This week I met with the plastic surgeon who will be performing the reconstruction. I had to brace myself going into this appointment more than any others. When the nurse took my blood pressure it was almost 20 points (points?) higher than usual. I was scared. Plan ol’ scared. The doctor was incredible and answered all of my questions professionally and respectfully. He specializes in breast reconstruction and hand surgery. Hand’s seem pretty complex to me so I’m glad Dr. Camberos is on my team. Once I felt the implant, I calmed down. It felt good. That’s the only adjective I can use because its true. Not scary, not frightening, just kind of good.

This whole thing gives you so much perspective and one thing I’ve learned is to not pass judgement if you see a woman whose had breast implants. For whatever the reason, cosmetic or medical or both, the decision and process isn’t easy. Neither is the recovery. We never know someone’s story (well, unless the put it in a journal on a website…) 🙂

I’m a total morning person. Give me hot coffee, a cozy blanket, a good book and the cold, calm morning hours and I’m a happy camper. Even on work days I tend to wake up earlier than I need to so I can have some time for myself whether thats watching a show or going to the gym. I love the mornings. Mornings with cancer? Not so much.

There is something unexplainably strange about that realization each time I open my eyes that I have a double mastectomy with reconstruction scheduled on Tuesday because I have breast cancer. I might as well wake up and say to myself I’m a hippopotamus who traveled here from an alien planet to learn human ways, thats how unreal it feels. That feelings lasts until it feels all too real and thats when the weight of the last month feels unbearably heavy on my chest. It comforts me to find the jokes, make the signs, and share the details in the daytime hours, but in those morning hours its as if every ounce of armor was stripped away over night and my life as I knew it is no longer the same.

But to be honest, this vulnerable feeling also happens in public restrooms. Not sure what that connection is, but I’d guess it has something to do with closing a door to the outside world, turning the lock, and realizing in that moment of solitude that again, my life as I knew it is no longer there. I guess its a good thing I’m not a guy because those heaving breaths and sudden tears would be pretty alarming at a urinal stall.