April 4-8, 2013 - Houston, we have a new problem

April 4 - So what wasn't supposed to happen, happened. Boob #2 is infected with cellulitis. The imposter is getting back at me for all the bad things I've said about it. Getting admitted to the hospital for some IV antibiotics.

April 5 - I've managed to avoid surgery this morning. He's made no promises though for tomorrow onward. My white count was a whopping 31. So that is some serious infection in there. Lead plastic surgeon wants to give both antibiotics another 12 hours to kick in, so I'm stuck here at least for today. Was hoping to go home this morning. Some improvement, but not enough for him to feel comfortable to let me do... the IV antibiotics at home. Re-evaluating this afternoon. Now would be a great time to bring boob #2 back into your prayer life. I do get a slight chuckle at how funny i might would look with just one boob. That could make for a few good moments of laughter/tears. Hugs to you and thanks for the ongoing support.

April 5- The redness had spread in the past 3 hours. Calling all prayer warriors! Please take my boob into your prayer closet.

April 5- Making the surgery decision tomorrow morning. If there is some improvement we might can watch and wait on iv antibiotics. If no improvement overnight, surgery it is. We don't know if will be one surgery and all is done or one surgery now and two more a few months down the road. Stay tuned. Keep the prayers coming.

April 6- Heads wins. Surgery at 2 (or earlier if they can slide me in). Now let's shift prayers that they can take the implant out, wash the area and culture it, then put a new one in right then. Best case scenario! You might see a grown woman in a tantrum if we pull this one out and have a 4 month waiting period. Back to your closets folks!


April 6- I woke up with a beautiful presence of God's peace. I know it's provided by Him through each of you as the whole network of relationships in my life have gone to their prayers closets on my behalf. I also know it's God given as I in and of myself have no earthly reason to be peaceful in this. Thank you, God, for the many reminders of the glory of your will and the futility of my own.


April 7- I find myself in great spirits. Family and friends gathered and laughing the morning away. These are those little blessing filled moments that polka dot the chaos and stand out in your mind years later.

April 8- There's something wrong putting something into your body fully knowing you are allergic to it. And not once, but over and over again. Very ready for this pathogen to declare itself so Boob 1 and Boob 2.2 (boob 2 met it's maker yesterday) can rest easy in their new living arrangements and we can skiddale with the antibiotics. I myself am still leasing a room at the hospital with at least 2 more day...s to go. (For the record: I'd step away from the dinner tray if I were you.) Working on home health arrangements so I can get the IV meds at home along with the comfort of my own cooking. Prayer request for today: that mom figures out how to operate the recliner. It's a hoot to say the least. I sent Ron home for some much needed rest so pray for that as well. And a secondary request: boob 2.2 remains uninfected and I make it through the antibiotic course all in one piece. Some of my lab markers are suggesting my kidneys don't like this one bit. Hanging in there all the same.

April 8- Yesterday while waiting it out in the recovery room after surgery, evidently I was intoxicated with anesthesia and somehow found myself leading 7 nurses and any number of patients in game of "gimmie an I (I!), gimme an M (M!) gimme a P (P!)...." Whatcha got? IMPLANT! Say it again! Inplant! One more time! Implant!....Yeah, that was me. Stupid me was overly excited I got the new implant instead of dead space in surgery and became uninhibited with the medication cocktail. And I followed it up with "Gimme a BOOB" once I got back to my own room. True story. Thankfully, everyone felt like playing along so I didn't look like an idiot by myself. Surely there is a note in my chart now that reads: Sally often has adverse effects to anesthesia.









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February 13, 2013 - Sally, I need to ask you a personal question

Feb. 13: Valentine's week. Boy, am I beyond grateful for being out of the dating scene. The pressure of valentine's day on a dating relationship can lead to all kinds of mishaps. Where do I take her, what do I buy her? Is a chocolate heart too over the time? A heart shaped pendant? I do NOT want to be a guy this time of year. And if he forgot the day all together, heaven forbid. I love that valentine's day fell into the background when we got married.  We celebrate with dinner out and never on valentine's days. No gifts exchanged. Just dinner out and no pressure around what to wear and what to buy (or not buy). Where is this going, you ask? Well, romance, physical intimacy, and just plain ole love and like can be a tricky thing. Let me prepare you. The transparancy is about to come out again. I promise to try and restrain myself a tad in the process, but I was so intrigued by a question my breast surgeon asked me at my last appointment. I debated on whether to ever bring this up, but alas Valentine's Day seemed the perfect time to throw it all out there. And for the record, you are not allowed to ever mention this post to me in public. So why am I sharing it? I think it's important for women (and as Ron says, husbands too) to know and that was the whole point of this blog. Prepare the unprepared.

"Sally, I need to ask you a personal question and you don't have to answer, but I feel like since you work in oncology you will understand my asking. Also, my motive is so I can know whether I need to talk to other patients about this. Did you and your husband have problems with intimacy and body image after your mastectomy?"

I will spare you the response and the dialogue that came about, but we all know I struggled with body image if you read even one of my posts from the Fall. I really was intrigued by how this physician cared enough to want to incorporate into her every day conversations with the patient how the mastectomy potentially impacts the emotional aspects of husband and wife. I strongly encouraged her to do so knowing my own vanity struggles with the imposters (See post from Aug 31). No matter how great the reconsturctive work, it is still an adjustment to something foreign. They just aren't what you've seen for 30+ years. And they are so closely tied to your identity as a female. There is definitely some time needed for mental adjustment. And some time to simply physically heal from all of the scarring and edema. I know I was not fully prepared for that. And I later found out how hard it is on the husband to not know what to expect. The surgeon confirmed my suspicions. She described relationships falling apart and women navigating this course alone. The husbands are paralyzed by what the wife is experiencing. How will the wife handle this? Will she sail through? Where are all of these emotions coming from? They just weren't prepared. I truly think there should be classes for the spouses to attend to prepare them for the highs and lows. I was so blessed that God gave me Ron who just took it all in stride, but boy do I worry about that couples that don't have a support system in place. I truly believe a mastectomy can wreck all things in it's path if allowed and not carefully prepared (prayed) for.

So if a mastectomy is in your path- ask questions. Involve yourself in dialogue with women who have navigated those waters. Have your husband ask questions. Surround yourself with people who love you unconditionally (they really do exist out there!). Find yourself a surgeon who wants to be involved in the big picture. Give yourself some time to heal. And if you just sail through it without a second thought, just consider yourself blessed.

I'm excited about valentine's week. I want to celebrate a husband who supported me without a flinch when I doubted everything about my physical self. I've still only looked in the mirror twice since the imposters joined the ranks, but the thought of it doesn't revolt me anymore. It's just something I don't prefer. Lead Plastic Surgeon truly did do his "very best work", so what do I have to lose, right? I've embraced Boob 1 and Boob 2. They have found a loving home. I haven't forgotten their predecessors, but I welcome the imposters all the same. And it's about time!

HappyValentine's week. I hope you have found a spouse even half as great as mine. (And if you're still waiting, don't settle! It's well worth the wait.)




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February 6, 2013 - Six months - For I know the plans...

February 6:  I think one of the hardest things to do in life is sit back and wait in faith or plunge forward to accomplish a goal in blind faith. This came to mind today when a former student, turned friend, turned colleague of mine sought me out for advice in a sticky situation at work. It’s so very easy to let our anxieties and stress about a situation propel us to act prematurely in efforts to control a situation out of fear of the possible outcomes. If we can just push a decision to be made, or steer involved parties into our own agenda, we can control the outcomes…sometimes for the better….sometimes for the worse. That’s the trouble.  You never know which outcome will result.  I fully believe stress serves its purpose. It can be an incredible propellant and motivator for action and change, but there is a very fine line between becoming a positive influence and a negative one that results in a plan so very carefully developed by Sally and so drastically out of the hands of God.  And therein lies the dilemma and why so many Christians find ourselves paralyzed in decision making. Is this God’s will? Is this Sally’s will? Are they one in the same? Are they in drastic conflict? We truly want what is best, but we are afraid God isn’t moving quickly enough for that to come about. Or we aren’t tuned up in our relationship with God that we miss the signs all together. We trust ourselves more than we trust him when we run head first into struggles that threaten to pierce our comfort zone.  I’m praying with expectation for my collegue to find her way as she is in a place that feels out of her comfort zone, and I’m reminded of my ongoing growth in this every day struggle.  

