Tomorrow's T-day but I haven't scheduled the rollout of the long goodbye to my F-cups in quite the militaristic way I'm used to doing with a good comms plan. It's been a bumpy process, but I can't say I'm ultra-sad about leaving them behind in the OR tomorrow. As my chemo nurse joked with me on Friday about a pin she had given her survivor sister, "yes, they're fake, the real ones were trying to kill me!" Take my wife, please. I'll be here all week, folks.
I'm scheduled for an 8 am hack and will likely be in the joint for a couple of nights. Not ultra-stressed. I'll get through it. And with the lovely support net I have dangling under me from across this big ol' country, I feel extra-buoyed. But I miss my girls (the child-kind) already. It was stab in the heart hard to say goodbye tonight and hand them over to my ever-loving parents. These cancer separations always feel like extra-punishment, no matter how informal and breezy they seem.
I haven't burned my arsenal of bras or posed for any final nudie pics to commemorate the girls as they are. They were bloody late to arrive way back in my teens but they've fed two babies and delighted a certain sub-segment of men over the past 20 years, so go forth, dear boobies, and give yourself to science. The whole situation may be a bit of a bloody shame, but I wallow not and have never dwelled on the "why me?". Why the fuck not me?
I'll miss you, peeps, but I'll be back as soon as my hands can type!