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I've wanted to write about my progress but I haven't felt particularly optimistic. It didn't seem to matter that others made kind remarks - when I looked in the mirror all I saw was "the lip."
A trip back to the plastic surgeon for moral support wasn't particularly cheery. "Still puffy," he said, kindly, examining my face. That was two months ago, and I left his office biting back tears.
Spark was with me and he tried to boost me up but knew there was only so much he could do. This was about me accepting the inevitable.
At that appointment, I learned there would have to be another surgery. It's set for January and won't be a bad one. The doc will reduce the size of the transferred lip. It will be minimally invasive with a quick recovery.
"And the scars? You can fix those too?" I asked.
There's only so much modern medicine can do. That was the reason for the lump in my throat.
There is no time line for dealing with feelings of disappointment - for adjusting to things the way they are now instead of how we wish they'd be. Time, as they say, is the great healer. In my case, time has healed me on the outside and the inside.
I've circled Oct. 14 in green ink on my calendar. That night while I was brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror and said out loud, "It's looking better. You're going to be OK, Chris." Then I went to bed, said a thank-you prayer, read for a few minutes and turned out the light.
In the coming months, I might wobble a bit, and backslide, but I really feel I'm over the acceptance hump. Lots of you buoyed me up along the way. It felt good when you'd ask how I was doing - rather than just ignoring the obvious.
Talking about what happened was a way for me to make sense of all of this. I've learned I'm not the only one who feels this way.
Several months ago, I took our 3-year-old granddaughter to the bathroom in a restaurant in the city. Waiting in line was a lady with a walker. "Why do you have to use that?" little Avery asked.
"This helps me walk because I've got a bad hip," she said. Avery didn't bat an eye. Neither did the lady. She ended up telling me she'd much rather people ask what happened to her then just stare or look away.
Hurdles - we've all got them. Sure, I'd like to look like I used to, but this experience has taught me how to treat others who have obvious afflictions. It's also made me smile more. When the doctors were removing my tumor, I was concerned.
"As long as I can smile, it will be OK," I said.
And I am.