Almost 3 years ago, I was facing some very serious internal struggles with my career (very similar to what my friend is facing now). I had hit a rut that I didn’t feel was lining up with prioritizing family time first and also taking care of self so that I had any form of longevity in this life. More generically, those of us that are self-proclaimed over achievers in our careers too often hit rocky patches when there is a minor external  tweak to our career plan. We live in fear of everything not being perfectly planned, perfectly navigated, perfectly accomplished. The introduction of a new schedule, the conflict of life balance, the entry of a new employee that doesn’t quite fit the bill, or the exit of a beloved boss to be replaced with an unknown can send us into a tail spin desperately seeking a solution to something that hasn’t even fully declared itself as a problem. We overachieve in our careers. Unfortunately, we also overachieve in our self-driven problem solving.  Well 3 years ago, when I was faced with a decision to stay put or make some fairly drastic changes, I wanted so desperately to involve God to a level that the outcome was I wasn’t allowed to act on my own as I was so inclined to do as an instant gratifier. I knew leaving something I knew and loved would be an enormous career risk for me, and I realized I needed God to guide me at every single turn in that decision so I didn’t screw that up. So this admitted instant gratifier female stepped back and prayed with an intensity I don’t recall ever experiencing before. I prayed night and day, day and night. And the first week passed, then the second week, then the month, then 6 months, then a year, then TWO years of consistent focused praying for an outcome and guidance. I literally had to consciously restrain myself from acting. I just sat and waited. I waited for peace. I waited for clarity. I waited for the emotions to drain out of me and rational clarity to replace it. I boggled back and forth to from fear to peace until one day the peace won over.  It was absolutely one of the most rewarding experiences of my career and faith. After two years of prayer I removed all doubt of me making the decision alone and recognized God’s blessing in his guidance. I felt the nudge to act and quit my job to transition into something else. If you had asked me 10 years ago if I would have ever done that you would have gotten a very confident absolute NO!  It’s weird how goals and plans change at a moments notice. And when that happened rather unexpectedly, I knew that after such intense prayer and seeking of a plan I could have absolute faith and trust in what was to come. Even though this career change has resulted in one of the most difficult years of my career life, I still have the utmost faith that God put me here in this moment for whatever reason. I may not adore every second of it, but I can still reside in confidence that for this moment He chose this for me and that makes it more tolerable to go through the trenches and get dirty with the team while we navigate these murky waters. But the rewards aren’t limited to peace in my job decision. As a result of that experience, I have another concrete example of God’s faithfulness to prayer. And a concrete example of how choosing with God is so much more rewarding that navigating myself in fear of a potential outcome. I can have faith that even the tough road in the trenches can bring about peace and faith in His plan. It can turn an instant gratifier into a watch and wait embracer. It also can make a decision to trust God in his plans for a mastectomy so much easier to make.  I love a trickle down effect.

Tomorrow marks 6 months of post mastectomy journeys.

“For I know the plans I have for you….” Jeremiah 29:11

January 6, 2013 - The Aftermath of Death

I’m terrified of Death. There I’ve said it. It’s out there and therefore now there’s no taking it back, and it becomes a recognized flaw on me by each of you. Don’t worry, I’m admittedly full of flaws so adding one more to the stack doesn’t intimidate me all that much. I’ve aired out my very personal dirty laundry about boobs on a blog, so I can surely admit my fear of death. But there is a qualifier in that statement. It is not MY death I fear. Not even a little bit. Not even an ounce.  (Well ok, maybe an ounce, but it’s very little and if it exists it's for the nostalgia of what will be left behind).  It is YOUR death I fear.  I’m so greatly impacted by the emotions a person feels after the loss of a loved one. I detest that uncontrollable down to the core indescribable pain one feels after a person dies. The first time you sit at the dinner table and your brother isn’t beside you. The drive to the house your grandmother inhabited just hours ago. Opening the mailbox the day after the funeral to find a letter addressed not to you but to him who can no longer lift the edge of the flap to see the contents.  The first time you walk back into his bedroom and see the fleece footed pajamas your toddler wore the night before and never to again. The first time you climb into a now empty bed and feel the now cold sheets to your right where your husband lay every night for the past 32 years. Curling up on your side and He no longer there to slide over into the curve of your back to keep you warm.  You pull over his pillow and place it under you head so you can smell his aftershave one more time. You roll over on to his space to catch a sliver of a memory you shared. The most empty of empty.  I dread those moments. I loathe those moments. I even cherish those moments. But when any of us experience one of those moments, I am right there with you feeling it to my core. Almost un-naturally so.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all happy go lucky for the person that actually died. With great anticipation of a Christ-follower finding their way to God’s side, could there be anything better?  I trust God very purposely pulled that person into his arms and thus removing them from ours for a very special reason yet to be dicovered and for all the goodness that can come from loss. The person we just lost is much better off in that new perfect world than in our very fallen broken world here below. But for those of us left behind to endure the raw, unavoidable, so difficult to describe emotions that flood our every waking moment after that death, it wrecks me.  I feel it in my everything, every nook and cranny, I can feel that bone crushing pressure in the center of my chest. I feel it even as I type.

The real meat of it is I already struggle with preparing myself for the loss of my parents, my spouse, my siblings, my best friends.  It’s inevitable right? I’m pushing 40. I’ve already loss 3 grandparents. Those moments I care not to relive. I watch mothers and fathers lose their children on an ongoing frequency in my career. We live in a fallen world, and therefore we can’t avoid loss either in an expected pattern (an elderly grandparent) or unexpected (a beloved sister well before her time).  I lost one of my best friends to aggressive melanoma 2 years ago. Ann had turned 36 only a few days before leaving in her path of cherished moments 2 young children, a devoted husband, and more people impacted by her journey than you would care to count. She’s one for the books. I wager we’ve all experienced a similar loss that is now forefront in your own mind as you read this.  Her death cored me. It put a very identifiable dent in my January, my February, and my many months to come. Only about a month earlier I was brushed by the loss of an acquaintance turned friend, Ben. His sister and I had been close as children navigating the mysteries of becoming a teenager. He was in his very early 30s and sarcoma rather quickly ripped him from his family. I was lucky enough to spend time with him throughout his hospital course. God placed me there for a just a moment as that. Not for Ben’s sake, but for what Ben and his death would teach me. Initially, his death consumed me. I would wake up in the middle of the night grieving the emotions not solely of his death, but also of what the families remaining here below were experiencing at that very moment.  That crawl into the floor, curl up into a ball, intense grief of loss. Thinking at any second you will open your inbox and there will sit an email from him/her talking about your upcoming weekend plans, or you walk into the kitchen and there he/she stands digging through the pantry for chocolate chip cookies.  It's those precious moments in the aftermath that gut me and have me clinging to loved ones with an intensity I can't fully describe. I live for memories, and I love people and what they can bring to my life.  I want that to be never-ending.

Later, I realized these two deaths forced me to look at and evaluate why it touches me so deeply. I greatly struggle watching one of you grieve a loss, and I truly dread the loss of any of my own loved ones. I can lie in bed at night and that thought creep into my mind unexpectedly, and suddenly I’m in a puddle of tears, rapid heart rate, sobs of grief that consume that moment. It’s surely un-natural the level of grief I can have in anticipation of something that hasn’t even declared itself.  PLEASE DON’T DIE ON ME! There I’ve said it. The ball is now in your court! I will hold you personally responsible for my incapacitating grief if you up and die on me.  Let that be your motivation to outlive me, please.

