I was prepared not to be able to lift my arms above my head. I was prepared to be tired. Deep down, I knew there would be some pain. But I was unprepared for the exact pain I would ultimately experience. Wait, I thought I was young and healthy. I thought that would make me immune to the pain. It definitely was not a constant or nagging pain. If I stayed still, which is what I was ordered to do anyway, I felt fine. Sitting up, that’s where things got uncomfortable. During the day, I rested in the recliner, trying to get up as infrequently as possible. I was determined to sleep in bed instead of the chair so I set up shop in the spare bedroom with plenty of pillows and everything I thought I would need at my fingertips. Mars stayed home with me for the week to help me. I’m not convinced that’s how I felt. If he wasn’t here, getting around would be difficult, if not impossible. I think, however, I would have preferred to be alone.

I spent the first few days sending a lot of text messages. Of course everyone wanted to know how I was doing. Both my DVR and Kindle were full of what I thought I might be interested in watching and reading. It didn’t take me very long to get adjusted to taking care of my drains. I had four of them. Twice a day, I had to strip the lines and measure and record how much fluid was in each. They would be in for at least two weeks, possibly more. They didn’t hurt, they were just hard to handle. Eventually, I would figure out a system to keep them pinned to my shirt so they couldn’t be seen.

After four days on the recliner in a percocet haze, I finally started to feel normal. I called my friend to come over my house. I took a shower and let her dry my hair. After she left, I felt well enough to take the straight iron to it. My first follow up appointment was on Monday, six days after the surgery. I went to see my PCP and I felt pretty OK getting into and out of the car. He was happy with my progress and deemed me well on the road to recovery.

I started working from home on Wednesday, eight days after the surgery.  I got up at 7 and got myself dressed and ready to go for the day. Equipped with my laptop, a thermos of hot water, sugar packets, and a box of peach tea, I was ready to get things done. I came to discover that working from home shouldn’t include getting dressed. I spent the rest of my work from home days in my pajamas. By 4:30 every day, I was exhausted, even thought I did most of my work from my bed or the recliner. But, I was definitely feeling better every day.

The day I went back to work was also the day I got the phone call. Dr. Impossible to See. My pathology was back. Everything was clear. And to think, I almost didn’t answer the phone because I thought it was the Mercedes Benz dealership calling to see if my last service appointment met my expectations. Finally, a victory for me. I called Mars and texted everyone I could think of.

My next follow up appointment was on Thursday with Dr. Impossible to See. This is where he really became impossible to see. My appointment with him was made before the surgery even happened. A few days before, I got an email that the appointment was changed and I was now scheduled to see his PA. His PA who doesn’t speak a word of English. I called Nurse Amazing and she fixed it for me. Dr. Impossible to See also pronounced me on the road to recovery. I didn’t need to see him for three months. Peace out, Doc.

Friday, I had an appointment with Dr. Handsome and Perfect and a dinner date with my husband. Wonder if Handsome and Perfect would like to join…..When his nurse called me back, she did the routine. Weight, temperature, blood pressure. We sat and discussed my medication. I was taking an antibiotic but I stopped taking the pain medication. She was truly amazed how normal I looked. I was 10 days post-op and I still had four drains which I was very proficient at disguising. I spent the last 10 day measuring the amount of fluid that came out of each twice a day. I gave her the measurements to give to the doctor. She set the expectations with me. I should be prepared to come back once a week for a few months. So, let me see if I get this straight, I get to take my shirt off for a handsome man once a week and my husband doesn’t mind. Ok, no problems here.

I change into my gown and a few minutes later Handsome and Perfect sweeps in looking all, well, Handsome and Perfect. He asks me about the pathology and I’m happy to tell him that everything is clear. He looks happy for me. The incisions are still covered by Dermabond but he seems to think everything is healing well. He asks if the antibiotics are bothering my stomach at all and if my appetite is ok. They’re not and it is. During the exam, he takes a moment to massage my calves. Strange since I’m wearing riding boots. Anyhow, he’s happy with what he sees so far. He sets the expectations for my next appointments. In two weeks, we’ll start filling the tissue expanders with saline little by little, week by week. In the beginning, I shouldn’t feel much, but toward the end I might. I’m not worried, this should be easy in comparison to everything else. I thank him before he leaves the room. He wants to see me back in two weeks. I have a sense of peace.

I knew I would be staying overnight in the hospital and I came prepared with the amenities a gal like me would expect, communications and entertainment. Mars left to go home a little while ago. Moving my upper body hurts, there is no other way to describe it. So, I’m in bed with no chance of getting around. Using the bathroom is a special kind of chore. The night nurse gave me a treat, two Percocet, instead of one. I can’t quite figure out the appeal of the prescription pain killer. They seem to make me sleepy, but I don’t get a buzz. The appeal is lost on me.

