Last weekend I flew to visit my family in Michigan. I’ve never liked flying. Whenever I’m on an airplane, I feel that at any moment my life could end. The plane could crash and I would have missed out on so much life. That feeling of being too young to die is always at the forefront of my mind.
Now, when I’m on a plane, the feeling that life is too short takes on a new meaning. And it starts even before I get on the plane, when I put on my compression sleeve.
Since having my mastectomy surgery, I have to wear a compression sleeve whenever I fly to prevent lymphedema.
As I put on the sleeve, I’m reminded of what I’ve been through over the last year. I’m reminded that I’m never done with breast cancer, because every time I fly I have to put on that stupid sleeve. I’m reminded that life is uncertain. I’m reminded that life is fragile. I’m reminded that life is short. Sometimes too short.
Being on a plane now is a symbol for all that I’ve been through, all the I have left to do and all that I might not have time to do.
After my plane lands safely and I take off my compression sleeve, I’m relieved that I’ve survived – both the flight and breast cancer.