“But if I see you again, it’ll be by choice,” my plastic surgeon said in our last post-op.

“Correct,” I replied. “Not because of a trauma.”

We both smiled.

We had been discussing a couple small cosmetic concerns of mine following my expander-to-implant swap surgery. One day shy of the seven-month anniversary of our first appointment, there was no clinical need for me to see her again. If I choose to see her again it won’t be until, likely, 2027 due to the timing of my colorectal surgery and subsequent follow-up chemo. But after that, the timing would be up to me.

It’s a weird thing to say goodbye, or goodbye-ish, to someone on the team that saved your life.

Call it Stockholm Syndrome, I don’t know.

But here’s the deal: 

If I see this woman again it will be by choice—which is a concept that is currently blowing my fucking mind.

Back when I could work, one of my favorite things to teach was trauma. I’d teach to addicts, incarcerated individuals, service members, veterans, and people who were learning to teach trauma-informed yoga. In sessions I’d always ask the same question: What’s the one thing every trauma has in common?

In every traumatic event, there is no choice.

You did not choose physical/sexual/emotional abuse, assault, accidents, natural disasters, illness, poverty, addiction, divorce under certain circumstances, or even combat—despite what many of my military people would say.

In my case, I did not choose to get cancer. Or the other cancer.

When you teach trauma-informed yoga, meditation, facilitation, or whatever it may be, one of the underlying principles is to re-establish a sense of choice—a sense of agency—in your participants. One way we do that is through language. Phrases like: 

“I invite you to….”
“If it feels ok…”
“You are welcome to…”
“Would you prefer…”

No demands. No direction. No orders.

All choice.

So when I walked out of my plastic surgeon’s office I knew I’d see her again. But I’ll see her because of something I want—something that I’ll choose to do, when I’m ready to make that choice, if I still want to make that choice. And should I choose to do it, I’ll see her on my timeline, not “as soon as you’ve just barely recovered from chemo” or “as soon as you’re just barely recovered from this surgery.” 

For the first time in over seven months I was presented with an option that wasn’t dictated by pathology reports, an infusion schedule, operating room schedules, or surgical healing times. 

I wasn’t presented with a choice where the other option was “or most likely die.”

I was presented with a choice I could make if I wanted to, and I could do it all on my time.

So I said, “Thanks for everything. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

 

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