I turn off the television and fall asleep around midnight. Mars called me to say good night. I think I’m more worried about him than I am about me. He’s a strong guy but I’ve been taking care of him for so long, I’m not sure how he’d make it on his own. Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about that, I’m not going anywhere for a very long time. I sleep for a few hours. Around 3 am, Night Nurse comes in to check on me. I have sleeves on that massage my calves at different intervals to prevent blood clots. They feel fantastic and I’m wondering how to make this happen at home. I also have a blood pressure cuff on my right calf. Night Nurse disconnects me from all of my gadgetry and helps me to the bathroom. And since I’m awake, she takes the opportunity to show me how my drains work. Yep, 3 am. This confirms what I’ve always heard, the hospital is the very worst place in the world to get sleep. I think under a bridge of a highway overpass would be more peaceful. The meds are still coursing through my system and I fall back to sleep pretty easily.

It’s Wednesday morning, my eyes naturally open at 5:30 am. I turn the television on and watch the morning news. And there goes the remote on the floor. So now. I will watch 5:30, 6. and 6:30 news….the same stories over and over again. Groundhog Day. When Night Nurse comes in to check on me in preparation for the shift change, I ask her when she thinks I will be able to go home. She doesn’t know. It will depend on what the doctor says. Makes sense. Truth be told, the nurses run the show, they’re the unsung heroes. The doctors get the glory.

Around 7:30 am, I spy with my little eye a handsome man standing in the hall outside my room. I wasn’t expecting to see him. I’m still in my hospital gown and hooked up to all of the apparatus. I haven’t had the chance to brush my teeth. I can feel that my ponytail is listing a little to the right. I’m not sure I care. Well, maybe I care, but I am powerless to do anything about it.  A few minutes later, I assume he checked on me with the nurses, he sweeps into my room looking Handsome and Perfect. My usual wit and charm escape me. When he asks how I’m doing, I’m honest. He peels back my gown to check my incisions without even making me breakfast…..ok, there it is, it doesn’t escape me that long.  He explains that the surgery went well and that he filled my tissue expanders to 300 cc. He’s happy with the way everything looks, I’m assuming medically speaking. And then he drops the bomb. He tells me that I need to take it easy and rest for the next few weeks. He doesn’t know me at all. Our relationship is in jeopardy. I agree with him without putting up a fight, I’m too sore and tired to be charming and funny. Before he leaves, he tells me to call him if I have any questions or problems. And then he’s gone. I will see him next week and in my dreams between now and them.

Mars calls me and tells me to expect him about 9. He missed having me at home and I missed my morning snuggles. He’ll be off from work for the rest of the week to attend to my every need and I appreciate the effort. Dr. 007 comes in a little while later with Dr. Bow Tie and Pretty Resident. Dr. Bow Tie is a forty-something gentleman of southern Italian descent and Pretty Resident is yet another in Dr. Impossible to See’s stable of residents. She follows 007’s lead. Dr Bow Tie is pretty easy on the eyes. He’s filling in for Dr. Impossible to See who’s not feeling well today. A no-so-giant surprise. They ask me how I feel, if I’m having any problems, and if I think I can go home. I feel ok, I have no problems, and if I could teleport home, they’d be a distant memory. They sign off on my take-home care and they’re on their way.

Yeah, Mars is here for me. I talk to him about the visits from the doctors and we talk about the last day. He seems content and therefore, I’m content. Drs. Impossible to See and Handsome and Perfect assured him that all went well. He’s being strong for me. Day Nurse is back. She helps me to the bathroom and tells me that once I feel like I can change into street clothes, I can call her and she will let me go home. Yippee, I can go home and get some sleep. Mars and I bicker over my ability to get dressed. Just let me do my thing. If it hurts, it’s my fault. It ends up being a chore that is a lesson in patience and love. We make it happen and I call the nurse to let them know I’m good to go….literally. A few minutes later, my wheelchair limo takes me to where Mars parked.

Getting into and out of the car is a chore. The drains are not comfortable. I’m so sore and tired. But I’m home. Home is where Mars is. Home is where my dog is. Home is where I can be at my worst and still feel beautiful. I love home.  I melt into the recliner in a Percocet haze. The next few day are going to be a challenge, but I’m home.

I’m home.

