-8 I will have t-rex arms to do a small amount of things but not cooking or anything that requires use of the upper body. Driving will be out for 4 to 6 weeks. Maybe longer. My partner and parents will be taking on a lot and I am putting it out there here and now that I am accepting any help offered. Whether sitting with me and binge watching something (also taking advice on things to occupy my eyes), going for walks once I can be up and moving around, help driving me, grocery store runs, meals, walking Jax... pretty much, you name it and I will need a spotter. My Mom is organizing Meal Train to help too. This asking for help thing is probably one of the hardest parts of this whole shit show adventure I am finding myself on. But, its all a practice right..? And, we are all just faking it anyway.

I plan on blogging my way through this and have the hope that someone out there will find it and it will help them. If you are reading this and you want to talk or ask me questions please feel free to reach out. No matter how many years after this is published.

There is a lot of good to be found while going through this experience. I am very, very, very - I really can't say it enough - very lucky and grateful for the amazing nurses, doctors, schedulers, care coordinators, friends, family, employer and random strangers that have been such a support through all this. They are all amazing and without their support (and humor) I am sure I would be much more of a mess.

So here I am, a few weeks out from a year of upheaval and change, and some really hard-core faking it... here we go...

Ahimsa & The Practice of Not Being a Dick

"Feel the feeling but don't become the emotion. Witness it. Allow it. Release it." - unknown

For those of you not in the 'know', Ahimsa is one of the Yamas & Niyamas. The ethical practices of the science of Yoga. In the most basic terms, the practice of Ahimsa is the practice of non-violence. Now some peoples perspective of this practice translates on the big scale - not eating meat, no leather, pacifism to the extreme; while others, including myself, view this practice on the small scale - that this practice starts and is mostly about how we communicate and interact with ourselves. This whole concept/theory/philosophy is the foundation and base for the other Yamas & Niyamas - this is the stance of right relationship with others and with yourself. It is a relationship that is neither self sacrifice or self abuse. Basically, don't be a dick to yourself or anyone else.

It is one of my favorite things to introduce when I teach yoga classes because it is possibly one of my biggest practices (challenges, flaws, issues - pick a descriptive word). I am absurdly, shockingly, hard on myself. Probably borderline abusive in some situations. Each time I teach this ethical practice, it is a reminder to stop being such a dick to myself. I had one teacher tell me that this all starts with the ability to not say destructive things to ourselves. In any context. Because, after all, our bodies will always follow our minds. We store our garbage in our bodies and eventually it effects our perspective on life and on ourselves. So each time that we look at ourselves in any form of reflection and immediately pass judgement on our hair, makeup, face, arms, nose, legs, waist, etc., etc., etc., we are committing acts of violence. When we think of these things over and over again we create thought pathways in our brains that then reinforce these views to the point and end that our perspective is so far skewed that it begins to reflect outward onto others. Thus creating violence against others.

I starting thinking about all this again recently after not only my numerous health issues but then with 4 people in my life having major surgery in the last few weeks. Their bodies betraying them through chronic illness and disease. They are all at different levels of awakening, but the one common thread is that we all have spent considerable time and energy committing acts of violence against ourselves. To be clear, I am not saying - at all, even the tiniest bit - that we some how bring these things on us. More that, like it or not, our habits, thoughts, behaviors and actions all have an effect on this meat suit we were each assigned at the beginning of this life.

As I descend further down the rabbit hole pondering all this, I realize that one theme for me is that I really have never grieved for anything or anyone. Truthfully,  I don't know what it means to actually grieve. When the shit goes down I have always powered through. Head down, shoulder into the wind, one foot in front of the other. I can't help but wonder if all the things that I internalized and never dealt with lead to the numerous lumps and growths that have been removed from my body. The physical incarnation of every time I pushed my feelings, wants, needs, to the deepest part of myself. That through this compartmentalizing of my emotions and feelings I am causing violence against myself, simply not allowing myself to move through and past these life bumps in the road.

So I have been working on paying attention to my thoughts, and what happens to them throughout the day. Observing and realizing... I am a huge dick to myself. It was a bit shocking how often I hold myself to  standards that are completely unrealistic and then when I fail to meet those completely unrealistic standards I am even worse to myself. And round and round the violence goes. Hello, my name is Jen and I am an emotional cutter.

Then I started to really listen to my friends and the words that they choose when they speak about themselves, their relationships, their trials and tribulations and noticed all the same behavior patterns. Why are we such dicks to ourselves? I guess you could argue that woman are wired to be caregivers and so its harder to put yourself first when other people are counting on you. But can't we be good caregivers and still prioritize our own mental (and physical) well being as the most important?

