In case you haven’t heard
me say this before, I call the new boob my Bionic Baby Barbie boob. Bionic
because they built it better; Baby because it’s still really young, and Barbie
because it has no nipple. That’s all going to change tomorrow!
I’m going to St. Luke’s
hospital where Dr. Morrissey will make me a brand new nipple! And, as I’ve
always said, I love Dr. Morrissey, but for some reason, this surgery is making
me nervous. It’s kind of dumb, but there you go. I’ve had a big ol’ slice of my
abdomen & all its fat removed and placed where my old boob used to be (that
was the only time I was happy I had plenty of c-section belly fat!). Two
surgery sites – we’re talking major freaking surgery here, folks. Yet I’m
nervous for this one – go figure.
I’m sidetracking right
now, but I can’t help it. I’m going to confess something that I’m not proud of.
There’s a really, really
shallow thought running thru my apparently extremely superficial brain which is
really funny when you consider the fact that I’m almost 52 years old. This
stuff shouldn’t be running thru my mind. I should be thinking about support
hose and signing up for the AARP. Well, actually, support hose sounds really
good right about now, I have an invitation to join the AARP on my kitchen
counter, and frankly, a steel belted girdle is on my shopping list. But still.
As I’ve gotten older, my
stupid skin has a few little red spots that are pissing me off. I’ve been able
to cover them, but when you have surgery, you can’t wear make up! Crap! So
there I’ll be, my big ol’ gut hanging out, hair pushed into one of those oh so
attractive blue beanies, wearing one of those tie in the back “gowns” they give
you that come apart at the first sign of any movement so why bother at all,
with my blotchy, make up free face. I hope there’s no little kids getting
surgery & waiting in the holding tank. I’m enough to scare the living
daylights out of them. I can hear it now, children shrieking, “Mommy, shield me
from the monster!” You know, I think it might behoove the medical establishment
to let old ladies like me wear makeup just to spare them from looking at us.
Just a thought.
Wait, I haven’t adequately
lamented about another thing I hate: pre-operative marking. It’s where the
surgeon marks areas that he’ll be working on; usually done while I’m standing
up. No matter how many times it’s been done to me, it’s still embarrassing.
Maybe if I was a swim suit model or, I don’t know, twenty years old, it
wouldn’t be quite so humiliating. But you get to stand there nekkid except for
panties (and sometimes they’ve been off which is even WORSE) while the doctor
is drawing on you, asking you to turn this way or that, using a sharpie to
create his surgical road map. I know that it’s a good thing & is helpful to
the surgeon. It’s just that when it’s happening to you, there’s no hiding
anything. You’re on display like Honey Boo Boo and her hillbilly clan at a
debutante ball.
But I guess if I’m being
honest, what’s making this particularly scary for me is what it’s going to look
like. I know Dr. Morrissey is the best, but I’ve looked online at all the
different photos of nipple reconstruction. Gotta tell ya – some look good and
some look like a well used dog’s chew toy. I’m positive mine will be fine, but
those photos are going thru my mind.
On the bright side, I’m
going to see if I can make Dr. Morrissey “remember” that he said (wink) that he’s going to throw in
a small facelift or under eye surgery.
A girl can try!
But the other thing I’m
thinking about tonight is how far I’ve come. It’s been three years of ups &
downs – with a whole lot more downs than ups. Still, there were a lot of ups. I
beat MRSA, survived chemo & radiation, underwent more surgeries than I care
to remember, and have a breast where there wasn’t one. I’ve met wonderful
people, both in the medical field and in doctor’s waiting rooms. I’ve mourned
friends who lost their battle with cancer and am head cheerleader with others
who are still in the throes of the fight.
Right now, I’m almost 2
years cancer free, although there have been two terrifying scares. Once the
bone scan showed what looked like bone cancer, but was really a nick in the
bone that Dr. Topham had made to thread veins. The other was a spot on my liver,
but it turned out to be nothing. I had to undergo an MRI for the liver thing,
and once again confirmed the fact that I’m claustrophobic. Thank God for the
wonderful technicians at St. Luke’s who helped me through all my testing
procedures.
Tomorrow is one step
closer to closing this chapter in my life. Oh, I’ll always be vigilant in
scheduling my scans and there will probably never be a day in my life that I
won’t remember this journey. But I’ll also be thankful for the skilled surgeons
and oncologists that held my hand thru it all. The nurses, CNAs &
administrative staff that call me by name and laugh at my lame jokes hold a
special place in my heart. And like I said, the techs were simply awesome.
More than anything,
however, I’m grateful for the support of my family and friends, new and old. Jim
Bryan, you’ve been a wonderful surprise and a friend that I’ll treasure
forever. Thank you. And thank you to my Facebook friends who’ve cheered me
& supported me. I wish I could name you all.
I’ve met the most amazing
people who have followed my journey and cheered me on when I was down. I run a
large homeschool group (between 350 & 400 families), and I have to be
honest, I didn’t know all of the members by name. But some ladies who only knew
me as the wacky broad who organizes things, volunteered to bring food to my
house. Many offered to clean my house! Thank you to all of you – I’m forever in
your debt.
And if you’ve read my blog
for any length of time, you know that my best friend is Michele. She’s been
there thru it all – and laughed at me when I was a total dork. She’s
irreplaceable and I’m so thankful I have her.
My mother in law,
Gretchen, was wonderful. I didn’t share this with you, as it wasn’t mine to
share, but Gretchen battled – and beat – bladder cancer during all of this. Yet
no matter what I needed, she was there. My crazy sister, Theresa, was always on
call – and always ready to help.
My kids have been awesome.
They chauffeured me to chemo and then daily to radiation treatments. They organized a chart with the list of
medicines I was scheduled to take, and even gave me a bell to ring if I needed
anything. They cleaned the house, learned how to do laundry, and turned out to
be some darn good chefs.
And then there’s my Matt;
my husband of 25 years. No one was blind sided by this disease more than Matt.
I swear, when Dr. Quiros told us that there was no saving my right breast, and
couldn’t tell us how extensive the cancer was or even give a prognosis; I
actually felt the breath come right out of him. He was hit hard, and he was
scared. He was trying to be strong for me, so it hasn’t been until recently
that he’s shared how difficult this has been for him. Trust me, I knew it was
hard; but I can’t imagine the hours he spent in Hell (also known as hospital waiting rooms), waiting for the doctors
to tell him what was going on. We’ve truly been thru this together. And
thankfully, we’re coming out the other side a stronger and more committed
couple.
Finally, thank YOU! You’ve
been reading this blog, & have been keeping me in your prayers. I’m so
lucky and I thank you.
I’ll let you know as soon
as I’m able about what happened. And, you know me, I’ll tell you every detail!
Good night everyone &
thank you so very much.
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