I left work yesterday and hugged my friends good-bye, knowing that I wouldn’t see them for almost a month. They have been so very supportive since the beginning. I’m not the kind of girl who lets her emotions hang out for everyone to see. Don’t get me wrong, when I’m mad, they can tell, but the rest of the time, I’m usually very even tempered. I’ve had a few moments with them over the past few months where I’ve let them see that I was upset or even scared. They sent me off with a get well gift, a very luxe pair of Vera Wang pajamas, some of my favorite tea, and a few pink-themed items. I’m touched that Pretty Girl hugged me, she’s not a hugger. They’re such great people and I’m fortunate to have them.

I have to be at the hospital at 5:30 am for the 7:30 am surgery and I cannot eat or drink anything after midnight. Mars and I decide to go out for a quick bite to eat. I don’t dare order a glass of wine as not to hear the “Your’re having surgery tomorrow, you shouldn’t be drinking” lecture. But, oh my goodness, I would love a glass of Pinot, correction, a bottle of Pinot. I settle for two slices of pizza and a diet coke. But truth be told, I’m not really that interested in the food or dinner conversation. He asks me how I am. The reality is that I’m not sure how I am. I’m not nervous. I’m not sad. I think I’m numb and anxious for this part to be over.

I wake up just before 4 am. Since I don’t know what I’ll be able to do physically for the next week or two, my intention is to fix my hair and pull it back into a perfect ponytail. This will at least make me feel normal and carry me through for a few days. Once I’m feeling better, hopefully I will be able to shower and my friend will come over and dry my hair for me. I have a feeling I should be worried about something else, but strangely, I’m only worried about how my hair looks and how it will hold up. I pack a bag of essentials for my overnight stay, my Kindle, phone, comfy clothes, lip balm, electric toothbrush, and cough drops, and Mars and I head off to the hospital. It’s cold and dark this morning, but it’s also calm. We don’t say much on the ride. What’s left to say?

When we get there, the receptionist checks me in, I sign a few forms, answer a few questions, and get my number that Mars will use to watch my progress on the hospital’s monitor. We don’t wait too long before the nurse calls me back. Weight, temperature, and a cup for the urine sample is next. The nurse escorts me to bed 12. It’s really funny, I was in bed 12 for the last surgery, hopefully, the results will be better this time. She tells me the name of the nurse who will be taking care of me today, the anesthesiologist,  and confirms who my surgeons will be. I need to change into my gown, compression stockings, and skid-proof socks. The cap is not going on until after I see Dr. Handsome and Perfect. I’m vulnerable enough already, I don’t need the cap ruining the perfect ponytail that I worked so very hard on this morning.

Nurse #1 come in to start the interrogation portion of the program and to set me up on all of the monitors, and hook up my IV. I didn’t have any issues with the IV when I had the surgery in July, so this should be  a breeze, right? As Nurse #1 is getting me settled, Doctor Brother shows up to hold my hand and keep Mars company in the waiting room. The first go at the IV doesn’t go as the nurse planned. It’s in, but really painful. I try to stay still. When she comes back, I ask  her to do something with it. She decides to change hands and that doesn’t go as planned, either. She gets Nurse #2 to assist. Many sticks later, the IV is in the left hand and it feels better, not great, but better nonetheless.

Dr. Impossible to See breezes in to check on me. He asks me how I’m doing and if I have any questions. I’m fine and I don’t so he is on his way.  Not long after, the anesthesiologist comes in. He’s a nice older  gentleman and he explains everything to me and sets me at ease. Most people are afraid of anesthesia, but not me. Anesthesia is good. I sign his consent paperwork, he checks the back of my throat to make sure he will be able to insert the tube, and I never see him again. Not that I can remember, anyway.

Nurse #1 comes in and tells me that Handsome and Perfect should be with me in a few minutes. And a few minutes later he sashays in. I introduce him to Jason and my brother, everyone shakes hands and he asks me if I have any questions. None that are appropriate, so I say no. Damn, he’s even perfect in his scrubs. He’s there to mark me. When he gets down to business, it feels like a bad college prank, except I’m sober and standing upright.  He’s drawing on me from my collarbone to my belly button all while my husband watches. At least Doctor Brother stepped out for these festivities. He’s intense while he’s working. I can’t help but watch him intently. And what’s that I smell? Cologne and peppermint. He smells as delicious as he looks. Once we’re done, I maneuver myself back in bed amid the IV lines and monitoring equipment. Handsome and Perfect tells me that we should be getting started soon.

Things start happening at a rapid pace. I meet yet another one of Dr. Impossible to See’s residents, the fourth, if my math is correct. He is with the nurse anesthetist and I know I’m going to start feeling like I’ve been doing shots at the bar. Kiss, kiss, hug, hug, and Mars and Doctor Brother are being escorted out. The first shot goes into my IV and I feel the burn from my hand to my elbow. Then the good stuff goes in. Before we get to the doors of the OR, I’m feeling it. In the OR, the mask goes on and that’s all she wrote.