I started writing this post months ago, in the fall, as a large chapter of my life was coming to an end while dealing with my own health issues. Now on the other side of those things, and my divorce, I am finally able to say that I have worked to grieve and be able to put the past where it belongs. Behind me. Through this work, the emotional cutting has taken on a new incarnation, while I am much kinder about the physical aspects of my being, the emotional side is still a great work in progress. During a conversation this very morning I blurted out "I don't think I know how to just accept being happy. To accept that it is OK to be happy because the bottom always falls out". To be honest here, I was a bit shocked to hear those words come out. So overthinking, as I have a junkie like habit of doing, I realized I was totally right. And completely fucking terrified.

When I think about the practice of Ahimsa I have never contextualized it to be tied to happiness, at least directly. Talk about sabotaging a persons ability to be healthy, never give yourself permission to be happy. So how do we change that? Fuck if I know. For now, I am just going to keep asking the people around me to call me out when they see me going down that dark hole. I am going to keep teaching about these ethical practices, to remind me and those around me of our potential to be happy. I will keep working to be conscious of my thought patterns and how often I make up stories in my mind that ultimately act like a giant wall, blocking me from the happiness on the other side.

The reality is, I am happy, I am content. Sure everything always has the potential to be better, and we should always - every damn day - make an effort to have today be better than yesterday. A practice to accept and welcome true happiness and health into my life, not tomorrow, today, in this moment, in this breath... in this second. That is my practice of Ahimsa, what will yours be?

Unfu*kwithable (n)

About 6 months ago a read a wonderful blog post where the author was describing major changes in her life and how she "butchered" her life and found her authenticity. Like a lot of the bloggers that I follow, it was if the words reverberated through my cells - marinating in my grey matter. I mean, why wouldn't it? I was right in the eye of the storm - the middle of the butcher shop - when I read it.

Through the last two years I have found myself frequently challenged by life while also being immersed in gratitude and hope. A duality that is challenging and often maddening. Learning to balance and just simply be in all my emotions. That it is ok to be incredibly sad about some things and incredibly happy about others. A hard core, in-your-face, crash course in vulnerability and being totally present. Forcing me to reach out when I feel like the world is imploding on me and I can't help but hold my breath for fear of drowning. No matter how horribly uncomfortable it was to reach out.

So today I write this post to put out to the ether, to all those doing their best to hold their broken pieces together, that you are not alone. That I, am not alone. I write this because for the last few days I have spent a large amount of time trying to determine what it is that I, just me, want out of this gift of life. Not just in my personal life but professional life and in my relationship with myself. I find that when you do fall back onto your faith, and you are present enough to see it - the universe (God, whatever) will give you signs. Little things to help you on your way and to let you know you are on the right path.

The first sign was this:

And damn it if this isn't the truth. Fear... the root cause of my ability to be fucked with. It is in fear that we forget the blessings and gratitude. It is in fear that we surrender our own power and grace and drop to our knees allowing life to just happen to us. Fear cages our own strength. Worse of all, "fear causes hesitation and hesitation causes your worst fears to come true" (Bodhi Point Break). I realized through a conversation with an amazing human, that fear has infected me like a disease. Holding me in a pattern of being that not only does not serve me or those in my circle of trust, but that dirty bitch fear has also caused me to forget that I am a powerful goddess that has the energy, strength and fire to do whatever I damn well please in this life. 

The second sign was this: 

This is my goal ^. I have been to the land of unfuckwithableness (c) a long, long time ago... it is a magical place and I feel like I am finding my way back there the more I am willing to accept that I am perfect in all my imperfection. This sign came to me at a moment of questioning how I will know when I am healed from the trauma, stress and sadness of the last few years (this year in particular). I actually laughed out loud when I read it. Because not only is it awesome (you know it is) - but it is also about as yoga as a person can get. Boom! This sign, this stupid internet meme, brought me back to my mat after months away. An immediate light bulb that illuminated my way back to my practice. 

The last sign:

This came to me today... it was in a blog post on Elephant Journal by a woman named Caitlin Oriel titled 103 Words of the Best Advice Ever. So being the sarcastic, doubting, shit that I can be - I thought "well hell, I have to read this..." All I can say, mind blown! She spoke to her own changes and challenges and the darkness she found herself in and the remembering of her awesome grandmother and a poem she used to recite even into the dark years of Alzheimer disease. 

This poem:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

~ William Ernest Henley

I admit. I cried. It actually made me cry. In public, cried. It hit me so deeply to remind me that I am in charge of my own destiny and have only myself to hold responsible if I don't like my surroundings and adventures. 

So I hereby add to my blog vows, to not only act with and in the same love that my beautiful dog Mia embraced every day- but also now to remember that I am the captain of my soul and the master of my fate. That as a goddess with power and fire burning in my soul, that I am truly unfuckwithable. But only when I remember that as the waves crash over me (as they will in this life adventure), that I must remember,  as long as I meet that water with water - to truly be the water and not the rock - that I will be amazing. That I will rise up again as I shed the weight of fear. 

I am unfuckwithable.