Good boob, bad boob

This morning when I dropped Stella off at school I saw one of my chemo nurses. She's this cute, kind, youngish, thickly-accented Portuguese woman, and I felt this big weight lift off of me as I chatted with her about my side effects. She knows about me! She cares about this shit!

When we parted, I got choked up - likely another brill byproduct of my hormonal shifts, but it felt like more than that. I realized again that I'm on the back nine of my chemo game and closer to either radiation or surgery next. Both stress me out for completely different reasons. The idea of going with radiation and delaying surgery even longer makes me feel like I'll be switching from using a chainsaw to using a switchblade to cut down my cancer tree. The idea of going with surgery next sends waves of panic through my brain as I continue to struggle with the decision to cut off both or just one.

I've developed a nasty case of favouritism when it comes to my breasts. I can barely look at, let alone touch the diseased one and yet speak often and lovingly to my disease-free one. If I get the left removed and implanted (the likely choice), then at the very least, the right will need to be reduced so I don't look freakish, so it'll be some form of surgery whether I like it or not. And by the time I get the surgery, whether it's in December, January or February, I won't have my genetic testing results back so won't know if I have the breast cancer gene and thus will not have all the info I need. And even if my chances of getting cancer in the right breast are in the single digits, why take the chance when, on the surface and at my age, my chances of developing cancer in the left were supposedly in the single digits, too?

It seems ridiculous to base my decision on how I want to feel when I wake up from the surgery. Nobody feels good after waking up from a big cutting session. Whether I have one or both boobies when I come to seems irrelevant when what I really want to know is, how can I make sure this fucker never comes back? Then I get all superstitious and such and think, here I am worrying about one vs. two when right this very minute, the cancer could be rebelling against the chemo and spreading to my brain. That'll teach me.

Like I said - I'm stressed. And no closer to knowing what to do.