The surgery lasts about four and an half hours but I don’t return back to the land of the conscience until about 1:30 pm. I haven’t really had surgery, they actually took me out to the parking lot and let  a few cars run over me. Yup, that’s what I feel like. Dr. 007 introduces himself and asks me how I’m feeling. I tell him that I am definitely not running any marathons anytime soon. He tells me that he wouldn’t recommend it, anyway. A wave of nausea hits me but I breathe my way through it. My head starts to clear and I’m feeling more aware of my surroundings. I’m hurting, but not unbearably so. It mostly hurts when I move, so I’m not going to do that.

I don’t spend a long time in post-op before I get moved to my room. While the nurses are wheeling me to my room, my husband and brother meet me in the hall. Doctor Brother tries to crack a joke but I’m really not in the mood for it. When I get into my room, the nurse asks me if I feel like I can move from the gurney to the bed. Negative, Rampart. She and another nurse roll me into place. No more moving, please. They set me up with a call button, water, and some very bland unsalted crackers. Then I start handing out orders. I need my Kindle, Chapstick, phone, and cough drops. Mars and Doctor Brother give me the low down that they got from my surgeons. They tell me all went well.

Not much later, Doctor Brother leaves to go back home to Philly. Mars sticks around long enough to make sure I’m ok. He heads home for a bite to eat and some rest. He will be back. Afternoon nurse comes in with a Percocet. It does just enough to take the edge off and I drift into a half here and half not state. A kindly delivery man knocks on my door with a flower delivery. My neighbors, how thoughtful.

While Mars is gone, Evening Nurse come in to introduce herself  and check how I am. She checks my IV and blood pressure. Then she checks my incisions. And there they are. My first opportunity to have a look at the damages. What is surprising is that I am not actually wrapped in bandages. I have Dermabond over the incisions and I’m not totally flat-chested. Handsome and Perfect put in tissue expanders. Dare I say, I really don’t look awful. And it makes me feel a little better. I also get my first chance to see the four, count ’em, four drains that I will be carrying around for the next month. These, I am not interested in right now.

By the time Mars comes back, Evening Nurse has cleared me to eat actual food and I will be dining on the hospital’s finest roast beef dinner, hold the salt. Am I destined for a diet of blandness??? For the love. Had I known I was going to cleared to eat that soon, I would have ordered out. I’m not convinced Mars would have been agreeable, but I would have tried.

Later in the evening, I get a roommate. She arrives with two people in tow and a case of Hepatitis…hospitals aren’t great places for privacy. Roomie and entourage don’t have alot of respect for the fact that I just had a major surgery. They’re not so quiet.

Mars stays until I finish my dinner. I ask him to take my flowers home so he doesn’t have to juggle me and them on the way home tomorrow. He tells me he will call me later to say good night and he leaves. I spend the rest of my evening alternating between sending my friends text messages, reading, and watching television. Mars calls me to say goodnight. Evening and Night Nurses come in to check on me. They tell me they’ll be back with my evening dose of Percoset, I ask for two. I want to get some sleep. I start feeling the effects of the meds during the news and just before midnight, I drift off to sleep.

Tomorrow is a new day…

November 5 is creeping up on me and it’s like I can hear the footsteps behind me, they’re getting closer. I haven’t had an appointment or seen a doctor in over a month. After months of having what seems like weekly appointments, my life feels like it has returned to normal, except that it hasn’t. And I can only imagine that things will never be normal, just a new normal. I have spent the past month preparing for my surgery. I bought a few items of clothing that should make dressing easier. Button down shirts, yoga pants, men’s tank tops. I cleaned the spare bedroom where I plan on recovering. I downloaded a few books to my Kindle. I’ve read all the blogs and websites. There is a lot of useful advice out there, hence the men’s tank tops. Who knew that I would need safety pins? Someone out in cyberspace did. All of my work arrangements have been made. At this point, all I have left to do is wait and worry.

Today I scheduled my pre-surgical testing for 8 o’clock. It’s the first appointment I have been to in over a month and there I am back to reality. I arrive early, as usual and I have to wait for the department to open. Once they do, I check in and the nurse takes me into an exam room for the anesthesia consult. I learn that the EKG and chest X-ray are good for one year, so I don’t need to have them done again. Once I answer the battery of questions, I move on to have my blood test. I barely feel the needle. Not sure if the girl was really good at her job or I’ve just become numb to being poked and prodded. I’m done with everything in less than 30 minutes.

