October 9th marked 3 months since my bilateral surgery. It seems like a long time ago. Life before cancer seems like a long time ago. I know it is a combination of stress and anxiety, but I can’t remember what I felt like with my real boobs. I know. I’ve only been without them for 3 months out of my entire life, but I can’t remember. All I know is that these expanders hurt like pure hell, wake me up at night and sit like bricks encapsulated in a thick layer of concrete on my chest. When my dad died 8 years ago, I frantically tried to remember his voice. I freaked out and berated myself for being a crappy daughter who can’t remember her own dad’s voice. His voice came back to me. It was grief, which does some crazy whacky stuff. I am thinking that some day I’ll wake up and think, “Oh, I remember those old boobs parked on my chest.”

I realize that I haven’t written anything since my last depressing entry. I have not gone off the deep end. I have not turned into a raging menopausal crazed lady (ok, perhaps I shouldn’t be so confident about that one. My husband Jason would be the best one to ask about that.) I will admit to being irritable and tired. Oh, I despise admitting that I am tired because I have always considered myself somewhat of a bad ass. I have insomnia from Arimidex.  I even experienced restless leg syndrome one night. This lovely drug is a hormone suppressor. Its  job is to get rid of any estrogen left in my body. Right now, it is my oncologist’s drug of choice for the next 5 years.

So, after a complete hysterectomy, I woke up with 5 new incisions on my torso. I was exhausted from the anesthesia, but thankfully this time due to different medications, I was not nauseous. I am thankful the RN informed me that my urine would be blue for some part of the day due to the dye they injected during surgery. Otherwise, I would have thought, “Well hell, it must be bad. They already embalmed me.” Besides having a bloated stomach and feeling like someone was sitting on it, I felt as good as one can after major surgery. I was informed that I could not run or lift anything over 10 lbs for 6 weeks; however, the doctor said I could walk. So, two days after surgery I was on the trail walking. I told Jason that I would start with an easy 2 miles. The crazed look in my eyes kept him from intervening. Granted, I couldn’t stand up straight yet because of the incision. There was a lot of discomfort, but dammit, I was going to walk. I must have looked like a crazy person out there—hunched over with a hand on my stomach because of the discomfort. I felt like it was the only thing I could control. So, I walked and did not rest at all. I was so (still am) freaked out about menopausal changes that I went grocery shopping (sorry doctor. There is no way to not lift more than 10 lbs when you go grocery shopping) and cooked anti-cancer “clean” food. I apologize to anyone who has had any interaction with me since August 29th because I reek of onions and garlic. They both are part of my anti-cancer diet, and yes, I got a little carried away. I developed a hematoma because of my activity. I returned to work 2 weeks after surgery, which in hindsight was a very bad idea. Even though I work from home, I did not account for the fact that I would be so exhausted from the lack of estrogen in my system, major surgery, Arimidex, and not resting when I was off. So, for anyone who has major surgery scheduled, please take time off to rest. Don’t be an idiot like me.

It is easy to be vulnerable when you look good, when life is going your way, and what you are expressing is beautiful poetry. It’s really tough to be vulnerable when you are afraid of judgment, you feel like crap, and what you are verbalizing is the equivalent of stepping in a huge pile of dog poop.  So, with Brene’s encouragement from beyond, I am jumping in this cesspool of vulnerability.

I rarely ever talk about my past mental health challenges so freely, especially about my past eating disorder. I know the judgment. So, when I started this Caring Bridges page, I decided to be real. Those past struggles have shaped who I am today. They were very dark times in my life, but I knew I would get through this because I have survived tough challenges before. It is so easy to get caught up in the daily drudgeries of life and forget that every person is dealing with tough issues/situations. However, in this culture, our mantra is to say “I’m fine” no matter what. I do believe we would be a more compassionate nation and world if we were honest and said, “You know what. I’m not fine. In fact, I feel terrible,” and actually sat with those tough emotions instead of minimizing, stuffing them down, or running away. Having to keep up the façade that everything is great is exhausting.

Tomorrow, October 22nd, 2018, is my breast reconstruction surgery and hopefully an end to the surgery chapter of my breast cancer journey. I’m quite emotional today, which surprises me because I am absolutely giddy knowing that these damn expanders are coming out tomorrow. Throughout this whole experience, I haven’t cried much. I have grief bursts about my mom often, but regarding myself, not so much. It is what it is, and I am very blessed because it could be so much worse. However, today, the whole experience from having a second mammogram, the sonogram, the biopsy, the breast MRI, the excruciating decision to have a bilateral mastectomy, all the doctor consults, weekly expander fills, the complete hysterectomy, immediate menopause and now reconstruction is impacting me. I told Dr. Owens a few weeks ago that I don’t know how to act as a cancer-free person who feels crappy due to immediate menopause and Arimidex and lives in fear of cancer returning. It doesn't occupy my mind all the time, but it’s background noise.  I’m grieving my old life, the one where I was more carefree and not worried at all about cancer until I was informed I would need a biopsy. I still wasn’t very concerned until my doctor called me around 3:30 pm on Tuesday, May 1st, 2018. Then, life changed forever. Tomorrow I’ll wake up after surgery with a brand new set of FOOBs (fake boobs). My plastic surgeon team asked me what type of shape and projection I would like to have. I didn’t really have any projection prior, and honestly, I never thought about these things before. So, it will be interesting to see what I’ll look like, and how I’ll “project” when they place the new girls on tomorrow. 

I feel terrible that my cancer diagnosis has shaken my little family unit. With each surgery, I have to reassure Nathan that I’m not going to die on the table. I hate that I wasn’t able to protect him from these scary feelings. In spite of everything, I am filled with gratitude. I feel blessed to know that my marriage is strong, and that I love Jason more than ever after 15 years. I have a son who is not afraid to express his feelings and is so compassionate and kind. I have so much love and support from my family and friends. My faith in God has grown. And, just when I am feeling rather overwhelmed, my parents will send me a sign that they are here for me and surrounding me with love.

“When you’re in a dark place, you sometimes tend to think you've been buried. Perhaps you’ve been planted. Bloom”