6 Weeks

I had a five-minute-freakout today. The enormity of what’s going down tomorrow morning is hardly lost on me. But, besides the few-and-far-between mini breakdowns – when I just feel sadness, nothing else – I feel so strong, so well really, and like God has been preparing me for this very moment my whole life. 

Six weeks from now, on May 12, I will be officially recovered. It will be springtime, the yellow daffodils in front of my house will be in bloom, the new green grass will be freshly mowed, NJ's unsteady trot will be a fast and furious gallop, these little sprouts on my head will begin to look a little something like real hair, I'll love my husband 6 weeks more than I do today, and I’ll be cancer free. I just know it.

When I fall asleep before my surgery, this is what I'll dream of – NJ dancing, twirling, falling on the bed. 

The Last Hurrah

Jon and I had a romantic getaway in Charlottesville at the Clifton Inn – our last rendezvous with “the girls.” It was dreamy, except for the part when I ate too much pork belly and oysters, drank entirely too much champagne and subsequently got sick. Not so sexy. But, that was merely a minor detail. The rest was perfect. Our room was a cozy hideaway and the service was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that there were chocolate-covered strawberries and several treats (compliments of my sweet sis), soft music and dim lighting awaiting us on arrival. Just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Anniversary: Postdated

 

Mom and Dad,

Thank you for staying married for 42 long freakin years, even when everything told you to move on, go another way, give up, give in. Your marriage alone, your commitment, loyalty, love for one another, dedication to our family, has left an impression on me that is more profound than any amount of money, gifts, stories and lessons, discipline and rules, guidance or advice (although those things are cool too.) No one ever said marriage was easy, but yours is what it's supposed to be. Enduring, strengthening over time, loving in spite of it all, hunkering down and getting through, and rising up to meet at the end, better, stronger, shaped and curved, like driftwood floating on a rocky current, smooth, graceful and sturdy after it's all said and done, resting peacefully on the sand.

Surgeons and Husbands

My surgery is March 31st, and I'm kind of excited. Weird, eh? Truth of the matter is, I'm way more sad that my ass has disappeared than the fact that my boobs soon will be gone, too. I've never been a boob girl. Well, maybe a little, but my ass was always where it's at. I'm not sure that it will ever come back: It's hard to gain weight and eat healthy at the same time. Wow, what an epiphany. Isn't that what nutritionists have been telling us for years about losing weight. So simple.

Of course, I'm nervous too, about things like waking up, boobless, and what that will feel like – crazy, probably. I hope I don't have a breathing tube or other weird unnatural things that I'm conscious of. (Although I should probably start getting used to things of the unnatural sort – but let's face it; those will be supernatural.) The yucky drains post-op. I heard they can be the worst of it all. But, then also that they're only annoying. Mostly I'm worried about not being able to pick up NJ for 8 weeks. That breaks my heart a little. A lot more than getting new, awesomer boobs. And, let's face it, "the girls" have done me wrong. Now, off with your head!

Choosing a surgeon is like choosing a husband. You just have to ask: Do I trust this person with my life? It's strange how long it can take to trust someone we're dating but how quickly we offer up trust to someone who's cutting us open – just a few weeks really.

Anyway, I'm going to start eating 4 avocados a day, and hopefully, that junk will go to my trunk. For real. Dang. Oh, and I did have a cheeseburger the other night. Got to, once in a while.