After one last surgery, they sent me home with my permanent implants, and a card that names the amount of silicone I possess in each boob. I went home to read, nap, watch movies and wait to get cleared to return to work.
Today my fabulous reconstructive surgeon took the rest of my stitches out, said I could go back to work tomorrow, and that she doesn't need to see me again for two months. Big Ball of emotions that I am, that's when the tears started. A cross between a choke up and a mini-sob.
Then she told me I can stop wearing my surgical bras, can wear normal bras again, and start shopping for underwires in four weeks. Although I thought I could order my size, and finally get a nice 36 or 38 C, these implants are kind of like memory foam and you can only request an approximate size. This requires a measuring session. I have decided to go straight to Sylene of Chevy Chase for a professional measuring and at least two super-sexy bras.
Then there is the nipple question: to tattoo or not tattoo? I don't need to decide until this winter, but am already leaning towards a no-nip future. It's not like I am a topless dancer. I have my BA. It seems silly. I'd rather save my pennies and get a new tattoo on my left hip, as well as clean up the moon and stars on my right hip.
At the moment, I'm drinking Champagne with my big funny husband and celebrating a new chapter. Oh and today is the first day I actually think I can consider myself a "Breast Cancer Survivor." Big Stuff. Not as big as my old boobs, but definitely significant. So raise a glass with me and toast good health, great friends, awesome family, and the 2012 New Boob Tour.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
The Next Step
Tuesday Morning I have my last reconstructive surgery scheduled. This effectively ends my breast cancer treatments. This doesn't mean I'm finished, but will finally move from the chemo-radiation-multiple surgeries phase of my life into just checkups.
I don't know if they "got it all," and I don't consider myself "cured" or "cancer-free" -- it's too early for that. Talk to me in five years and we'll see.
I've been thinking of a lot of people lately, like everyone who have loved and supported me and my husband. More than anything, I've been thinking how no matter how bad things have gotten throughout this journey, there is always someone sicker than you. I became acquainted with a lot of women who were sicker than me in the last nineteen months, especially one woman who I met in the Chemo Room. We'll call her "Vivian." She was fabulous, old enough to be my mother, sweet, and did I say fabulous? "Vivian" was on her 5th treatment when I met her the day of my first treatment in April of last year. She called everybody "honey." We talked about food cravings, oncologists, ice cream, wigs, how her son was about to graduate from Medical School and she was so proud of him. I liked her immediately.
I ran into "Vivian" in the Chemo Room mid-June, and was shocked to see her. "Oh honey, I just had my first radiation treatment today-it was a breeze!" She went on to say how she was starting her second round of chemo that day. We weren't on such intimate terms that we knew our specific cases, but half-way through my chemotherapy, I knew enough that couldn't be a good sign. Each infusion day you worry until they tell you your numbers are still good, and on your last infusion, when you get the all-clear, you know that chemo worked and it's time for the next phase. It was my understanding that more chemo = very bad. Then I looked at "Vivian" and her flawless blonde wig, and tasteful, perfect makeup. Then I looked at myself--it was one of those stinking hot Washington Summer days, and I had left my wig at home. I'd coordinated my purple top with a purple & green leopard scarf, and was sporting a little lipstick. Not bad, but I thought if "Vivian" can turn it out like this in the face of all her challenges, I can certainly make more of an effort when I head out for these treatments.
I never saw "Vivian" after that day, but I have always made a little bit of an effort--even if I've felt crappy through my own journey. A little face shimmer, a little Chanel Lip gloss, a little sexy perfume--it definitely "informed my character" and was all in homage to "Vivian."
Tomorrow, I'll be comforted knowing I have a lot of wonderful people who love me and my husband. But I'll be thinking of "Vivian" and all the women still struggling through their own journeys.
I don't know if they "got it all," and I don't consider myself "cured" or "cancer-free" -- it's too early for that. Talk to me in five years and we'll see.
I've been thinking of a lot of people lately, like everyone who have loved and supported me and my husband. More than anything, I've been thinking how no matter how bad things have gotten throughout this journey, there is always someone sicker than you. I became acquainted with a lot of women who were sicker than me in the last nineteen months, especially one woman who I met in the Chemo Room. We'll call her "Vivian." She was fabulous, old enough to be my mother, sweet, and did I say fabulous? "Vivian" was on her 5th treatment when I met her the day of my first treatment in April of last year. She called everybody "honey." We talked about food cravings, oncologists, ice cream, wigs, how her son was about to graduate from Medical School and she was so proud of him. I liked her immediately.
I ran into "Vivian" in the Chemo Room mid-June, and was shocked to see her. "Oh honey, I just had my first radiation treatment today-it was a breeze!" She went on to say how she was starting her second round of chemo that day. We weren't on such intimate terms that we knew our specific cases, but half-way through my chemotherapy, I knew enough that couldn't be a good sign. Each infusion day you worry until they tell you your numbers are still good, and on your last infusion, when you get the all-clear, you know that chemo worked and it's time for the next phase. It was my understanding that more chemo = very bad. Then I looked at "Vivian" and her flawless blonde wig, and tasteful, perfect makeup. Then I looked at myself--it was one of those stinking hot Washington Summer days, and I had left my wig at home. I'd coordinated my purple top with a purple & green leopard scarf, and was sporting a little lipstick. Not bad, but I thought if "Vivian" can turn it out like this in the face of all her challenges, I can certainly make more of an effort when I head out for these treatments.
I never saw "Vivian" after that day, but I have always made a little bit of an effort--even if I've felt crappy through my own journey. A little face shimmer, a little Chanel Lip gloss, a little sexy perfume--it definitely "informed my character" and was all in homage to "Vivian."
Tomorrow, I'll be comforted knowing I have a lot of wonderful people who love me and my husband. But I'll be thinking of "Vivian" and all the women still struggling through their own journeys.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Mondays
When you work in the hospitality industry, you usually have "mid-week weekends." For those of you civilians, the expression "Today is my Monday," or "Today is my Friday" can resonate on any given day, depending on business needs and creative scheduling around colleagues' needs. I've pretty much had the same career since February of '99, so I welcome the Tuesday-Wednesday Weekend.
This particular Monday Morning, I was actually off for the weekend, so had the shock to my system with all the dreary doldrums that accompany it.
Work was fine. More than fine, really. Then I waited for twenty minutes at my bus stop--located on McPherson Square. This is currently the home of "Occupy DC" and my bus stop is five feet away from the newly installed Porto-Potties for the protesters. Not so fine.
This particular Monday Morning, I was actually off for the weekend, so had the shock to my system with all the dreary doldrums that accompany it.
Work was fine. More than fine, really. Then I waited for twenty minutes at my bus stop--located on McPherson Square. This is currently the home of "Occupy DC" and my bus stop is five feet away from the newly installed Porto-Potties for the protesters. Not so fine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)