When times get tough, take your mom to the adult store.

One week post mastectomy

Another recent lesson I’ve learned, well not really a lesson I guess, but something that I have been reminded of is that the world will continue to turn and life will continue to throw things at you even when you're down. I know this sounds silly, but after this whole thing happened this summer I sort of thought that maybe I had met my quota of bad luck incidences. I could list every single weird thing that has happened to me and I can guarantee you would think I was lying. I had convinced myself that Breast Cancer gave me a pass for the remainder of my life and that things would be smooth sailing from here on out, in fact, I really believed that I would wake up one day with a package from Oprah on my doorstep of an address of a beach house she had purchased for my family. Yes, I realize I have quite the imagination, but a girl has to believe in something. Shortly after I was starting to recover, my ultrasounds were showing that our sweet baby was not growing at the rate she needed to be. I was put on a modified bed rest (which is like a death sentence for me) and had two non-stress tests per week to monitor her. Shortly after that, one non stress test indicated that our baby had not made any movement in 45 minutes. As the Dr. was writing my orders to check in at the hospital I became very quiet and was worried. He grabbed my hand and asked me if I was ok. I could feel the tears of frustration and fear building up and with a dead pan stare I looked right at him and said, “No.” My Dr. responds with, “Well I think you look really pretty today.” I thank him because I actually took a shower that day and wore lip gloss. So Darin, Marco, my sister and I spent part of Marco’s birthday in the hospital getting checked out. Everything turned out fine. My mom guilt set in that his birthday was ruined so when I asked him what his favorite part of his birthday was, he responded with, “Going to the hospital!” Another reminder to “let it go”. From that point forward I was put on strict bed rest and given an induction date of October 23^rd. Things weren’t working out the way I had hoped this pregnancy, and I was trying to stay positive and grateful for what I did have, but I still didn’t have my damn beach house and now I was worried the baby was in danger. My mastectomy and possible spread of other cancer didn’t matter to me anymore because I needed her to be ok. As much as I try to be a strong, positive guiding light for others around me I could feel my patience was starting to get tested and I was going to crack soon. How much more can a person take? Don’t ever ask yourself that question because life will up the ante and in my case that certainly happened. There is never a quota we are assigned of shitty experiences and that cliché of “things could always be worse” is actually true. When things get tough, it’s best to laugh.

When I first took my bandage off I either almost passed out or passed out a little. I remember opening my eyes and my mom was just staring at me. Oh my god! My boob was missing?! Is that what they meant by mastectomy? No wonder people in the hospital kept asking me if I was aware of what my procedure was! Just kidding. I don’t know why I passed out, but I did. Maybe it was because my boob was gone, maybe it was because I had a bloody drain hanging off of me, maybe it was because of my huge scar across my chest, or maybe because that was the welcoming into my new normal. Either way, I quickly reminded myself that it is what it is and I started the process of getting to know my new chest. Which, by the way, my scar is pretty bad ass. There are times I have considered not getting a reconstruction because man, that thing is a definite statement that has been earned. At first, it did look strange, having a size D boob on one side and a size 4^th grade on the other. It was obvious there was something odd going on under my shirt so I decided that I would try to find something to slightly even it out. How am I going to grocery shop with this problem? I can’t schedule my prosthetic appointment until 6 weeks post surgery. I mean, I could care less truly what other people think of me but I look like I just stumbled out of a circus. I rack my brain on how to fix the situation and because I am extremely logical, the answer is crystal clear. My mom and I head off to the adult store, Suzy’s, to check out some sort of inflatable boob toy that I could put in my bra. I remember thinking, there has to be some sort of blow up boobs in a place like that and I just need one to stick in my bra. Needless to say, my mom and I looked like a couple of complete fucking weirdos walking into this place. First off, all these dudes are sitting in their car in the parking lot. Gross. Why? I know why. Word to the wise, don’t make eye contact with these guys or you will become the main focus of what they are doing in their car. I waddle out of my mom’s car, largely pregnant and catch a glimpse of my mom and I in a window and start laughing. We look like wholesome church going folk who are looking to bless all those pornographic loving individuals inside. Really, I’m a pregnant one boobed Breast Cancer survivor who needs her mom to drive her everywhere, especially to the adult store to get a blow up boob. No biggie.

There are two people’s laugh in the world that will send me into hysterics when I hear it. My mom is one and Sarah Goicoechea is the other. It doesn’t matter what Sarah says, if she is laughing while she says it, I will go into a laughing fit and can’t stop. For example, she could say, “ Darin slept with another woman, got her pregnant and now they are taking both your kids and all your Frye boots to their beach house that Oprah just gifted them” and as long as she was laughing while saying it I would be rolling on the ground peeing myself. But, for real, if she wasn’t laughing I would be going straight to prison for the damage I would cause. No one takes my Frye boots. No one. So, we walk in and there are a few guys checking out stuff and right there in front of our faces is the Dildo section. I capitalize the “D” because this section should be its own country. I hear my mom say, “Oh my god, that’s just right in your face” in that laugh that she has and I instantly start giggling and because I’m largely pregnant I pee myself a little bit. She keeps saying that sentence because it’s all her brain will allow her to do and I am having a complete laughing fit I cannot stop. The customers become uncomfortable and slowly trickle out walking like Charlie Brown, you know the kind, slowing kicking the ground with their head down, because clearly, we are distracting them from their good time. Before I know it, my mom is talking to the cute girl behind the register and I’m trying to convince myself that I can use a porn star boob as an insert.  You can’t make this stuff up. The visit was a bust for me, and for every guy there and in the parking log (literally).  We head off to Macy’s and I find these water inserts that at least mellow out the situation a little. I hardly end up wearing them because I quickly grew into not giving a damn about my new normal. But, for those of you looking for a little “boost” I highly recommend these inserts, plus if you ever catch yourself in the middle of a water balloon fight, you are already wearing your artillery.