Howdy folks!   Yesterday I Celebrated my first ever  FULL-RACK FRIDAY since my surgical cancer journey began July 9, 2021.  I was released from the BCH earlier today with two matching Gummies (implants) and a smaller tummy,  thanks to fat grafting.  I am a bit sore and bruised, but I am over the moon that I have crossed the surgical finish line and that  I may begin to heal in earnest: body, mind and soul.   

  It is hard to believe that  it has been TEN MONTHS since I  wrote my last update.   I am known for having the gift of gab and never being at a loss for words, so my silence may have been  interpreted as ominous, an indication  that  perhaps that the  cancer returned, or , that  perhaps I had  sunk into a deep depression and was  isloating like a BOSS, ,or,    that  I had lost my hallmark ability to find humor in the mundane,  even in the face medical peril.  Nope!   You can rest easy folks,  because luckily, none of these are the case.

   I will not lie, the road  over the past 10 months has been bumpy AF , including  Staph infection of left breast expander in January (also found to be COVID and nearly septic) resulting in emergency surgery and several more unplanned surgeries with  anesthia ( 5 and counting) .  I also developed severe nerve pain in my chest wall   that has thankfully resolved over time,  and last but not least, was a  not so pretty half  purple hoo-hoo ( WTF!?) that developed  post surgically .  This  was  one of those  "Hell Nah!" moments that  resulted in an urgent visit to the surgeon.  If you'll remember, my first "Hell Nah!" was triggered by gigantic "Kankles".  In this case, it   turns out that,   unbenounced to me, the plastic surgeon had opted  to add on  fat grafting from my belly to my chest  for aesthetic reasons,  and as he explained to me,  bleeding/brusing is gravity dependant after all,  so........

Rest assured, my hoo hoo is no longer purple, but the night is young from my  procedure less than 24 hours ago, so who knows?  I will tell you this though, I have an self-administered compressive bandaging around my trunk that is tight enough to give a Victorian era woman in a corset a run for her money. 

But, back onto the topic at hand. No, the cause of my silence  is nothing sinister or ominous. It is  simply that I have discoved being "me" in  the  life I led  prior to my diagnosis  takes a SH#T TON  of energy and requires constant high level mutli-tasking that leaves little to no bandwidth to do anything beyond putting out the immediate fires right  in front of me.   Hobbies, interests and personal escapes have slipped off my radar for the most part  as I conserve my energy on the bare basics: work, kids/family, a few key friends and occasional self-care. I am just beginning the process of  accepting that  the past several years  have taken a heavier toll than I would like to admit and that I simply can't do what I once did at the moment, or perhaps ever again. 

More days than not, I  find myself spinning and in a  constant state of arrears.  It feels very similar to  running on a treadmill that is set .5 mph past my top speed and I am just barely hanging on, desperately trying not to get flung off the back    I find  that I am now uncharacteristically late everywhere I go and that commitments and appointments are forgotten altogher.  Pre-cancer Joanna rolled out of bed after hitting snooze 3 or more times, then hit the ground running after a turbo trip to the bathroom for basics.  All in all, a 25-30 min process and I was dashing out the door.  Now,   it takes at least  twice the time it once did, and typically involves 3-4 times trips back into the house to retrieve  forgotten items (keys, phone, coffee, computer..).    I must say,  the additional time is not reflected in my outward appearance as  I see  a discombobulated and tired woman gazing back at me in the mirror     For the first time in my adult life,  my word is not my bond.   I have made  promises that I have failed to keep, simply because they were  forgotten or that the  list that I wrote reminders on has disappeared into the abyss.   Texts, emails and calls go unreturned to loved ones,  even high priority or time sensitive  items.     Despite best efforts and attempts at implementing systems, my physically surroundings are in a constant  state of " CLEAN UP, AISLE JOANNA......... CLEAN UP, AISLE JOANNA ". 

 I now realize that the TRUE mess maker in my home is Numero Uno.  