I leave the hospital and head to work for the day. It’s Friday. I can do this…

It’s been a long and emotional few months and I haven’t given myself the opportunity to kick back and relax. But I’ve been waiting for today for quite some time. Stephanie is getting married. Steph is the thirty-something daughter of my very close friends. She was there with her mom, dad, and sister when Mars and I got married on the beach in Hawaii at sunset 10 years ago. And if her sister’s wedding a few years back is any indication of what Stephanie’s wedding is going to be like, it’s going to be another great party.

The wedding is at a hotel about 30 miles away from our house, so we’ve decided to stay at the hotel for the night. It will be nice to be away from home and let ourselves have a nice evening together with our friends. So, we check in a little early and do what Mars and I do best, we hit up the bar for a few pre-pre-party cocktails. I haven’t had a drink in two months to try to lose a few pounds in time for the wedding. Not so successful, but the sentiment was in the right place. After the bar, we head back up to the room to get prettied up, or as pretty as Mars and I are capable of getting.

Mars is wearing his Kentucky Derby  suit! We have been together thirteen years and he owns exactly one suit. It’s his Kentucky Derby suit not because he’s worn it to the Kentucky Derby or that it’s particularly lucky, it’s because I dragged him shopping on Kentucky Derby day many years ago to buy that suit. Begrudgingly, I might add. When all was said and done, the suit was purchased and we missed our annual date at the track to bet on the race with my brother. I was never really good at betting on horses, anyhow.

I shopped a few weeks ago at King of Prussia. My intention was to buy a lace dress at Nordstrom. I ended up with short, deep v-neck, gold and sparkly sequined dress at Bloomingdales. When in doubt, gold and sparkly always wins. And it was on SALE! With my hair done, make-up done, I slip on my slinky new dress and heels. This girl is ready to party. Mars doesn’t look bad, either. I’ll keep him.

First, there’s the pre-party, a hospitality suite with a bar, drinks, and snacks. Yup, that’s how Steph’s parents roll. Then, we move on to the ceremony and as not to disappoint, Stephanie is a beautiful bride. I’ve been to many weddings in my 41 years and she might be the most beautiful. At the cocktail hour, we meet up with friends we haven’t seen in a while. It feels good to kick back and have a good time without dwelling on my upcoming surgery.

The reception was fun and Mars and I danced the night away, partially fueled by free-flowing cocktails. After the reception, Mars and I head back to the room to change into more casual attire for the after-party. That’s right, I said after-party. Once the after-party wraps up, the party people migrate to the parent’s suite for the after-after-party. At 2:30 am, I decide that I have been overserved and decide to call it a night. Mars is already asleep, he decided to skip the festivities after the ceremony.

Mars and I meet the bride’s family for brunch and head home. We talk about the great night we had and I intend to spend the rest of my Sunday in bed nursing my hangover. I still have a bit of time left before my surgery and it’s always on my mind. I know the next few weeks will be long but I also know everything is going to be ok. Oh, and I’m never drinking again….

After meeting with Dr. Handsome and Perfect, my plastic surgeon, last week, I finally am meeting with Dr. Impossible to see. I’ve done much research, read all the blogs and breast cancer sites, and hashed it out with both my Doctor Brother and my husband and I’ve made the only decision that makes sense in my head. I arrive ahead of schedule as usual hoping that I will be seen earlier. But this is a strictly run on time practice. So, after I check in, I wait for my 9:30 appointment. When the nurse calls me back, it;s the same ritual, weight, blood pressure, and the how are you feeling small talk. She asks me if I’d met with Handsome and Perfect to make my decision and I let her know that I had and I was ready to speak with the doctor about it. She takes me to the exam room and tells me she’d be back in a few minutes. And as advertised, she comes back with Dr. Impossible to See’s physician’s assistant. Now, I’d like to think I’m very open-minded and accepting. But, I have to be honest, I’m not feeling the PA, so I keep our conversation brief. I don’t ask questions. I answer what I think are his questions with the most succinct answers possible. He asks me when I was looking at scheduling my surgery. I tell him early October. He points at the calendar and tells me that the doctor is very busy and I should consider next week. I laugh out loud. Yes, I understand that the doctor is busy but I also have commitments, most specifically work and a wedding on the 30th. And with that, he steps out and maybe tells me that the doctor will be in shortly. As promised, the doctor comes in within a few minutes. I’m nervous to say the words to him but I know it’s going to be a relief. We begin discussing my decision and my appointment last week with Handsome and Perfect. He walks me through the surgery and lets me know what I should expect. Then we enter the paperwork part of the programs, consents and whatnot. When all is said and done and the appropriate forms have been signed and dated, he looks at me, puts his hand on my knee, and reassures me that I’m making the right decision. I know, deep-down, that I am as well. He and his PA step out and his nurse tells me that she is going to step out to make arrangements with Handsome and Perfect’s office for the surgery and she would be back. It’s not long before she’s back with a date. November 5th. I was hoping for an earlier date as Handsome and Perfect assured me that his schedule is pretty wide-open. When I check out, I schedule my pre-surgical testing for October 25. I leave the office relieved that there is an end but a new beginning in my near future. My seven week wait begins. I drive to work somewhat at peace. I field a call from Handsome and Perfect’s office confirming the date for the surgery. I’ve been through so much at this point and I’ve been to so many appointments. As I stare at my calendar, I notice that it’s a little but over a month until my next appointment. It feels good but also a little strange. I can breathe for a few weeks and feel like I can accomplish some of my goals at work, uninterrupted. I will discuss the details with my boss today, once I’ve had the opportunity to decompress. Now I all I have to deal with is me and what’s going on in my own mind. And the wait begins…..

