Surgery

Getting ready for surgery should be an olympic event. The dash to the hospital then slow down and wait to register. Moving from one desk to another. Being asked the same questions. "DOB? Can you tell me in your own words why you are here today? " Really, I should have been more creative in my responses. Instead, I repeat the procedure and what side. I tell them to follow the bruises left from my biopsy and to leave the other side alone. I take a pregnancy test. Which is negative (no duh!). I'm in a gown with a bag of fluids and have talked to more people than my patience level will allow. Dave sits beside  me with the heater vent that pumps up blankets in his shirt. It's cold back here. Why? Why do they make it cold when you are practically naked?? I'm just thankful the hospital robe is not pink. 

The OR room always creeps me out. I climb from one bed to the next, cognizant of the fact I am almost naked in front of a room full of people. And soon, due to the meds, I won't really care! The anesthesiologist  has been warned of my metabolizing meds quickly and says I won't wake up on his watch. I drift off.

Waking up. Where am I? How did this happen to me? Me. I really had cancer in my breast. I really just had my breast removed and reconstruction occur. I have a fake boob. Me. How did we get here? I take all precautions to stay healthy yet, I am here. Everyone looks at me in disbelief. I meet none of the tags that mean I'm at risk for breast cancer. They look at me, and it makes them look quickly at themselves. If this could happen to me, it could happen to you! I tell every nurse to get their mammogram. That by having one, I spared my life. My LIFE. If I had not gotten that mammogram, the cancer would have grown and grown without me knowing it. And soon, it would have been harder for me to get well. Longer for me to get healthy. I know cancer doesn't play by any rules. Because if it did, I would have never been chosen to be on the team. 

It's surreal to see my breast. It's my skin and nipple area but the shape is different. And looking at it, I feel different. Betrayed by my own body. And I hurt. Badly. And I have two drains that look like octopus arms coming out of my body. Which hurt and are gross. But you do what you have to do, you get up, walk around, go to the bathroom where they measure the blue pee you put out. Blue. I have never peed blue before but its from the dye they put in me. Weird. 

At home, I have a hard time Letting Go. Go figure. I want to clean the house, fix broken things, I want to stand up without pain. I can do nothing. My poor mom gets the brunt of my frustration. I cry. I haven't seen Elliana since the day of my surgery. I don't want her to get caught in the drains or pull my stitches so we are keeping my presence a secret. I spy on her when she is outside playing. My arms long for her, but I know this is best. And the boys fill that void. They come and sit with me, watch me drain the drains and talk about all kinds of things. I am a captive audience. I can't walk away to fix things so I sit and listen. Which is what we both need right now anyway. 

I hear their prayers. Thankful the doctors were able to cut out the cancer. Thankful I am home. I am thankful to be home in the business. Thankful that God has given me this story to share. This walk I'm on to meet new friends and educate others the importance of their health. Now, I trust God will heal me and soon life will be like it was. Before Cancer entered.