And now there you sit reading this asking yourself “where in the world is this coming from? Why is this on a prophylactic mastectomy blog?”  Well, I think this understanding of the role of grief following the death of someone you cherish may have played a role in my decision to do something so drastic as a preventative double mastectomy when I had absolutely no signs of breast cancer.  The new data very clearly pointed out that my risk for breast cancer could easily push 90% as time when on. And once that diagnosis found its way into my now extensive medical chart, the options for treatment would be limited due to my previous exposures to radiation.  Limited treatment options = altered survival statistics.

Last summer (can I even believe it’s been six months?), Ron and I had both been emotionally rocked by the newly released data about female adolescent lymphoma survivors and their breast cancer risk and had been looking through our options. Do we roll the dice? Do we wait it out and let the cancer present itself in its own time and then undergo mastectomy and chemotherapy? No doubt, God had placed me at the right place at the very exact moment to overhear discussion among colleagues about this data. So I had to accept that God handed me this data for a very specific reason. But can we wait it out and hope we fall into the 10% of people with my history that never developed the diagnosis? (If you know you had a 90% chance of being in a car wreck today, I bet every one of you would stay home under a cozy blanket and watch a movie instead of getting into that car to grocery shop). Instead, do I dive in head first into crazy and lop off both of my boobs, spend two weeks enjoying the concave chest, and then go through the imposter replacement?  

I’m not a person driven by fear. I truly trust God and his role in my journey. He very specifically chooses what I may face in any given day, he also allows me freedom to choose, and then He works for good when my choice may have resulted in good or bad. So I had no fear that whatever we chose, we would be ok. I even leaned a little to rolling the dice, wait it out, see what happens. I’m not afraid of my own death. Been there at 16, faced that, survived, lived from then on with excitement! But then I asked Ron what we should do.  I heard him say “if it were me we were talking about, I’d wait, but we are talking about you and I don’t want to lose you prematurely.” That was it. The decision was made. I could very much see and feel the emotions of him living with me through a breast cancer diagnosis and possibly the failure of medical treatment. I saw my sister grieve down to her toes for the loss of me. She’s always held me in a special place. I saw my mom and dad have to relive something they were forced to face the possibility of 21 years ago at my lymphoma diagnosis. I knew what that feels like. I saw it in Ron’s eyes. My decision was made. These boobs were coming off and they were coming off as soon as possible before tumor cells crept into my MRI screen.

There you have it. The real meat of why I did what I did. Of course there are a few other pieces of influence rolled into there as well, but for the most part my flaw of my fear of those left behind after death led to a crazy decision that I don’t regret for a single minute. I didn’t do it only for myself. I did it for him.  I did it for my siblings and parents. I chose life over potential death for those in my personal circle. For anyone who ever loved me and for anyone who would grieve my loss.

So does that mean I can blame one of you for the chaos of my crazy August? Yeah, let’s do that. It makes me feel better.


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Dec 1, 2012 - Does "The Waltons" count?

Dec. 1: I find myself not having/not making time to write. More the former, less the latter but it’s all rolled up together. Life balance is at a minimal these last few weeks, and I find myself acutely aware of the need to find a hobby. So this week as I sit in a leadership conference the conversation turns to how crucial it is to focus on caring for self particularly when you feel you can’t “fit that in”. So we all started talking about our hobbies sharing how we recharge. I’ve known for quite some time I don’t have a hobby (something I do repetitively and find relaxation and enjoyment during and after completion.) I have always been lacking in this area. Always.  As people go around the room speaking of deer hunting, time with their children at museums, scrapbooking, photography, running and such my heart rate acutely rises to fear of and then acceptance of I have nothing to share. Laundry? Cooking dinner? I love to do things, but don’t really know how to engage myself in these long-term. It’s probably noteworthy to mention I also suffer a touch from social anxiety (incorporating myself into a room full of strangers) so I at times steer clear from opportunities.  I like crafts (painting, cutting, arranging, organizing) but don’t want to do them alone and need another person to help generate the idea. Are there craft groups out there? Maybe auditing some classes at a local college in the evening? I used to crave bike riding and spent an entire summer every day after work riding 10 or 15 miles. Then, the winter came and by the next summer I lost the motivation. I like to watch movies, but that gets expensive after a while. I adore book reading, but again it’s an activity done alone. I think mothers have play dates where they pull their kids together for play time and mother time thus promoting regular purposeful interactions. I get home from my 10 hour day and fall into bed not prioritizing life at the end of the day. Would watching The Waltons on a regular basis at 9 pm count qualify with merit as hobby I could mention without embarrassment? So there I remain knowingly unbalanced. I am however, very well intended and want to work on reversing this.  Anyone want to volunteer in joining me in this discovery adventure? Those of you that have known me a while know this has been an ongoing task of mine.

I’ll brag and say I finished my Christmas shopping about 3 weeks earlier than my goal. After my last post, I got a surge of motivation and the very next week (day?) went out and tackled everything on the gift buying to-do list. Boy was that a treat to sit back and realize I had it all accomplished well before my self-proclaimed deadline. Then, as days continued to pass the pride and achievement began chipping away and the remorse started filling in the holes. I gained an ongoing awareness that holiday junkies secretly need to be out in the hustle and bustle of the cold with Christmas music swirling overhead with everyone else.  I’m now having to find reasons to do that and imagine this will heighten even more as I move into December. (Can this be a hobby?) Yep, I should look for a few more stocking stuffers. Return the red for blue. Obtain more bows for next year. And so on the excuses go.

Recovery is going nicely.  My next appointment is in less than two weeks. I have no idea what we will talk about. “Yep, those look nice, swelling receding, see you never again.” Maybe I’m just overly optimistic? There are still many things I can’t yet do as I found when I recently went to my Basic Life Support recertification. Let’s just sum it up by saying if I were you, I would choose a very specific time when Sally had someone with her for you to have your cardiac arrest. There is absolutely no way at this stage of recovery that I could successfully perform chest compressions. (Nor would I want to receive them for that matter). Pushing down with that degree of force is very close to impossible. So if you could delay your need for my skills about 4 more weeks, then I think we would be the perfect team, you and I, for you to fall out on the floor with your heart sputtering in cardiac arrest. Only if you are feeling up to it, of course. No pressure from me. I want you to fall out at your own desire without any encouragement from my need to practice my pursuit at proficiency.

You might not want to know this. It might make you uncomfortable knowing I possess this skill particularly if you find yourself in possession of a set of imposters yourself, but I believe I am now sufficiently and maybe even certifiably  skilled at detecting implant reconstructed boobs. Not that I walk around doing this or anything, but in this phase of my life where I now notice boobs right and left (think about how many pregnant people you see when you yourself are trying to get pregnant, or how many red mini coopers you see on the road when you recently bought one yourself) I myself am now in possession of and now know the characteristics of Smooth Round High Profile Gel filled flaps of skin. Those of you reconstructed with adipose instead of implant may potentially remain safe from my detection. So there is no need to avoid me. The rest of you, I provide my apologies for now possibly knowing your secret as you do mine. The gel imposters do not behave as the normal fat-filled sister boob on any level. Large chested women have never before been successful at going bra-less. My equally large chested-ness now a result of gel means I now can do that. Rest assured I don’t choose it, but I could do it. In fact there are many days in any given week when I have a bra on and can’t tell that I do- I reach down in fear that I forgot it so thankful to find it exactly where it should be. Some of this forgetfulness is a result of my inability to feel some of my skin and pressure normally imposed by a bra, but also because a bra covered boob looks no different than an uncovered boob under a shirt.  When I climb or go down a set of stairs, my chest remains motionless as if made of firm plastic (this may change as the swelling lessens in upcoming months, but no doubt never to return to the sway of the fat containing sister boob. I almost want to become an avid jogger just because of this, but the pull is not near convincing enough to promote conversion.  Joggers are very similar to golfers to me. I don’t always understand the pull. So instead I try to bounce a little more on my walking treadmill to appreciate the new trait in its entirety. And without going into detail out of respect for my grandmother who probably can’t believe I have typed so many paragraphs about breasts, gel filled boob carry a different swell. I will leave it at that.  

