Twelve days ago I said goodbye to my bionic boobs and hello to a perfectly matched, shiny new pair. And I couldn’t be happier with them. And something else amazing happened, too.
The day after surgery, my sister Pamela came to visit. And she brought me a present. She brought me back my Mojo.
She claims that she accidentally took it with her last summer when visiting just after my mastectomy. An honest mistake, she says. And I believe her. Because we are practically twins, after all (separated by only 2 years and 4 months). And because she’s a nurse and has a house filled with puppies. And I mean, anyone who loves puppies couldn’t possibly be evil enough to steal someone’s Mojo. Right? I mean, right?
And so, I placed the little package of Mojo under my pillow and waited for it to take effect. And then, a few days later, I woke up and the fog I’d lived in for far too long was gone. And so was the inability to feel anything except indifference. My mind was no longer numb.
Last week I felt things I hadn’t felt in so long they almost felt foreign. Things like, the simple joy of a morning walk, gut-wrenching laughter that brought tears coursing down my cheeks, joy so deep it nearly strangled my heart, profound gratitude for my life and the people in it, especially my husband, who takes such wonderful care of me when I’m sick. He has surely gotten his money’s worth on the for better or worse part of our marriage vows.
And then on Saturday I woke up with tears streaming down my face. And that day, all I wanted to do was cry. And I feared that I had somehow fallen into the dark abyss again, and that soon even the sadness would be gone, replaced once again by the numbness.
But then Sunday dawned and I was no longer sad and I wanted to go outside and dance in the rain. And I probably would have, except it was Sunday and my husband was home and I worried that he might fear that I’d lost my marbles because I’ve never done anything more publicly embarrassing (for him) than skip through the parking lot at Target. Well, except once, but that time was far too embarrassing (for me) to mention here.
And here it is Monday, and I’m writing this and the sun is shining and I’m smiling from the inside out. And I’m happy, so happy that my sister Pamela found my Mojo because life without it is a very sad life.
What about you? Have you ever lost your Mojo and then found it (or had it returned by a seemingly innocent relative)? When you did, did it give you a new lease on life?
Repost from February 4, 2014