Pink

When was the last time you checked in and did something nice for yourself? I suck on that front. I'm quick to do something thoughtful for others and neglect doing something just as kind for myself. "Later," "I don't need to waste the money" and "Too lavish" are just some of the excuses I give myself against stopping and saying, "F it, I'm worth it."

It's Breast Cancer Awareness month and I haven't really taken stock on what I've survived in exactly one year. Two surgeries, including a double mastectomy, with a third to go. Radiation every day for five weeks. Hormonal therapy as monthly injections that will continue for years to come. Osteoporosis from medication that made my joints ache whenever I moved. And a reconstruction process that feels like a pile of bricks on my chest. What don't I deserve again?

The past few weeks have been trying to say the least, a sad mental state compounded by a physical pain that took me out for days. At times it's been overwhelming, but usually I just keep it moving. Again, without taking stock.

I was recently gifted a treat to a spa, which I'd foolishly scheduled for its expiration date right smack in the middle of a crap storm. The last thing I wanted was to be felt up by a stranger who might freak out at my scars or feel the stiff expanders embedded in my sore chest. She was kind though, and I was happy to have a towel covering my eyes so she wouldn't see me tightening them in fear each time her hands crept closer to that area. I still feel damaged.

But I survived. That innocuous 60-minute massage and the past year. To celebrate I bought a small bouquet of flowers. Ramos de flores, you say in Spanish. Pink ones, of course, and I kept those stems clutched tightly in my fist all the way home.

I haven't looked at them since. Later. I just haven't made the time.