Tuesday, December 8, 2009

The End is Nigh


Ten days till tits-off. And I feel fine.

Yesterday morning, G and I met with one of my plastic surgeon's nurses, who embodied the adjective chipper, and learned all about life after boobs. It will look like this: I'll have plastic tubes sewn into my arm pippies that will drain me from the inside out, which G will have to occasionally unclog as well as measure my output on a daily puss/blood/strange tissue bits log (Brief pause to recognize G's heroic dedication to the cause. He definitely didn't realize her was in for this when he agreed to those wedding vows last year.). My body may be in pain, but I will be sailing off to Darvocet island and lulled to slumber by the Ambien string quartet. I won't be able to raise my arms, so we'll have to get an old person's stool for the shower so I can sit whilst I bathe. And though I'll probably feel euphoric, energetic, and rarin' to go in just a few days, I'll have the endurance of one of those fainting goats, and will need to be near horizontal surfaces in case of unexpected naps.

And then, supposedly, life will go back to normal. And the only thing different will be that instead of boobs, I'll have silicone spheres sewn into my body in such a way that, to the causal observer, it will appear as though nothing is amiss.

But first, there's these next ten days to get through. And they are shaping up to be busy enough to distract me from thinking too much about this strange end to this bizarre journey I'm on. On Sunday, my dear friend A is hosting a Boob Voyage party. On Monday, I'm working with my wedding photographer (through whose lens I've never looked better) to take some tasteful photos (I'm imagining a lot of draping) of my d├ęcolletage. And then my family arrives Thursday and before you know it, I'm walking down the hospital corridor, laying down on the gurney, and going to sleep. Then, I'll wake up, and my life will be different, a little harder for a little while, but ultimately better, because I won't have to think about this any more, count the days, imagine the worst case scenarios, doubt my choices. I'm so glad it's almost over.

2 comments:

  1. Hi there. I have followed your blog for a while, never commenting. I felt compelled to do so tonight as I read your end is near post. I too have the prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, in June of this past year - with the same surgeons you are using. Your account of the days post surgery seems pretty spot on. More importantly, your hope for the days post-mastectomy/reconstruction is abolutely right on! YOur mind will be clearer, your body less tense (your chest a little heavier), your decision even more right. I did this surgery preventatively but turned out I already (at age 31) had a stage 0, grade 2 cancer - requiring NO further treatment. even if that cancer werent there - I never would have second guessed my decision, though not easy to make. Good luck to you, if I can help (talk you down, sympathize,etc -email me at gmsimmons77 at gmail dot com) My only suggestion is to spend lots of time in your husbands arms, topless, so you can remember that warm comfy feeling...that is the only thing I miss, over and over again.

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  2. It's your turn now! It sounds like you have a GREAT support system set up and it wasn't (until recently) I really learned just how important that would be. You will be calmer, healthier, and better off for the hard choice that you're having to make.

    Don't forget to take the time, personally, to say goodbye to your breasts and to honor them.

    All the best and please let me know if there is anything I can do or say!

    -- Brandi

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