Quick post before the big day

Thank you, Michele, for posting tonight (your test post worked!) and for updating everyone tomorrow. I appreciate that you are helping me in ways large and small throughout this process. And to those who wonder what made Carolyn & Michele laugh (and nearly crash…sorry!) you’ll have to ask one of us in person. ;-)

Surgery details:We (Ryan will be with me tomorrow) will be checking in tomorrow at 7am, I’ll get a dye injection at 9am-ish, and the surgery is schedule for 1:15pm. The surgery should last 2-3 hours. The surgery is at:Swedish Medical Center, Providence Campus
Same Day Surgery Center
550 16th Ave, second floor
From I-5 northbound, take the James St. exit, turn right onto James, which will become Cherry. Turn right onto 16th Ave. The parking garage is on the right.
www.swedish.org

Ryan will have my cell phone with him, as his is (temporarily) kaput. Everyone should have that number, or Caley can give it out if you call our home number. (Sorry, don’t want to post that on the internet.)

Caley will be watching Tessa lovingly, and making sure she has a fabulous day. We are grateful. Caley is spending the night tonight and tomorrow night, and we don’t know what we’d do without her.

Today was a wonderful day in so many ways. My friends gathered around me so lovingly – I felt truly cherished at my “spa day.” Heather’s home is gorgeous and she really left no detail undone – beautiful flowers, incredible food, and the wonderful spa services. Thank you to Michele & Heather for making this event happen! This is a memory that I will take with me for a lifetime – every woman deserves to feel this type of friendship in her life. Thank you, dear friends.

I will repeat what I said to my “spa friends” to you: Most people would face the type of dilemma I’m in with sheer terror – understandably. However, I only feel 25% terror, but 75% joy. I feel so much joy from the love I have in my life – I have SO much to be grateful for. This cancer has reminded me of things in my life that I’ve taken for granted. I have the best friends and family any person could ever ask for, and I’m humbled and grateful by your support. I have no right to have sheer terror in the face of so much love, caring, friendship, and support. The terror doesn’t go away, but it’s smaller than the joy. I will carry those thoughts with me into surgery, and I hope my last look before the anesthetic sets in are my newly painted pink toes! (Oh how I wish I could wear my wedding ring into surgery…..)

There is still terror. I don’t want to do what I have to do. I don’t want to look at my chest the first time they take off the bandages. I don’t want to feel the pain after surgery. I don’t want to face the look in my daughter’s eyes when I say “no, Mommy can’t pick you up…I’m sorry.” I don’t want to face the horrible possibilities of this disease. I don’t want to be strong, I don’t want to be brave, I don’t want to deal with this. I want my regular life back. But dwelling on such thoughts gets me no-where. Where possible, I banish such thoughts. Tears do come, but I brush them away and wait for the joy to come back.

Ryan has told me that he would trade places with me if he could, and I believe him. His love for me is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and makes my joy for all other things even greater because I get to share my life with him. (He doesn’t want his toenails painted at a girls’ day, but he supports my going, and hugs me upon my return. That means the world to me.) I ache for Ryan, because tomorrow I actually have the easier job: I will be “sleeping” and he will be wondering and worrying as I am in surgery. Please, all of you, watch out for my beloved husband and help him through those difficult hours. Let him remember that he is not alone, either. And Ryan Douglas Surface, here it is for all the world to read: I love you with all of my heart and soul. Having you at my side makes me a better, stronger person. There is nobody else in the universe as well suited to me as you, and I feel blessed to call myself your wife. I love you, sweetheart. And I don’t forget my promise to you: I plan to go old with you. We will travel to Tuscany, introduce our daughter to the delights of Paris, and return to frolic at Cannon Beach. I regret every moment of time with you I’ve ever taken for granted, because I love you so.

Tonight Tessa asked Ryan, as he was tucking her in to bed, to “Sing me a cancer song, Daddy.” (It is our tradition to sing her a made-up song about her day as she goes to sleep.) Ryan made up something about going to the hospital to get better, having strong medicine, and Mommy needing some time to rest. And through this, Ryan’s heart nearly broke. We want to sing about the dog we met in the park, or what it feels like to touch a starfish….not about cancer. I love our daughter until it brings tears to my eyes, and I wish with every fiber of my being that I could shield her from this. She is strong, too, and she will adapt, but I wish we didn’t need her to learn strength in this way. Precious Tessa Katherine, you are the light of my life and everything is clearer and brighter since you arrived into my life. I adore you. You are my perfect child – you are perfect for me, for us, and I wouldn’t change a hair on your head. Thank you for giving me strength through your hugs and kisses – when you say “Mommy get better!” I vow that I will, indeed, do that…for you.

And I must say a note to my parents before I sign off. Becoming a parent has made me understand, perhaps for the first time, just how deeply my parents love me. I know that their hearts are breaking. I know that I thank God that it is me that has cancer, and not Tessa….and that my parents would do ANYTHING to make me better. Mom and Dad, I love you, and I hope I’ve told you that enough. Thank you for being there, always, since the beginning, to support me. We will get through this. Your support helps to sustain me, and the many ways in which you’ve given me support keep me going. Thank you.

And I could go on, for each friend, and there will be time for that on other days. Right now, I must pack my hospital bag, and prepare for bed. Dear friends and family, please remember that I KNOW how much I am blessed, and that I am eternally grateful to you for all of the support you’ve given me in so many ways. I am humbled, overwhelmed, and eternally grateful for your love. I look forward to spending the rest of my long life in repaying you for your many kindnesses.

With love and hope,Kristina