I still stand amazed at how something once so foreign to me now is a necessity I could never imagine parting with. Perspective. God was pretty creative when he came up with that ever changing influence.  I’m also now of the mindset of never say “never.” I think I aged 10 years with the deletion and addition of boobs. (Thankfully, my boobs regressed in age in contrast. A silver lining to a dark cloud.)

Nov 14, 2012 - Day # 98 - Christmas boobs, anyone?

Nov. 14: I’ve completed my Christmas shopping. Yes indeed, and about 3 weeks earlier than my goal! After my last post, I got the Christmas bug something fierce and decided to just dive in full force.  I couldn’t be more excited about that, but I must admit there is a little bit of sadness. Will I miss the hustle and bustle of being out and about with all of the other shoppers listening to Christmas carols over the speakers, bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, warm cider in hand?  I really am a sucker for the holidays. Certified Christmas junky. I find myself super giddy as Christmas parties start being scheduled, holiday goodies arrive fresh out of the oven (someone else’s oven might I add) and Christmas music and movies on every channel.  I truly wish for at least one Christmas I lived in a place where we had 12 inches of snow on the ground and still falling and horse drawn sleighs running through the streets (does this really happen in some places?). Yep, I eat that sort of stuff up. And for the record, I get it honest from my mom. All that said I just may have to trek out for a few stocking stuffers just because.  Or maybe at least some window shopping lies in my December future.

Christmas always reminds me of a maybe not so politically correct story that now takes on a bit of a new meaning for me.  Several years ago, in December, I scheduled an appointment with a plastic surgeon. Background:  Back when I was being treated for lymphoma and receiving daily radiation treatments, they used small tattoo marks on patients to serve as placement markers for the radiation machine.  Patient lies on table, naked might I add, and above the patient is what looks like an xray machine. Shooting down from the machine are pin point red laser beams. You line that beam up with the tattoo dots on the patient to ensure the patient is always lying in the exact same spot. This protects vital organs (evidently not the boobs) from receiving the radiation dose. Anyway, while those tattoos were a tad endearing as a marker of where you have been, there were a few that were strategically placed in areas that gave me trouble- the center of my chin for example. So after years of enduring people trying to “get the pin ink” off my chin, I decided it was time to make two of the spots disappear.  Insert Plastic surgeon for tattoo removal procedure.  Back to the story- while I was waiting in the waiting room I noticed the clientele seems a little stereotypical. How do I word this exactly? All female, all leaning on the side of high-maintenance in appearance, all about the same age (20-40) and all shall I say well-endowed in the chest region. While I fit some of that criteria myself, I felt a little out of place. A few minutes later I’m called back to my appointment with the surgeon and somehow the topic of those waiting in the waiting room came up to which he replied “Oh yeah, those are the Christmas boobs. Happens every December.”  It goes without saying that I busted out laughing. People actually got new boobs for Christmas.  At that time, it seemed so foreign to me. Now, here I sit with two new boobs. Albeit for a different reason, but the irony isn’t lost on me. Actually, maybe it is for the same reason come to think of it. After the mastectomy, I wasn’t content with the concave chest appearance so I went in for some enhancement.  Maybe I’m not so different after all. Vanity can sneak its ugly head into anything. Kind of wish my surgery had been scheduled for December so I could say I have “Christmas Boobs.”

I’m hoping this Christmas Spirit carries me a good bit better than the delights of fall has the last few weeks. I’m really struggling at work in this super busy project we have going on. I feel like the entire building is one big ball of emotion right now. Deadlines, unfinished tasks, completion of task, personalities, stress, confusion, achievement, success.  Balancing two jobs, two locations, two sets of leadership, two sets of loyalties is always a challenge. On any given day you go in with a huge smile on your face and hour by hour the calm is peeled away like an onion being stripped layer by layer.  I am blessed with a personality trait of being able to stay calm and focused in chaos, but I have to admit even I am wearing down these last few weeks. I’ve never been part of a project this intense. During the day, I just keep moving forward meeting to meeting, email to email, fire to fire all propelled by a burst of adrenaline and then when I get home where I feel it is safe I purge myself of all built up emotion.  And I’m also a caretaker wanting to protect of each member of my team, but in that process I often leave care of self to last. Last night, I got home and pulled into my driveway, turned the engine off, and laid my forehead against the steering wheel where I found myself still sitting 15 minutes later sorting through the past 10 hours.  The neighbors surely thought I had passed out in a drunken stupor. I might even make the neighborhood newsletter.  (Something certainly to strive for no doubt.)  I don’t think Boob 1 and 2 can be blamed for any of this other than maybe some reflection in my stamina, but that is at least improving with each passing week.  Needless to say, I am beyond grateful that after a night of sleep I come back the next morning with the smile and calm restored, if only for a few hours.  I used to love this occupational adrenaline drive. I used to be exceptionally good at chaos. Maybe Boob 1 and 2 do carry some fault in that change. Maybe.  I’m fully aware that God has a purpose in this job for me. I prayed for 2 solid years before transitioning out of something very familiar and comforting into a brand new arena of change. I’m claiming that awareness, and that is what is pushing me forward through this. He must have something in store during this or at the end of this, either for myself or for someone else.  I’m relying on that so I stay motivated to keep pushing through the onion layers. Remove the emotion,  peel back the gunk, get to the core of the decision, weigh it all out, make the decision, spend two minutes celebrating the success, move to the next fire.  That’s how I’m spending each hour of each work day. At home, I’m desperately trying to fill each moment either with relaxation or a blast of excitement. Needless to say my vacuum is feeling neglected.  We as a human race sure do know how to drive ourselves into chaos. Oh to live where they have summer holiday. And employers actually smile on it.  I however would advocate for seasonal quarterly holidays. Ok, maybe that’s a bit much.

Click  www.tradinginthetatas.blogspot.com to access other posts. 

Nov 6, 2012- Day # 90 - Awareness

Nov 6: It's been 3 months. Everyone told me it would take up to a year to fully recover from a mastectomy and reconstruction. On the front end, I thought they were a little crazy. Did they mean emotionally? Physically? Spiritually? Relationally? Now in hindsight, where everything always make a bit more sense, I see it is in fact quite possible, and probable, it’s a ball of all of that rolled up into one. It’s been many weeks since I’ve posted. I needed to regroup. Step back. Let a day go by without needing to analyze what I was feeling that day.  Selfishly, I need some time to myself to get back in the swing of things. I’m back to work full speed (and I am 100% sure I came back 2 weeks early) and trying to effectively navigate all that life brings us on any given day. I’d be crazy if I said it has been easy. It’s been absolutely challenging on every level. My stamina just isn’t what it used to be pre-impostors. I’m trying to keep myself organized, moving, efficient and also trying to juggle two split positions and leading a team pulling in a thousand directions. Honestly, I’m trying to stay above water and keep everyone around me afloat as well. I came back too early. But I am getting there.  I’m trying to return to the wife I used to be pulling off my own to-do list and not having to rely on Ron for help with every task I do at home.  This is coming. It’s right around the corner. In fact, I probably already stepped around the corner, but as everyone does in healing the progression goes forth for a bit and then again back for a bit. One big area of advancement, and I will celebrate with a high-five, is that the impostors have moved into the background of my mental life. No longer do they consume every moment of thought. Now they trickle in and out of my day unpredictably. With regular frequency I catch myself off guard and find myself muttering “oh yeah, that happened didn’t it.” I wondered if those days would ever come. They are indeed coming.  While the thoughts of what I have done have moved into the background a good bit I still recognize every day that I am now “different”.  That’s super hard to explain in words that won’t seem jumbled and distorted, but there’s this ongoing internal awareness that I did something crazy / amazing / controversial / altering / overwhelming / unfathomable / undeniable / extraordinary / unexpected. And along with that awareness there lies this ever present underlying feeling of surreal / post-traumatization / achievement / disorientation /accomplishment.  See, I told you it was complicated.