Today, I see the plastic surgeon, Dr. Handsome and Perfect. I’ve made my decision and I’m going to discuss it with him today. It’s Friday and I show up a little early knowing that I won’t be waiting long. What medical office runs late on a Friday….none. Everyone wants to get home on time on a Friday. The nurse calls me back and does the full work-up. temperature, weight, blood pressure, and pulse. This will most likely be your pre-op appointment, she tells me. It’s all getting so real.

After the nurse steps out of the room, he comes in a few minutes later looking handsome and perfect, even after a full work day. I’m anxious, to say the least. I tell him that I’ve made my decision and I tell him there are several reasons why. He listens to me and then tells me that he understands and agrees with my decision. We talk about the surgery. He explains everything to me step by step. He tells me what to expect during my recovery and after. We discuss my expectations about appearance. I want to be at least the same size as I am now, if not, a little bigger. He tells me that he will get me as close to what I look like with clothes on as I do right now. As we discuss the reconstruction process, I’m calculating a time line in my head. By my estimation, I’m looking at a solid nine months from the time of the surgery until the reconstruction is done. I tell him that I’m leaning toward silicone implants and he gives me the pros and cons. He asks me if I have any questions. I tell him no. I have done so much research at this point I feel like I know what to expect. He tells me that once I meet with my oncology surgeon, we’ll set a date. It shouldn’t be too far out, he tells me. his schedule is pretty open. I feel good about this appointment, this decision. I sign some consent forms and once we’re done talking, he offers to walk me out. On the way out, he tells me if I have any questions I can call him or I can call him if I just need to talk.

I check out with the receptionist and I’m on my way. Next week, I’ll see the surgeon and I hope to have a date for my surgery scheduled. In the mean time, I’ll just try to keep it together. But I feel that I’m at peace. Take a deep breath and carry on.

I have another mammogram and ultrasound scheduled today, this time at the new Women’s Imaging Center at the Cancer Center. The weather is unseasonably warm and it’s already hot when I get there. There is major construction going on at the grounds of the hospital and the several clinics that surround it. The temperature combined with the construction necessitates the valet parking. The practical girl in me tells me to park myself and have a little walk. The diva, on the other hand, reminds me that I’m wearing heels. Diva wins out this time.

I check in with Colleen at the front desk and she tells me that the radiologist is here today to look at my images. I’m not really surprised, I assume there is typically a radiologist on site during business days. I have a seat and not much later, they call me back for my appointment. The new facility is bigger and it’s nice. Not blown away nice, just nice. I change into a robe in what amounts to a low-end retail store dressing room, cloth curtain included. I put my purse in a locker, take the key, and meet the technician back in the waiting area. I’m certain she’s done a mammogram for me before. We go into the procedure room. She verifies my name and date of birth. We begin to discuss why I’m here. And that’s where the words finally come out of my mouth. I tell her why the doctor has sent me and then I tell her that I don’t know why I’m really here. She’s not following. I tell her I came because the appointment was already scheduled but I’ve already made my decision. No matter what anyone tells me today, I’ve decided to have a bilateral mastectomy. There I said it and in my mind, it’s a done deal. She tells me that I’m courageous and strong. She’s not sure what she would do if she was in my shoes. A few pictures on the left, a few pictures on the right and I’m finished. She takes me back to the waiting room to wait to be called in to the ultrasound procedure room.

