I have to hand it to my sister. I haven’t mentioned
her a lot in this blog, but she was with me through most of this ordeal. She
gets a gold star. For real. She’s not the most touchy feely, “let’s talk about
our emotions” kind of a gal. I give her warning that I am going to engage in
human contact with her before I hug her, you know, just so she can mentally
prepare herself. She is small and petite
but is scary as shit. I’m pretty sure she ruled a country in a past life. The
best thing about Katie is she has the power to verbally mutilate anyone, yet
she’d pass out if she saw them bleeding from a paper cut. In fact, for
Christmas she received a pocket knife when we were little. I remember her
opening it and going to the bathroom with it. A few seconds later I heard a
loud “thunk”. She had cut her finger and passed out on the floor when she saw
the blood. I would like to dedicate this post to her because she had to truly
operate outside of her comfort zone during this whole ordeal. She was a huge
support for me and had a very logical and easy approach with everything. She
was here to go to appointments when I needed her, here to watch Marco when I
needed and served as the largest piece of Kleenex for me a few hours after my
surgery. I even made her hold my mastectomy drain full of blood just to f*@$
with her. I need an element of fun in everything I do because I get bored. So,
Katie, if you are reading this, I love you and appreciate you being there more
than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry I got snot all over your cute outfit you wore
to the hospital on surgery day.
I’m seven days past my mastectomy and feeling good. We
got the news yesterday from my surgeon that as of this moment I am cancer free!
Thank goodness I opted for the mastectomy because two additional tumors were
found underneath the cancer on the outside. I ended up with two different types
of breast cancer. Every time I think about that, I just sit feeling stunned.
Had I opted for a lumpectomy, those tumors would’ve turned invasive and I could
have been a goner. When we received the good news from my surgeon we all hooped
and hollered in the office giving each other (Dr. included) high-fives like we
just won a game of beer pong where the winning prize is life, instead of a
really bad hangover and weird viral infections from a dirty ping pong ball. I
felt such a sense of relief but am well aware that I wasn’t fully showing it
because I don’t feel like I can completely relax yet. I honestly feel like I am
going to have a huge meltdown in the future where everything comes spilling out
or wonder if I am going to have some form of PTSD because this was a trauma in
a way.
The night before my surgery, I was worried how Darin,
my mom and my sister were going to do in the waiting room. I had the easy part of
getting knocked out, they on the other hand, were going to have to sit and wait
and wait and wait. I decided to write each one of them a card in the hopes to
reassure them during my surgery and to reinforce to them how much they each
mean to me. I write the cards, then write a special note for Marco to have in
his lunch because he will go to preschool to keep things as normal as possible
for him. I covered all my bases except for someone very special. My poor
infected boob that I’ve been tight with for 34 years. I take my shirt off, say
a few words in the mirror and snap a photo, just for memories sake. However, I
couldn’t quite stop there because the natural instinct when one has a photo of
a body part on one’s phone is not to keep it private but is to share it, obviously.
I find my select chosen trusted compadres, create a group text and attach the
photo with the caption, “Adios, Motherfucker.” Yes, my mother was included on
that text.
In the morning, I wake up at 4:00AM and get ready to
head to the hospital. I feel calm and ready, almost like I am getting ready for
a battle. When we arrive at the hospital Darin and I go back to the prep
station and I get changed and meet with a group of nurses. My surgeon pops in
and we laugh and joke a little bit. The breast cancer nurse navigators come by
and want to make sure that I am sound in my decision and that I have been given
all my options. I sure as hell hope I feel sound in my decision, I am under an
hour away from having a body part removed, sort of important to feel confident
with that decision! I remember laughing when she was asking me questions and to
be honest, I probably came off as a little bit of an asshole. If any nurse navigator
reads this blog, please know my intention was not to make any of you feel bad.
I guess I assumed that by the time I would be hooked up to my IV with my big
beautiful purple hospital gown and super comfy tread lined socks that I would’ve
considered all my options. My vitals are taken and my blood pressure shows that
I’m “cool as a cucumber”. Darin says, “holy shit, you weren’t kidding, you are
calm.” I smile, because…duh. Two separate nurses come in to review my file and
both confirm with me my procedure and I get that look everyone gives me when
they realize that I was diagnosed while pregnant. I never get comfortable with
it, but I can’t let it sway me because I am in “go-time” mode. I am wheeled
back to the operating room and can hear Of Monsters and Men playing on my
surgeon’s iPod. Way to start the party! I start talking about Marco and then,
lights out.
I wake up feeling great, except the pain is pretty
high. I immediately ask how the baby did and was told her heartbeat was perfect
and that she was very strong like her mom. I could feel the tears welling up in
my eyes because I was more worried about her, than myself. I am then wheeled
upstairs to Labor and Delivery (just in case). Everyone on the L&D floor,
went above and beyond for me. The nurses were very concerned and asked a lot of
questions. I could see the genuine concern on their face and that was very
touching. The nurse supervisor came in and started asking me what happened. As
I began to review the timeline and everything that happened, I could feel the
anxiety kick in. My throat tightened up, I began sweating and I could tell that
a very large let down was starting to happen. I held it together while I spoke
to the nurse, but the second she walked out the door the tears came flooding
down my face uncontrollably and for one of the first times that I can remember
my sister was standing right next to me and hugged me. She’s always been there,
but this time she was “there,” fully present and ready to process emotions. I
balled. You know that type of cry that comes from deep down in your stomach? The
type where you can’t distinguish between hysterical laughter or crying? That’s
what happened. In fact, we both cried. I had held so much in and only would let
down little bits at a time, but this time a drugged up cry came spilling out of
me and I was absolutely exhausted when I was done. I’m not sure how long that
lasted for, but I was so proud of my sister. She let her guard down and was
there for me without question when I needed her the most.
Coming up next…the mastectomy after party!
And you forgot 1 important part of this...a true testament to how strong you were (and continue to be) during everything. I remember vividly right after surgery when you were coming to, the nurse asked, "how is your pain?" On a scale of 1-10 with a 10 being the worst."
ReplyDeleteAnd you replied with a, "I feel OK...I would say a 9."
The nurse and I looked at each other in disbelief and awe and then we shared a little chuckle. I knew you could handle anything! But this was another level of tough. You were so worried about Simone that you didn't want anything else in your body that could potentially harm her even though you just came out of anesthesia...remarkable strength for sure. I love you! And I'm sorry I convinced you to take a low dose of morphine...I hate seeing you in pain.
TAKE the PAIN medicine, you can't "catch up".
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