Physically, Boob 1 (right) and Boob 2 (left) are still just plain ole weird. Visually, they have yet to settle out. Physically, my right-side smooth round high profile gel implant (reminder that this was my trouble impostor from the get-go) is settling in a little quicker than its mirror image twin on the left. Both are still rather swollen and tense and restricted in comfort, but for the first time since this all started Boob 2 is more troublesome than Boob 1 with it putting up more of a retaliation when incorporated into daily tasks.  I guess they are both on their own agenda and payroll. I keep trying to push them along with encouraging words and offers of future gifts. It’s as if I think I have some control over their recovery rate. If I just keep pushing them along I will get there (wherever there is) in record time, right? I’m also routinely traumatized by the bitter cold weather that has found its way to our state. I know “cold” is relative and you Canadians are having a hearty chuckle at my words, but I’ve never had a huge tolerance for cold even pre-impostors. Post implantation it is a thousand times worse.  I forget if I’ve mentioned this before or not so feel free to zone out if this is a repeat discussion but feeling cold causes a physical response of the pectoral (chest wall) muscle clamping down that is uncontrollable and anything but enjoyable. So I fall at the mercy of heat to get the muscle to release. Even crazier, you can actually see it happen and it’s weird - to put it mildly. Couple that with the intense discomfort that results and you have a not so happy Sally. I’ve restricted myself to participation in indoor activities only until future notice.  Please keep that in mind when planning my social calendar. Smile.   

All that said I’ve set some goals for the holidays in efforts of pushing me onward with each passing day.

1) Complete Christmas shopping BEFORE the second week of December. This will push me to need to go shopping after work in the evenings. Right now that seems like an enormous hurdle for my stamina, but set the bar high right? If I can accomplish this, surely I can prove my stamina is returning full force.

2) Tolerate wearing a NORMAL bra before Christmas. While sports bras used to carry some level of excitement with their wear (motivation to get on a treadmill, throw on some gym clothes to lounge in the house, cozy up in a sweatshirt for movie time), I now loathe them after being restricted to their company for almost 3 months now.  That seems trivial I know, but wearing a regular bra again really carries some level of normalcy. Who knew? And normalcy is now the goal.

3) Go on an adventurous trip this winter. I made a goal some friends of ours. The husband was diagnosed with Lymphoma this past summer. Our goal was to both be able to go on this upcoming trip. He is scheduled to complete his chemotherapy and receive an “all clear” in December, and I am to get in a good enough spot to endure the adventure as well. I very much want this to happen for so many reasons so I am mentally pushing for swift improvement on my part to hold up my end of the bargain and to endure the high impact of this trip.

Three goals. Easy cheesy. (But I have to admit I haven't looked in the mirror full frontal since September 9, Day 32. -See post- so it's obvious I'm horrible at this. )

Next appointment still scheduled for mid December. I’m really enjoying that down time, and I don’t miss Spot even one iota. I’m on the healing journey.

Oct 22, 2012 - Day # 75 - End of a chapter

Day 75: This is not new information to most of you since a majority of you reside on social networking, but I am ecstatic to report that as of yesterday’s check my wound is dare I say “healed”! I snapped a picture of it last night and emailed it to Lead Plastic Surgeon for his view point and got an immediate reply of “Hooooraaaayyyy!!! See you in December!”  I get to skip this week’s scheduled appointment and forget about the drama of boob appointments combined with show and tell for two whole months. Two months of no appointments. That’s like a normal life again! What’s a gal to do? Ron and I slapped each other a celebratory High-Five, bore huge grins on our faces, and fell asleep out of exhaustion.  We promise to celebrate more enthusiastically in upcoming days when we’ve caught up on some much needed sleep. So there you have it, another closed chapter of this mastectomy journey. In fact it may be a closed book or at least a book with limited (yet to be written) chapters remaining. Some swelling still to resolve, stamina and muscle strength to be regained, self-assurance to continue to heal, but for all practical purposes I am now a woman who chose, endured, and conquered fairly unscathed the incredible journey called prophylactic double mastectomy with a semi-delayed reconstruction.

I’ve admitted it before but say it again here that no one could have fully prepared me for these last 11 weeks. I’m in part to blame as I did a pitiful job of preparing myself. I do a better job of prepping myself for grocery shopping than I did this surgery mainly out of naivety, but I’d be foolish not to admit some level of denial in the days leading up as well. So there in lies my first tidbit of advice….get some information before you embark. Find information for yourself and also for your spouse or caregiver. I know each journey can be vastly different from another, but any information can form a framework to build on.  I could not foreshadow to what degree these few months would challenge me and throw into question or provide confirmation of my thoughts and security in just about anything from faith, friendship, femininity, sexuality, emotional involvement in healing, and the list goes on. There were those early weeks in July (not directly reflected in my updates) where we truly had to rely on God’s guidance in a very murky decision point. There were worries of insurance coverage, reliance on prayer, the testing of conventional thoughts of healthcare, the testing of beliefs of what I ever would or would not do in my lifetime. One Thursday (see post “how this all came about”) life went from tried and true to  a case of “what in the world?” in a few short hours.. We had a quick reminder of how in a moment’s time your journey can be thrown into an unexpected course of fear, unknowns, and even a little amazingness tossed in for good measure. I had moments, particularly in August, where every sense of self control and strength came into question (flashback to that first shower or the day the vest came off in the post titled “Day 0 Part 2”). The strong woman who had made up the core of Sally was nowhere to be found or was at least was precariously perched on the edge of hard-to-find during many days of the weeks no gone by. The woman who knew how to think rationally and control all emotion had temporarily flown the coop. Likewise, I saw pieces of myself I had never seen before or even knew existed. In this came a wake-up call highlighting human vulnerability and the powerful emotions of the subconscious. I’m a better person for those moments, no doubt, but boy did they catch me off guard in the midst of it all. I’m certainly a better clinician, a better wife, and dare say a better friend as a result. And I’m more in tune with the Sally God created me to be for he chose this exact moment very purposefully for whatever outcome. I’ve been stretched to say the least.

I’ve shared this extremely personal journey for so many reasons, most of which were not revealed to me until after the fact. Originally, I sought to advocate for women in similar shoes.  I wanted to empower them to speak out about something that seems way more natural to hide under a t-shirt. Give prophylactic mastectomies and the women behind them a voice. I had stood too long in ignorance about this procedure and the heavy emotions that can encompass it. Too often, fear and embarrassment become a powerful motivator to climb under a rock and endure life alone, but the acknowledgement of God choosing every single moment in time (both amazing and unbearable) for a very specific purpose can empower you to step outside a comfort zone with what normally would be a very personal journey. Your experience can become someone else’s motivation.  Second, I needed an emotional outlet to get all of these crazy thoughts out of my head. In fact, it became very therapeutic for me to spill out the contents of this over-stuffed head and let them fall as may without much regard for those reading. I received encouragement from you like never before and quickly realized we were all going through my mastectomy together. My transparency involved you. And in return, you involved yourself. To quote one of you “I have laughed with you, I have cried with you”…. “and found myself seeking something greater in and outside of myself”.  Some of you were even motivated into action - myself included. Third, I found some restoration through my writing. I don’t know the why, but this all seemed more bearable through the humorous vantage point the blog forced me to take (see Day #30 -card carrying member). Maybe you found some restoration in your own story as well as you read and experienced mine. Our struggles, our triumphs, our journeys are not our own but a testament to God’s kingdom changing plans through us as vessels. And along the way, we find a little more of ourselves and those around us in return.