The ultrasound technician, who I’m positive has done an ultrasound on me as well, us an absolute sweetheart. She also tells me that the radiologist is here today and will look at my images. And she’s a woman. I chuckle. I tell her that after all I have been through, I’m convinced that everyone in the network has seen me half naked. I tell her I have no modesty left. I’m funny, I’m not sure she gets my humor. She smiles and starts the procedure. Right side first then the left. She tells me she wants to step out to get the doctor. The ultrasound tech comes back quickly with Dr. I Don’t Agree with Your Decision. She introduces herself and I’m surprised. I met no less than three radiologists previously. Let me start by saying they were all very nice, but they were nothing like her. She was much younger than I expected and she was very pretty, in a very natural sort of way. The technician readies the equipment and the doctor takes over. But she doesn’t give much away. She asks me if I’ve had the opportunity to see my images and I tell her no. Follow me, she says, and I will go over them with you.

She takes me into the room where I assume she views all images from all of her cases. With a few mouse clicks, my entire mammogram, ultrasound, and MRI history is in front of me. She goes through my mammograms first. The MRI is next. I don’t really understand radiology-speak so much of what she is telling me is in one ear and out the other. And, to be truthful, I also don’t care much, anyway. My decision is a done deal. What does surprise me is how she refers to the MRI image. She tells me that my breasts are very active. Who knew they could be active? I certainly did not. She, however does not have a previous MRI to compare it to. So, she can’t be certain if they are naturally active or because there is something more at play.

Then, she tells me that having a bilateral mastectomy is not necessary. There are three areas of concern on my left side that I should consider having biopsied before I should make a decision. I should also have a formal cancer assessment done to assist me in making my surgical decision. We talk for a few more minutes before she walks me out. I thank her for  her time and that it was a pleasure meeting her. She says likewise. I go back to change and collect my personal belongings. I check out with Colleen. She asks me if everything went well. I tell her yes and it’s not even a lie. I’m at peace with my decision. Mars agrees with me, in fact, after I found out about the pathology after the lumpectomy, he immediately was in favor of me having a bilateral mastectomy. While you’re still young and healthy, he said. You won’t like the feeling of having one implant and one natural breast. Ultimately, he was right on both accounts. I see Dr. Handsome and Perfect in two days, we’ll get the wheels in motion. Now I just have to start developing a strategy. For myself, for Mars, and also for work.

The next few weeks will definitely be a challenge. But this girl will persevere….

I have a 9:30 appointment with Dr. Impossible to See today. I’m a regular here at the Cancer Center and the routine is familiar, Check in, update my information, ID bracelet, and off to the waiting room. I’m early so I sit and read my Kindle and wait. At 9:30, the doctor’s gatekeeping nurse calls me back for weight, blood pressure, and some small talk. We talk about the recent batteries of appointments and tests that I have had. Back to the exam room, change into a gown, and wait for the doctor. This time, before Dr. Impossible to See comes in, his physician’s assistant comes in. I’ve not met him before and I’m already not getting good vibes. He asks me if I have seen the MRI results on line and I tell him yes. He asks me what I think. I tell him, quite honestly, that it does not make sense to me as I’m not a doctor. He tells me, at least I think he tells me, that he’s not sure either. His English is questionable, at best. Well, thanks for wasting the first five minutes of my appointment. He tells me that he will go get the doctor to discuss the results. He’s out and I wait for the doctor. Dr. Impossible to See comes in with Nurse Amazing and we begin discussing the MRI. It confirms what we already know, I still need to have the mastectomy on the left side, but there are no areas of concern on the right side. At least there’s a little bit of good news. I leave the office feeling somewhat better. Now, I just have to decide on having the single mastectomy or the double. I’m still not sure yet, though. He wants me to come back in a month after I meet with Dr. Handsome and Perfect, the plastic surgeon. I leave the office and head back to work. I know I still have difficult decisions to make and don’t want to make the wrong decision. I don’t want to over treat myself and put myself through more than I need to. I get back to my office and within 15 minutes. my cell phone rings. It’s Dr. Impossible to See. He tells me that he made a mistake while I was at my appointment. In fact, there is an area for concern on the right side. He recommends another mammogram and ultrasound. I agree and he tells me someone will call me later in the day to schedule it. I’m dejected and a little bit concerned to say the least. I thought this was supposed to make my decision easier, but no. I carry on with my day as best I can. On my commute home, the scheduler calls me and I ask her to try to schedule me before the 13th, the day I see the plastic surgeon. The 11th it is and it’s a done deal. When I get home, Mars and I will have a talk. Maybe, I will have an epiphany. But I need to make a decision……SOON.

My MRI is scheduled for 1pm today and I’m only working an half day. My immediate group of friends knows what’s going on but I’m not looking to advertise it. I’m trying to maintain normalcy until I know what will happen. The results from the MRI will dictate the next steps. I’m already settled in at my desk when the phone rings. I’m a night owl by nature but since I work 8:00-4:30-ish, and given that I need time to settle in for the day, peach black tea and the morning news, I am there before 7:45 am. Probably more like 7:30 am. Anyhow, a quick look-see on MSN news and enough time for my tea to cool surface of the sun to molten lava, and I answer the incoming call on my cell. It’s a familiar unfamiliar number. The exchange, I can tell it’s coming from either the hospital or one of my many doctor’s offices.

