Friends and family - I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for all of the support and love you have shown over the last week (honestly, for the support and love you have ALWAYS shown me, throughout my entire life). All of your messages and calls and texts and posts have gotten me through such a difficult time, and helped me to realize that I am totally and completely not alone. 

It's my battle, I understand that. But I am also acutely aware that I am not fighting it by myself.

That I have an incredible army of support behind me. 

And there is no way to thank you for that other to say that I am eternally grateful. In the most complete and real way. 

Below is my most updated journal entry. 

It's raw and real, and quite simply, me.

It has been a heck of a week. 
____________________________________________

Choice is a powerful thing.

I honestly never thought that choice was something that was truly a “thing” in cancer treatment.

I just assumed that I would go in and a plan would be made.

FOR me.

But what I am finding is that we do have choice. And it’s an incredibly powerful, and insanely overwhelming, thing.

What is right for me?

What is right for my family?

What makes it so that this won’t happen again?

(Because doing this again would be awful.)

There are guidelines. There are recommendations. There are options.

But I choose.

And I feel like I’m making the decision of my life.

FOR my life.

To make this decision, I have to meet with the plastic surgeon.

What can I help you with today?

I would like you to take this cancer out of me and make it so I still feel like me.

I need to look like me.

I need this to not be a constant reminder of this part of my journey.

I am only 44.

She looks at me with a look that tells me she’s got this and says… I love a good challenge.

I like her. A lot.

She examines me and tells me that doing a lumpectomy (quadrantectomy) and reduction will leave hardly any breast tissue on either side.

And I’d have to do radiation.

The mastectomy is a much bigger surgery. We take all of the breast tissue, down to the chest wall, so radiation isn’t needed because there is no breast tissue left. We will attach a cadaver cartilage sheath to hold up the implant since there is no longer breast tissue. We will go under the muscle with the implant.

Pause.

What’s your goal for the look after surgery?

Um… the same size as now, but I’d like them to have the same form and perkiness that they did when I was 18.

No porn star boobs, please.

She laughs and says it’s an easy ask.

All I can think is that I don’t have a goal, really. I don’t want this. I’m feeling this odd connection to the breasts that I have had my whole life.

The ones that caused me embarrassment when they were completely nonexistent in 6th grade.

The ones that made the boys say, “What in the world happened to Michelle and her boobs over the summer?” my freshman year. (Finally!)

The ones that grew to gargantuan status when I was pregnant, and basically matched the size of my belly and entered the room far before anything else,

The ones that nourished my babies.

The ones that are soft and squishy and serve as pillows for snuggle sessions.

The ones that I complain about, but always knew (deep down) I’d never touch with surgery. At least not now.

The ones that are mine.

Mine.

I am totally in my head.

I’m struck with the awareness that this is such a different conversation than I would be having if I was coming in to buy new boobs on my own. My true choice.

What a fun conversation that would be.

It’s different when it’s forced upon you. When your choice is to have almost nothing there anymore, or to have them build you new breasts.

And either choice is just that. A choice. Made by the person who is going through this horrendous journey. And based on whatever choice is right for them.

It’s all so personal. So individualized.

Neither choice is right or wrong.

It’s just a choice.

I am only 44.

I realize that she is looking at me. Waiting for me to process what I’m feeling.

I like her. A lot.

She tells me there is a bit of a downside.

Ha, pretty sure this whole thing is a downside…

You have to do 2 surgeries. Because we are trying to reconstruct you for symmetry, you will come in for the mastectomy and reconstruction on the right; 3 months later you will come in for reconstruction on the left to make them match.

Nope. I don’t want to do this twice.

Why can’t you just do it all at once?

The mastectomy is a major surgery. We will do the removal of all of the tissue; keeping your skin and nipple attached.

We will also do a nerve graft so that you have feeling in your breast. It’s newer technology for mastectomies, but it’s been done for years at the Cleveland Clinic with huge success. This makes it so that your entire breast isn’t numb; numb like how your c-section scar might feel now.

I hate the way my c-section scar feels. It’s like I’m touching someone else’s skin. I can’t imagine my entire breast feeling that way.

We will then go under the muscle with the implant so that any breast tissue that is left is above the implant so that you can feel anything abnormal. You won’t have a mammogram again on that breast. Ever.

Because of the extensiveness of the surgery, we won’t know the true results or the look until things settle in there. Until the swelling goes away. Until your body adjusts to the new implant.

Until your body heals.

We give it a full 3 months. And then we do the reconstruction on the other breast. We decide at that point what is going to provide the most symmetry. A full implant. A lift with a small implant. We have tons of options and won’t know what is best until we get to that three month mark.

I am going to be totally lopsided for those 3 months.

We can give you a prescription bra insert to make it so that you look symmetrical in clothes.

I have an irrational thought that I need to cancel our Rocky Point trip.

Again.

For the first surgery, the healing process is intense. For 2 weeks you will be completely down. You will have a drainage tube for 10-14 days because of the fluid that accumulates after all of that trauma. You won’t want to be out of bed. You won't be able to be out of bed. You will be exhausted. You will need help with everything.

I have the best husband in the world.

This I already knew, but it just keeps getting proven over and over again.

I don’t want to do this twice.

For the 3rd and 4th weeks you will start to feel a little better. Your drainage tube will be out. You will want to do more. But keep in mind, even going to the movies will be exhausting and you will want to sleep for 12 hours afterward.

Have I mentioned I’m not a good patient? And I’m HORRIBLE at being “down”.

For weeks 5 and 6 you will still be healing, but feeling quite a bit better.

You will fully heal during the 6 weeks after that and we will get the second surgery scheduled.

For the second surgery, the healing time is a little easier since we’re not removing your breast (I still can’t believe I’m typing that).

It will still take 6 weeks to fully heal, but you will feel better after 2-3 weeks.

After the 6 week mark, you are done.

And you won’t have radiation.

I am reeling.

The second surgery isn’t even something I thought about.

Wasn’t even an option in my head.

I know myself well enough to know that one, mentally, is going to be rough.

Both will be awful.

But for the second surgery I will know what it feels like to heal from this.

I will know the physical pain.

I will know the emotional and mental battles that come with it.

But I will do it. And I will enter into it with as much strength as I can have.

Because that’s simply what you do.

The choice is made.

I just keep thinking that this isn’t a choice I would ever thought I would have to make.

And, more powerfully, it’s one I don’t want to have to make.

But here we are; and I won’t hesitate in choosing.

Surgery is scheduled for July 27th.

I am only 44.

I have a 10 year old and a 6 year old.

I will take on this little old lady cancer with thoughtfulness, research, ridiculous amounts of support, and plenty of gusto.

And it will be hard.

And I will be healthy.

And in 6 months I will be cancer-free and ready to move on.

And this journey will be behind us.

And we will celebrate.

Big.