I’ve come to a long awaited end of a chapter. My journey was much shorter than others out there, but it seemed a lifetime. Eleven short weeks that spanned an emotional eternity. I absolutely made the right decision in plunging forward with this decision, but oh how it impacted me. I hope God has great plans for this outcome. I trust that he chose me for a very specific purpose. Thank you for letting me spill out the intimate moments of the last 11 weeks. Thank you for continually supporting me through the images of the mirror, the woes of pesky little drains, the tears of success, the fears of potential failure, the embracing of impostors, the battles against Spot, and now the triumph of being on the other side. I am blessed beyond measure and hope you’ve seen a little bit more of Sally and just maybe a whole lot more of God as a result. Thank you for letting me be real and in turn you hanging on to each word. You gave me motivation to put down the personal barriers and show you at least one side of an extremely challenging moment in my life. One more notch on Life’s to-do list accounted for.  We did it and to God be the Glory as I surely could not have done it alone.

Smooth, round, high profile gel Implant. The things I never knew before.  

(P.S. I promise to update you again if any changes or worthy updates occur).

Oct 17, 2012 - Day # 70 - Lesson 101

Day 70: A few more "bet you didn't knows" for mastectomy 101 class. 

A mastectomy patient can't cross their arms. And let me tell you how very frustrting this is to a woman who has spent her entire life cold and in need of the warmth that comes with crossing one's arms. Also someone who prefers to sit with arms crossed despite the negative vibe it gives off as being "uninterested, stand offish, threathened". Nope, that's me just bitterly cold. I long for the comfort of crossing my arms for any extended period of time. Before, right forearm over left forarm, right hand resting comfortably in the crook of left elbow resulting in a happy go luck Sally. Now, same stance but very uncomfortable chest region inderneath and an awkward looking outcome since my arms can't lie over the region below. Hard to fully describe, but trust me it's awkward, and I long for the return of my comfort zone.

A mastectomy patient who has undergone implant reconstruction can not comfortably live where the temperatures fall below 70. I don't know how women of the artic can be a candidate for this reconstructive surgery option. I found out last week when the temperatures took a drastic and unexpected dive that this is an impossible combination. What happens when you walk outside in the cold? You shiver. Well how does shivering happen? Clinching of muscles. Where does new implant reside? Carefully tucked under the filleted pectoral muscle. Cold -> pectoral muscle clinch -> internal screams from patient. And when I say clinch, I mean lockdown, as in will not release under any circumstance. I, the absolute most cold intolerant person on the planet, wishes I had scheduled my recon surgery in the comforts of june to allow for full recovery in the exhausting heats of summer. I do not know how I will survive the dipping temperatures of late fall. Smiling face on the outside, desperate uncomfortable and uncontrollable clinching on the inside. Bad news bears. The silver lining, I am healing so I am hoping the winterized pain will lessen even more in upcoming weeks. In the meantime, don't be surprised if I am dressed like an out of place eskimo at our next encounter.

Mastectomy scars have come a long way in arm many decades. My breast of old was opened and scooped out via a carefully placed incision that was glued back together for safe keeping. Two weeks later, said incision was reopened, synthetic contents carefully replaced and packaged, and incision once again glued back together for recovery. Almost 2 months later, scars are fading into the background - considering what they have been through. 20 years ago, mastectomy scars were a sight to behold. Jagged, randomly placed, sitting in multiples, sutured into place leaving needle marks behind. Go ahead, do an image search. It will leave a lasting impression as it did me when I started researchign this procedure. Just like hair cuts and dye jobs (excuse me, color services), incision techniques and placement have improved by leaps and bounds. I imagine I should give credit to both surgeons who worked hard and strategically to make my scarring minimal for hopes of preserving my sanity. Job well done, Mr and Ms surgeon! I commend your handiwork and applaud God who had a hand in the matter as well. So grateful to have been chosen for this procedure in this decade.

Oct 12, 2012 - For the Record

And for the record: I've never felt more loved by the people around me as I have for the past 3 months. Thank you for impacting my life in such a positive way! My cup still runneth over.

Oct 12, 2012- Day # 65 - The Practical Saint

Oct 12:  Yesterday was my 4 year wedding anniversary. Ron and I had made plans to go out to dinner after work, but he wouldn't tell me when or where just to meet him at home. I had a late afternoon meeting at work and I got out a little later than normal, so all the way home I am panicking that I am going to be late. Of course, every car in the state of North Carolina lies between me and home this evening. It was like a barn yard of animals trying to get to the trough at feeding time. No matter what road I took I crawled about an inch an hour. I kept calling Ron to tell him to add 10 mins to my anticipated arrival time. He kept saying no worries, I built it cushion time. After a grueling knuckle gripping commute and 50 minutes later, I was home. I pull into the garage and notice a sheet of paper taped to the door leading in from the garage.

In said instructions:

· Enter the house and go straight to the master bedroom suite

· In the bathroom you will see I have drawn a bubble bath for you. Take all the time you need.

· When you finish with your bath, use the walkie talkie on the side of the tub to let me know you are finished. You will receive further instructions so stay put until I tell you otherwise.

· Dinner will follow your bath in the McCollum dining room.

· Dress code: causal PJs

· Happy anniversary

So I do as I am told and go straight to the bathroom where I find candles lit, bubbles in the tub, fresh flowers on the counter, and plates of crackers and cheese to tie me over. About 30 minutes later, I emerge from the tub, dress in my PJs (which makes me super excited), and use the walkie talkie to let him know I was finished with task #1. I'm then instructed to open the cards I find on the counter.

Contents:

· Sweet anniversary card

· Craigslist advertisement of Ron selling his motorcycle!!!!! He placed an ad that very morning. (Super happy as I am terrified of him riding it. Super super terrified. By the way, it sold today.)

After a few more minutes I get the "ok" to head to the dining room. I walk into the dining room to find an amazing table setting complete with more fresh flowers and a little white boxed placed in the center or my plate. I open this to find a beautiful new ring. You know a woman loves some accessories. I'm beaming from ear to ear. In comes Ron with salads to start, followed by filet mignon, bacon wrapped shrimp, gourmet mac and cheese, roasted garlic asparagus, and fresh sour dough bread. Put on some background music and talk about our day. There's nothing I adore more than dinner and conversation. We are both foodies, and I particularly love intentional conversation. So we sat and talked for quite a good bit. Follow that up with warm fresh baked cherry pie! After being stuffed to the core, we watched a movie and I became the happy recipient of a foot massage. I am an absolute sap for foot massages. I'm sad to report I fell asleep close to 9 pm out of sheer exhaustion from my work day, but what a fabulous evening and a ton of brownie points for my husband. You can check out Facebook for picture of the items described above. Don't think he was the only one shelling out items and I should be flogged. I did purchase him a round of golf much to his delight.

I tell this story not to flaunt the evening but because it speaks volumes to the heart of my husband. I've always ragged him a bit because he tends to fall on the side of "practical" which often pushes "romance" right out the window. Practical is a trait I crave in a mate, so it serves us well in everyday activities, but practical in the case of love can often result in missed opportunities. So I absolutely adore when Ron puts practical out the window instead. This was such an occasion. And I really needed that.

The last few months have left me feeling anything but romantic. In fact, I have felt so very far from that but by my own doing. It's difficult to factor in almost anything normal in life much less romance when you are struggling with the self-issues and physical limitations that often follow mastectomy. Everything in your day becomes a to-do list of drains, bandages, walks, appointments, exercises, and so on. And the exhaustion is so very powerful. You get caught in the everyday rut of healing. As a result, mastectomy can be a fast track to boring and a just-get-through-your-day mentality and understandably so. Women (and their spouses) have so much up against them that they have to be extremely purposeful to maintain any sense of normalcy in their lives during this recovery. The odds are stacked against them at every turn. Somehow, Ron and I fared extremely well mainly due to the amazingness of Ron. But I would be amiss if I didn't elude to the absolute need of being purposeful in your relationships as your traverse this territory. Life is already trying to break you on any given day, throw in a mastectomy and you have the perfect recipe for relationship disaster. I praise God that Ron and I recognized this early on and was able to focus on looking out for each other emotionally. He put me first, and I put me first too! Smile. Actually, he put me first and I did everything I could to look out for both of us. I can't imagine tackling this journey without a solid marriage in tow. So much of this story has been focused on me and my struggles and triumphs, but boy an equally incredible story lies with the spouses behind the patient. I wish I could talk him into to posting about his journey in this blog, but writing anything longer than his signature just about throws him into convulsions. He just detests it. (And maybe that is why he chose engineering). It's not lost on me though how intense this whole event has been for him. The emotions of worrying did we make the right decision, did we think every through, sitting through 5 hours of surgery - twice, suffering through my inconsolable sobs, supporting me when nothing made sense to me, the long hours of caregiving, lack of sleep, continuing to work only to come home to more work here. The list goes on and on. And yet, he stood by it all and came through with flying colors. It most certainly is a testament to his God-centered life and his commitment to marriage. He's a saint. And that is why he is so easy to love. And why we are stronger on the other side for it.