I answer and it’s the Radiology Department at the hospital. We know your appointment is scheduled for 1:00 pm, but we were wondering if you can come at noon instead. Typically, I’m pretty agreeable with making changes, but seriously, this is the day of the appointment. I’m not willing to reschedule, I have been through so much already. I have used so much of my vacation time dealing with this. So I take a stand, sort of. No, I cannot come at noon. The best I can do is between 12:30 pm and 12:45 pm. And they agree without rescheduling me.

It’s a pretty typical day in corporate America. We’re preparing our Medicare clients for the changes that will happen for 2015. I am immersed in a world of EOCs, SOBs, PowerPoint presentations, client demands, and balancing what was once a pretty mundane personal life with what is now a very complex situation. I put in my time and hoput b in my pretty German car, purchased because it was a great deal we couldn’t  resist, and head off to the hospital.

Am I a diva because I valet when I get there? For god’s sake, it’s a hospital, not a hotel, casino, or swanky club in a big city. I blame the Mercedes-Benz. I walk into the lobby in search of where I need to go. I’m early for a 1:00 pm appointment, but cutting it close for a 12:30 pm appointment. After two unsuccessful stops, one at the front desk and one at a different radiology department, I find the check-in area for the Radiology department. I sit in the waiting area until they call my name. After a few questions, I am led into the inner sanctum of the Radiology Department. Once I check in with the nurse/receptionist, I am led further into the inner sanctum. Around the corner, up the elevator, and down the hall. Easy enough. After a few wrong turns and a really nice gentleman who recognizes a damsel in distress, or at least a Benz-driving woman whose sense of direction invariably takes her the exact opposite direction of where she’s supposed to be, I find where I’m supposed to be for my MRI. I’m early for my 1:00 pm appointment and early for a 12:45 pm appointment. Late for 12:00 pm or 12:30, though.

Fate has a way of smacking me in the face just when I start feeling sorry for myself. When Dr. Impossible to See’s very cute, but very serious resident told me that I needed to consider a mastectomy, I couldn’t help but feeling a little sad, a little sorry for myself. But, that’s just not who I am. Maybe I should be, but that’s not who Big Mike raised me to be. In my opinion, I am just as tough as or tougher than, as smart as smarter than my brothers.  Both older. I love them both. But I love them differently. And I have flip-flopped over the years. Big Mike is gone now, so I only have them. Perhaps they’ll never know how fiercely I love them. That’s also not who I am. But I do. Anyhow, the Radiology Department is somehow connected to the neonatology unit. Moms who cannot hold their babies. I see the moms and dads filing in and out but I don’t have a visual on the babies. So, it’s not really real to me. But in the waiting room for the MRI, there’s only one other patient. He’s not quite two years old. Clearly, he’s got some problems. He isn’t walking and he cannot support his head on his own. He’s agitated. Smack. There it is, the smack in the face that tells me that I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m not going to die. I’m 41 and have had a pretty charmed life. Hopefully this little guy can follow suit.

I fill out the paperwork/questionnaire.  No I don’t have any tattoos. No I don’t have any metal implanted in my body. After a pretty short wait (someone really wants to go home early today hence the call I got earlier today) the nurse calls me back and shows me to the dressing room. There is an enormous pair of scrub pants and a hospital gown waiting for me to change into. Once I’m dressed, the nurse takes me back to the room where the MRI will be. She prepares me for what will happen. The machine will be noisy and I will need to be still for 45 minutes to an hour. She shows me the wedge that I would need to lay on face down. Then we do a test run to make sure I don’t freak out while I’m in the machine. I don’t. Then she injects the contrast material in my arm and gets me positioned on the table that will slide me into the MRI machine. I’m on my belly, my chest on the wedge, and my neck at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. When I’m properly prepared, she slides me in the machine and we begin. I need to be still. I am so uncomfortable but I’ll be still. I’m not doing this one again.

After what seemed like an eternity, I’m done and I’m in a foul mood. I change back into my clothes and I have the rest of the day to myself. But since I’m miserable, I decide to go home and log into My Habit. Why YES, yes I do need a new pair of cowboy boots. I most certainly do. Two clicks and three days later, I’ll add them to the collection. A fabulous collection, I might add. I have an appointment with the surgeon next week. I still haven’t made my decision, hopefully this will make it easier.