Countdown

24 hours from now I will be getting ready to go to the hospital.

Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat....repeat....repeat....

Today will be busy. This morning is PEPS at Heather's (which Tessa and I will both love), then while Tessa is at preschool I will go visit my beloved brilliant shrink, who will (hopefully) help me to whip my brain into shape for this surgery. (Or is it my heart she puts into shape? Hard to tell the difference, really.) I also need to dust, vacuum, grocery shop, and fold the last load of laundry. And one more coat of paint on the bathroom stuff.

I wasn't kidding when I said I'm nesting. It helps me so much to have things in place - it gives me the sense of order in a disorderly world. And I desperately want that sense of order.

The other thing we'll do today is celebrate Shep's 2nd birthday. We don't know exactly when his birthday is, but it's sometime around now, and he does seem a perfect April Fool. He is getting two new squeaky toys that he loves (the others will be retired to the trash - he chews them to bits), and as our tradition, he'll get a meat-cake. We make him a big hamburger, stick candles in it and Tessa will sing to him and blow out his candles before he gobbles the whole thing up as fast as he can.

And on another note....

I just got a call from someone at WSUU, promising hot meals, offering thoughts and prayers, and giving kindness. I am grateful to be a member of this community. More and more, it is becoming community to me, and not just a place I attend once a week. I have made a good decision in this regard, and I am grateful to have it in my life.

By next Sunday, I hope I'm well enough to go to services. Something to look forward to.

And on that note - off to PEPS.
Love,
Kristina

Surgery #9 - April 2

My next surgery is scheduled for about two and a half weeks from now, April 2.

My oncologist called in a prescription for anti-anxiety meds for me. I have an appointment scheduled with my therapist for next week.

Yikes.

surgery schedule

I think I'm going to try to reschedule to April. I just went to write it on the calendar, and realized that I'd miss Caley's graduation (a couple days after my surgery, in Spokane) if I kept the scheduled date, and I don't want to do that.

When I spoke to the scheduler initially, she said that there were some openings in April. I'm going to try to take one.

I need anti-anxiety meds. Ugh. I feel myself spiraling downward with all this.

Off to get Tessa from preschool. She will keep me sane, in an insane kind of way. Motherhood is always my first priority.

Is 10 my lucky number?

I'll never be a perfect 10 (ha). But 10 might be my lucky number.

I'm just back from the new plastic surgeon's office. Dr. Isac at the PolyClinic was very professional, highly recommended, and spoke kindly and rationally to me.

Surgery number 9 is scheduled for May 14. He will be removing my implants, disconnecting a muscle, tweaking, and placing a different kind of tissue expander on both sides.

Surgery number 10 is scheduled for October some time (date TBD), to remove the tissue expanders and place "permanent" implants.

It makes me feel like throwing up - literally - to be planning TWO more surgeries. Just when I think I've made progress, just when I think I can handle one more surgery, I'm being asked to have TWO.

Lately, it seems like whatever I'm willing and able to give, I'm asked to give double. This is sometimes more than I think that I can bear. But of course I can bear it, because I must. I don't see myself as having a lot of choice in the matter.

Now, I can hear the counter argument, "Of course you have a choice! These surgeries are elective! Stop while you're ahead! In clothes it's not noticable! It's not like you're a swimsuit model!"

I know. I know, I know, I know. But here's the thing. From the very beginning, I told Tessa, "It's okay, honey. One day the doctors will build me a new nipple." I have clung to that idea, and so has she. I have built it up to be a symbol of my healing. No nipples? Not done. It's simplistic, maybe even childish, but while I see my chest as deformed as it is, I see myself as a cancer patient. I feel like I need to do this to get it behind me.

Cancerland

Tomorrow I'm walking back into Cancerland by choice.

I am meeting with a new plastic surgeon to discuss my options for corrections. By my own standards, my current reconstruction status is a mess, and I hate it.

There. I hate it. I said it. When I look at it, I'm reminded of the events of last October, and the emotional fallout of that experience.

So tomorrow I'm going to consult with another PS to discuss what is and is not correctable. If corrections are possible, I would like to proceed in the spring to get it over with.

I have a lump on my eyelid along the incision and it itches like mad (and has since surgery in October). My right, prophylactic side, has scars that I can't explain and they're jagged and rough. My areola on that side looks like a wound, and it's in pieces. The nipple is non-existant. There's a weird divet in the middle of it all, and some pitting in the skin.

My left side aerola looks more normal/as I expected, but the nipple area is actually lower than the rest of the breast. There's a weird puffiness on one side of the breast. And worst of all, that breast is shaped like half of a canteloupe, and it's significantly bigger than the other breast. (Do NOT chime in here that all women's breasts have some assymetry. I know that. I am not talking about norms here, I'm talking about something beyond that.)

Because I told myself that getting this work done would be a symbol of my ability to move on....I feel like I'm bogged down by the symbol. When I see my breasts, I hate them. I don't want to hate my own body. I don't want to see betrayal, torture, pain, ugliness when I look at my chest. I don't expect beauty, but I don't want to feel so....deformed. Artificial.

I don't know if it's correctable. I don't know what the PS will say. But I'm going to try this again.

And it makes my stomach hurt. It makes me want to cry. I hate surgery. This will be number 9 in three years....averaging once every four months for 3 years. I assume it's "minor" surgery.

But I hate it.

Please pray that I don't have a total meltdown as a result of this experience. I brought out my massive medical binder to show my reports, implant sizes, etc. to the new surgeon, and just the sight of that hot pink blender has my stomach in knots. There are a lot of awful memories in that binder.

I just want to put this - all of it - behind me. And I have work to do before I can do that.