It's been 4 years- such a short time in the span of marriages- but it's been a four year span of incredible. And because of our commitment to each other and those 4 years, this mastectomy became just another relationship building notch on our marriage story. Of note, in those 4 years, I've had 4 major surgeries - left knee, right knee, both boobs off, and both boobs back on. I told you he was a saint.

(By the way, I got permission to post this story although I am sure he would embarrassed beyond words if you mentioned it in person).

Oct 10, 2012 - Day # 63 - Safety of the tiny white screen

My thoughts are a little jumbled this week as I attempt to gracefully balance life as we all do. I've crossed the threshold of all consuming boob thoughts to now a hodge podge of work, home, friends, family, travels, and a little boob thrown in for balance. The impostors have morphed into more of a secondary thought mainly popping up like a surprised guest during the cleaning ritual, changing clothes, trying to fall asleep, and randomly placed moments in my work day when I reach for something that is too high or brush up against something and feel the unmistakable tinge of discomfort. I'm sure you have noticed this transition as well in my updates. It's most certainly reassuring to fall back into a more familiar pattern. This week has been a compilation of a less normal non-boob mix. I'm still navigating thoughts around a friend who lost her 18 month old twin son a few weeks ago. That pops into my head at the strangest of times. Then, thoughts around the wedding we attended this past weekend. Next, I may find myself pondering the birth of a baby into my close network of friends. It has been over a month, but I still marvel at the newness of parenthood and all that changes that come with the arrival of a newborn. Now as of a few days ago, I am sorting through the thoughts and emotions of the suicide of my coworker who somehow felt there was no suitable solution to the thoughts that plagued her each day. She was a brand new mom and one of the most bubbly people you would ever meet. All smiles. All happy go lucky on the exterior. Shock rocks our work community as always does when something like this happens. I'm burdened by what must have been her feelings of confusion and utter despair. Then I ask myself how many others like her sit around me on any given day, and I have no clue? What responsibility do I have in life to those around me? I will never have that all figured out, but I do know I need to focus my attention less on self and more often on the lives of those around me. What if one simple and kind word out of my mouth could positively alter the course for another that lies in unannounced desperation? "What if" thoughts are everywhere for all of us in any given day. Pondering.

And my thoughts now transition back to the adorable wedding this past weekend. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was super apprehensive about this event. Of course there was excitement to see this couple "take the plunge" and commit to a God-centered marriage. But mixed in with that excitement for them was a trail of anxiety and hesitation around self. This is how petty and self focused I can be at times particularly in the last few months and therefore leading to my "what if" thoughts of above. As the day started to approach, my worry fell to this not so fashionable, full-coverage, ill-designed sports bra that needed to be incorporated into a dress that may or may not have a neckline to support it and may or may not even fit anymore. I put it off, I put it off, and I put it off some more until finally Friday evening arrives and I can put it off no more. (Rest assured, I found a suitable option). This in turn reveals to myself (as well as to you) that this new accomplishment of mastectomy and breast implants on my life's "I wasn't planning for" to-do list has made me a tad more vain. Or maybe vain isn't the correct term, and self conscious should be substituted in its place. Add to those self-conscious thoughts the apprehension of the questions that might arise from those at the wedding who knew of my most recent journey. I see the irony there. Here, I type a mile a minute about anything and everything that might come up in any given mastectomy day as an outpouring of information and advocacy, but I clam up like an oyster when asked about it in public. In person I resort back to my days of privacy while in private I feel free to be open and out there. The safety of the tiny white screen with the black cursor.  It sits in silence and accepts my pecking without evaluation of content and intent. Maybe the feelings that crowd my thoughts when approached in public are nothing more than a reflection of my self consciousness like my struggle with choice of clothing. Well, turns out the wedding went off without a hitch, I had a dress to wear, and the conversation of me was little to none. Oh how we find ourselves worrying about the silliest of things.

Today, I had my weekly clinic appointment with Lead Plastic Surgeon. I'm so eager to make this long term relationship more of a short term engagement. I love his team and all, but I've grown bored with the weekly show and tell. It does in fact get very old very quickly - as in I was tired of it 10 minutes into my very first appointment back in June. At what point does one start feeling comfortable with the flashing of one's impostors. I dare say never and if I do I need a sanity check. I recall the same feelings of invasion back during my lymphoma treatment when at the tender self-finding age of 16, I was expected on a daily frequency to strip down to nakedness and lie on a table for a zap of radiation therapy to my chest and abdomen. Months of this lovely occurrence. How is that a normal day for a teenager? (Maybe more on that later.) Despite the strip down, the best news of the day came when show and tell was over and he said he thinks Spot is improving. "Healing! But not healed." Surgeon had promised me last time I saw him that Spot would be healed before this appointment today, and you can be confident that I reminded him of that, but alas Spot has his own calendar and agenda. Regardless I'm delighted, exuberant, spectacular, and satisfied. I get another week break and back to see him in two.  Two more weeks of every day life without the complications of working a doctor's appointment into your day. I will take it and run like the wind!

My brother turns 40 this week. How exactly did I get here with siblings in their forties and myself knocking on that door? Oh so many thoughts there that could find their way to this tiny white screen. Maybe another day. (But hey, my boobs aren't 40! They are a ripe old age of 2 months!)

Oct 8, 2012 - Day # 61 - 200 square feet of space

Day 61: I’ve decided that everything in this entire journey is relative. What I may have experienced on Day # 17, Susie Q down the street status post mastectomy also day #17 has an entirely different day, vantage point, and impact. To each their own journey.  At my last clinic visit, as I waiting to be called back, in walks a lady presumably about my age and falling right below her zip up jacket you see the unmistakable snake of drain tubes. Well, let me just say this woman in no way resembled me and my days of drains. She waltzed in with a big smile, unaccompanied by supervision, walking just as normally as the next person. I had been stiff, awkward, a little pouty, and nothing like this ray of sunshine I saw before me. Immediately, I wondered if I had over-reacted to my drains. Were they really all that bad? Had I over dramatized? This, I pondered for quite some time and caught myself people watching the full hour wondering about their story and trying to relate what I was seeing to my own experience  on some level. There were all different kinds of faces. Some flat and absent of emotion. Discomfort. Bewilderment. Contentment. Contorted with laughter.  Some chipper and energetic as the woman who had just walked in with drains in tow. Head scarves decorated the scalps of the less fortunate than I. I was so intrigued by the assortment of women (and men) in the waiting room. What a collection of stories that must lie in these 200 square feet of space.  Yet, we all sat silently in our own cocoons.

I’ve never known anyone on a mastectomy journey.   Sure, I’ve known people on the periphery and even mentioned them on my “wall of fame” in previous posts, but I’ve never gone through the depths of mastectomy with anyone. I didn’t have a single expectation or understanding about this journey on the front side. I went into it about as blindly as one possibly could go. I learned as I went. And in hindsight, I think that was absolutely naïve and absurd on my part. I didn’t know if what I was experiencing was “normal” or not.  Was I completely off the wall? Could I have done something different to speed or alter recovery? I spent a majority of my time worrying about where I was on this charted course and being slapped in the face by every single new blind day. It was scary trying to navigate in the absolute dark. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I reach out to women who had traveled this course before? Maybe, knowing I didn’t have breast cancer made finding someone else in a similar boat a little tougher. I knew I would be faced with different emotions and outcomes than a woman carrying that diagnosis. But I could have searched harder.  I mistakenly (or maybe God planned it that way) did this blindly, and I now feel the absolute necessity of needing to get my story out there for that other woman starting to chart the same course.

