Six Months On

Spending the summer in my happy place

Six months ago, surgeons scooped out all of my breast tissue and replaced it with two grafts harvested from my lower abdomen. It was snowing as we walked the two blocks from our hotel to the hospital that morning, and as I lay down on the operating table ahead of an eight-hour surgery, I conjured my happy place: my gardens in summer.

The body I have lived in for 56 years has never been swimsuit issue material, but it has been unfailingly capable and strong. Even when I’ve been at odds with my body’s aesthetics I have always been able to count on it and I revel in all it can do. I lift more than I should and insist on doing it myself when it would be smarter to wait and ask for help.

My husband prefers to achieve his fitness in the form of Tonal and Peloton sessions. I would like to be the kind of person who enjoys rides to nowhere and “Arm-ageddon” workouts, but I’m not. When the Tonal app announced Tim has lifted over a million pounds, I delivered the requisite fawning adoration, then went outside to build another stone wall.

Six months out from surgery, my scars are fading. I can’t feel a lot of my abdomen when I poke or scratch it, and I startle myself every once in a while when I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I have phantom pains, and can attest that not being able to scratch a really bad itch on a nipple that no longer exists on skin you can’t feel anyway because it’s been transplanted from your stomach is a strange and frustrating experience.

I went back to work about six weeks after surgery but really needed to take the summer off once my speaking season ended in late May. Save for a few interviews and administrative work ahead of a very full fall speaking schedule, I’ve done just that.

I spend nearly every day in my gardens, rain or shine. I’ve hauled and spread two dump trucks full of wood chips as well as eight cubic yards of compost. I’ve chopped and stacked two cords of wood. Every day, I haul at least two very large stones or two loads of smaller stones to the site of my next wall. I’ve doubled my vegetable garden space and eradicated my entire front yard in favor of a pollinator garden. I am the the keeper of two beehives this year, one thriving, one not.

Every afternoon around three, I start the process of heating my beloved Goodland wood-fired hot tub. Scoop ashes, chop kindling, start a fire, stir the water as it warms.

Once Tim comes home from work and we’ve eaten our dinner, we head out for our daily soak. We watch the bats and lightning bugs and marvel at the summer triangle constellations of Aquila, Cygnus and Lyra.

This is also where I take stock, both of my healing body and the beautiful things I’ve been able to build with it.

While I have needed this time to heal and recover, I’m so excited to get back out there into schools and communities this fall. I will speaking in India and all over the U.S. and Canada in the coming academic year, so if you are interested in bringing me to your school to talk about The Gift of Failure (how kids learn, get motivated, stay engaged, become competent and achieve self-efficacy), or The Addiction Inoculation (substance use prevention in kids through strong adult connection and communication, an understanding of adolescent brain development and evidence-based knowledge about substance use) feel free to get in touch via the form here.