Breast cancer with reconstruction is a  LONG and drawn out process that patients are  woefully prepared for.  I have found that the world of Plastic surgeons is one of rainbows and puppy dogs where the absolute  best case scenario is  presented as the introduction to a procedure and as the  anticipated outcome,  which has the unintended consequence of setting a  patient up for unrealistic expectations and gobs of anxiety when their reality lies somewhere  in the discrepancy.   I clearly remember my first meeting with  "Dr. Dashing" prior to my  mastectomies where he  breezed into the room  with his flock of seagulls hair  and a set of pearly whites with a nearly audible "bing"  akin to a Gleam commercial,  and said that he would begin reconstruction immediately in the surgical suite after the general surgeon performed the mastectomies  and then , once that healed he would place the permenants. Easy-Peesy.  In my mind,  I would be rolling around town sporting a new and improved rack in 6-12 weeks.  Ha! Nothing could have been further from the truth. 

 I believe this postive  tendency is not out of malice,  but rather driven by a sincere desire to  infuse positivity and light to frightened and overwhelmed breast cancer patients. I have since leaned that "Dr. Dashing" is in good company in the plastics world as  I have seen similar reports by dozens of women from all over the U.S on adigital peer to peer support groups. The truth is, breast reconstruction failure rates due to infections are as high as 1: 4.  I personally have not met a woman who has had reconstructive surgeries who has not experienced at least one serious complication.   It seems complications are more like the norm.  

Some of the non-physical "complications" I have heard of include husbands filing for divorce the day his wife returns home from the hospital to recover from bilateral mastectomy,   being let go from work resulting in loss of insurance and  homelessness during active cancer treatment and scores of women forced to continue working while receiving chemo and radiation because federal job protections last 6 months while the average course of care for a breast cancer patient with reconstruction is 12 months. 

All of the sudden, my tribulent journey thus far,  purple hoo-hoo and all,  doesnt seem that bad.

All of this leads me to the story of Perfect Sally.  But, before I launch into all things Perfect Sally, let me say that Sally and Justin B. are absolutely lovely humans and the nick name is poking fun more at myself than Sally. .  

We met "Perfect Sally" and her husband Justin  in Labor and Delivery class 16 years ago  expecting our first babies.   They were the stereotypical Boulder power couple blessed   with good looks, profession success, and upward mobility. They were warm, interesting, well traveled  and hosted one hell of a dinner party.   Now, enter birth stories:

 Joanna's birth story:  Joanna's labored 8 hours with 3 failed epidurals resulting  in a complete loss of composure (i.e . Lost my Sh*t!!! )  necessitating a dreaded injection of narcotics (fentanyl). Julia was found to be in fetal distress as the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck and the doctor appropriately responded with  a STAT forceps delivery resulting in a healthy newborn ( praise G-d) along with 36 stitches for me.     I was an anxious new mom ravaged by Guantanomo levels of sleep deprivation care of breast feeding and a fussy newborn.  I considered a day wildly successful if, on top of some world class "momming",  l remembered to  brush my teeth at least once  AND managed to get myself put together enough to leave  the house  for one errand.

Perfect Sally's birth story:  Sally's epidural took  immediately and she delivered Gus quickly and painlessly. Her family brought in catered food from Fresca (5 star restaurant in Boulder) and Champagne to celebrate. Sally was seen  out on the town with baby in tow  looking beautiful  while having  Margs and Mexican within the first few weeks and  had resumed training for Marathon's within the first month. She was later  awarded ( 6 years in  a row)  "Rising Star" in the Colorado Super Lawyers List and later bought several horses and moved to a sprawling  horse property east of Boulder with her family. 

We hate"Perfect Sally".         

       O.K.,  So, i  actually don't hate "Perfect Sally" one little bit ,  nor , along the same lines,  would I ever dream of resenting a   woman with breast cancer who sailed through the mastectomies and reconstruction without a hiccup and in record speed.    But I realize now that there is a large continuum of experiences that lie between the Perfect Sally's and the Tammy Trainwrecks.   But, just as  birth stories fade as  we shift focus on raising the healthy babies we were blessed to left with , the early stage breast cancer with reconstruction story will fade as we resume living life,  blessed to continue living another day. Period.  I  realize that some of my   breast cancer sisters with more aggressive  tumors  were not so lucky.    I may have emerged traumatized, battered and  forever changed from the person I once was, but I am still here!  I  GET to be  present and to continue to shape my  children as  I help raise them into  adulthood.  I   Get to continue to love and laugh and be loved.  I get to be present, to bear witness, to participate.  I GET to choose my recovery, my own destiny and the person I will become. 

  And that is the headspace I live in now, as the backstory fades and I get busy living MY life again.  I am grateful.