It's now T-5 days until my surgery and feeling a bit overwhelmed at the present, thank you very much.
I got a phone call today from a nurse who runs the breast health centre for the local health authority and tho she's all well-meaning and shit, her quiet little "ooh" and "aaw" responses to my recounting of chemo/radiation/the lead up to surgery made me want to kill a kitten. Pair that with a little crying moment from Stella last night "because of your cancer, mommy!" and I'm a bit on edge with the whole slicing me open, sticking four bulb grenade drains in me, sewing me up and sending me on my way dealio.
Honestly, I know the surgery is gonna hurt, gonna suck, gonna be wicked nasty. But I'm kind of okay with most of that - or at least as okay as I could be. I've got the same vision in my head carrying me through these days that I had before birthing Stella and Frances. I'm strong. I'm a fast healer. I know I'll be out of that stinky joint before you know it. I mean, yes, this is in a different league, but still. Let me have my vision.
What is giving me a major case of the stress ballz is imagining what that tissue looks like in my breast and what the pathology will reveal. These are big fucking tumours in there and I can't bloody well tell what's going on since chemo and radiation. It feels different, but I don't trust my feelings where breast changes are concerned. These are the two things I'm thinking as I get my bod all acidic with worry:
Dr. R., my surgeon (bless her blunt heart), telling me, "When I do the surgery, I don't want to see any cancer. I just want to see healthy pink flesh - otherwise it'll mean I'm cutting into the cancer cells, and I don't wanna do that."
My mom telling me that when she had her surgery (a lumpectomy), she had to go back a second time because in the pathology, Dr. R saw they had sliced through a single cancer cell and she wanted to remove a bit more tissue in my Ma's breast to ensure they removed that half-cell.
Do we need any further indication that we're dealing with a brutal disease here?
I feel good that I don't have tumour suburbs attached to any other parts of my body - I mean wicked good. Like, fuck you that that could ever happen. What I don't feel good about is that the two I have are perfectly neat and far enough away from my chest wall that the surgery will be as easy as tying off the end of a sausage. I will try to meditate on that image, but sometimes I think I'm asking too much to have such a scenario handed to me in a gift-wrapped box.
I have complete faith in my medical team and complete faith that I can make the environment inhospitable for any stray cancer cells roaming through my bloodstream, but until I get the bigger picture, I'll continue to be stressed.
Thank the fucking goddesses I have my unicorn man to rub my feet and turn on Gossip Girl or Glee when I need it.