I do firmly believe that only about 10% (random number) of life is meant to impact you and you alone. Yet we so cautiously and carefully control what we allow people to see on the outside of our neatly landscaped lives. On any given day each of our lives are an unorganized field of engulfing weeds. We all have weeds, yet we only display the prized tulips. Shameful! Watered down! Unsalted! I was extremely close to falling in to that trap of self-censorship. Praise God that he removed my pride and prompted me to be open about this mastectomy. Believe me; it went against every fiber of my being to send that very first face book update 3 days afterwards. Even now, I glance back of some of my writings and wonder what in the world allowed me to speak so openly about such a sensitive topic in first person.

There are moments I wonder if I will ever regret someone knowing the painful moments of that first shower. The humility of vest changes. The uncontrollable sobbing. The exhausting acknowledgement of lack of control. The craziness of the woman of August. There are moments when I see one of you in person and immediately feel the vulnerability of you knowing the most personal moments of my life, the scenes of concave chests and now chest wounds, and I not even knowing where you work or the name of your spouse. But at every point of life I have to walk what I believe. Trusting God with my life translates to trusting God with my story and what plans he may or may not have for it. I felt to my core that you were to know my story. Every nook and cranny even if that goes against my extremely private make up. For whatever purpose and in disregard to how it may be received.  I couldn’t be more surprised by the intensity of that conviction.  So I listened and threw it all out there despite momentary relapses of wanting to climb under a rock.  And you know what? Amazing things came of that transparency. Support from people I never dreamed of. Encouragement to get through the next day. A feeling of being in God’s will with each passing moment. Empowerment by the flow of words onto a page and the dialogues between old and new friends that would result. Seeing God change a moment in your life because of a transparent moment in mine. It truly does make every pesky drain incision worth the discomfort. And it makes me crave knowing the story of each woman in the waiting room in return.  

Oct 3, 2012 - Day # 56 -Things I took for granted

Day 56: Mom gently reminded me that people are asking where my posts are. I guess working all day and coming home exhausted has left my computer screen neglected. Also, there isn't as much change from day to day this far out, so I didn't know how much people wanted to keep up with. But the people have spoken so here you go.

Last night, I slept on my side. Now to the majority of you you are thinking "what's the big deal"? Well, let me tell you it is very much a big deal to a woman status post reconstruction. You've read the endeavors of my nightly rituals of late with 14 pillows, numerous rearrangements, grunts of discomfort, and restriction to back sleeping only. Well 2 weeks ago, Lead Plastic surgeon lifted those restrictions and it has taken me 2 full weeks to be able to actually take him up on his oh so kind offer of resumption of side sleeping. It's been way too painful to put prolonged pressure on either side with the drain incisions being right below the arm pit, and impostors glued in place under stretched pectoral muscles and synthetic slings. Rolling on the left or right side could send one into a fit of anguish and choice words only to 1.5 seconds later find yourself on your back once again (if you ever made it off the back to being with). Two nights ago, I tested the side again and would make it about 15 mins before having to flip back over. Last night, at least an hour on each side. You will recall historically I am a side sleeper so this is a nice triumph to me. One more to-do list task checked off as successful and a much happier version of me with a better night of sleep. I'll add that the ultra firm (sleep on a slab of concrete) mattress may be due some credit as well, at least for improved back pain that has been plaguing me since the mastectomy surgery. Not so sure Ron is happy with the insertion of concrete into our slumber, but we are still testing that out. I have to  remind him he was only invested financially in the mattress purchased and said "pick whatever you want. I can sleep anywhere." There may be an egg crate foam purchase in our very near future.

I know I took six weeks off of work. I know I was confined to extremely limited activity during my house arrest. I know I slept an enormous amount of time during that break. BUT I KNOW I need a vacation to get away and actually have some leisure time with Ron that I might actually enjoy. So we are searching for something within driving distance we can feasibly go to without forking out an arm and leg leaving Friday after work and coming home Sunday evening. Our anniversary is October 11, and we always travel by plane to some exotic location for our anniversary. So I am really bummed we can't do that this year. 1) I have no time off. And I mean none. 2) The surgery hit our pocket books. 3) The mastectomy recovery took way longer than I had led myself to belief up front. I am wanting to find something close by we can go to get away and enjoy some Ron/Sally time. I owe it to Ron after all the things he has had to do that "were not in the initial marriage contract". Clean wounds, share not so fun showers, endure emotional outbursts, bathroom time, appointment after appointment. emptying drains, change bandages, and the list goes on. I've decided I deserve time away too for good measure. We are kicking around Williamsburg. Have you been?  Did you love it? What must we absolutely not miss? Let's hope we figure something out. I want to have that to look forward to in coming weeks. I definitely took my 8 weeks of vacation a year for granted now that they are all gone.

The Spot. It's still there. I think it has a fondness for me that I'm sad to report is not shared in return. In fact, I detest him. I tell him daily yet he still clings to the hope of a lasting meaningful relationship. He just can't take the hints! I'm thinking about sending it to counseling for dependency traits. Despite my careful and routine attempts to bandage and clean him out of existence he still looks the same to me that is has for the past week. I am refusing to go to the Surgeon's office today for my sanity. It's been 3 weeks that we know of. And this thing did not pop up over night so I am guessing we have had this little pesky wound for 4 weeks now. But it isn't worse according to the surgeon so I made and executive decision and am taking this week off. A week with no Doctor's appointments! Sign me up! Maybe a return of dignity is in my future when all is said and done.

So we bought pumpkins. Did I already mention that? I was like a kid in the candy store. We went to the farmer's market Sunday afternoon and you would have thought Ron was the parent and I the kid. I kept going from this one to that one  getting Ron to pick them up for me to survey. That one is too tall and skinny. That one too flat. That one is adorable with it's quirky stem. I've already admitted I have some commitment issues when it comes to picking stuff out (flashback to the mattress selection process and you should see me with a restaurant menu). In the end, we got 3 to carve and 2 for decor in the kitchen. Thought I would have to talk Ron into that part but he was all on board. Have you seen the Apple Gourd Pumpkins? I just adore those. And it goes perfectly on my counter. We haven't been able to carve any yet. And come to think of it, I don't think I will be able to carve for a few more weeks. I struggle to even cut up a potato into wedges for roasting for dinner right now. I didn't realize how much you use your pectoral muscle with slicing and chopping. Let's just say me and the knife are struggling together. He just wants to do his job. I just want to be successful at chopping something. I can't imagine that gutting out a pumpkin and carving out a face are going to go over so well with said pectoral muscle. He rules my movements right now, and I miss my old willy nilly freedom to do just about anything I wanted. Maybe in a few weeks. So for now, they sit as harvest decor and will later hopefully morph into lanterns of fright.

One funny thing that may be too much information for a few of you....as I was walking on the treadmill this week- yes, I decided to give it a whirl again - I noticed that while the majority of my body moves around with each step, these impostors stay firmly (pun intended) in place. I couldn't help but cackle. Just another thing I didn't know before this mastectomy journey and the list is getting long. Where was the brochure that talked about all of this stuff? You know what else? While some parts of the impostors are numb which by the way is way, way, way weird, other parts have heightened sensitivity. I've mentioned that some in the past, but it still catches me off guard. I totally know how one woman put her impostor in a bowl of soup and had no idea. I had a similar experience with a steaming pot last week. I didn't know I was leaning over the steam until my face started hurting. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for these things because the concave chest didn't work out so well for me and they do the trick, but that doesn't mean I don't notice the weirdness of it all.

Things I took for granted. What else do you want to know? Submit your questions. = )