Tuesday night, the calm after the storm.

Well, we never lost power, despite the rest of the city. Luckily, we have our own powerhouse, independent of Con Ed.

I never thought I'd wear my gorgeous new silk dress for the first time with a surgical bra, but here I am. It's beautiful and I feel silly, but in a way, I'm glad. It's comfortable, it fits everything where it has to be. My cleavage is industrial white cotton with a big old velcro strip, and the halter style dress is offset by the humungous matching white cotton straps, also velcro-laden. So it takes elegance away, but when I walk, it swishes against my legs, it poufs out with every supermodel turn, and no, I'm not actually moving in an elegant fashion. Hard to do when you're saying "owowowowowwww" under your breath with every move. But, let a girl dream...

I haven't had tylenol since early morning. I guess that means I'm getting better. But I'm not without pain or discomfort. I just feel safer knowing my pain than not. I won't move in a way that could compromise healing. And I am willing to take it if it gets to a point that I really need it. I'm stubborn, but not stupid. If I think my pain will impede healing, then of course, I'll be crawling inside the tylenol bottle. Because I want to get better.

I rubbed a bit of arnica on the excessive bruising near my left armpit and it did wonders. I'm going to have hubby do it tonight, he can get in more than I can. It's eerily numb. I hate to think about my nerves being severed, and hope that they can regenerate and reconnect. But I guess a numb arm is better than cancer devouring my soul. Yup.

I did my Halloween nails, even though I'm guessing that Halloween will be cancelled or postponed. I sure hope so, as that would give me a chance to possibly go out.  (Um, likely no...)  I'm really hoping to get to the doc this week, or at least someone who can remove the drainage tube. I know it will be awful if it's in longer than it should be. I'm not in the mood to wear this awful bulb around longer than necessary, but also for the extreme discomfort that goes along with removing a tube from my body that has been there long enough to settle in and call it home. Maybe I can find a video on Youtube to take us through, step by step??  :)

No thanks.

So as I muddle through the discomfort in my gorgeous dress and Halloween nails, I smell the smells of dinner - organic grass fed burgers, spinach salad, sauteed mushrooms, and rumor has it that the husband and child are planning on baking gluten free chocolate chip cookies.  Hmmmm.  Life could be worse. I'm loved. I'm alive. I'm going to feel like me again at some point, right???

Big ol' Storm

School was canceled today. It's almost sprinkling. I know, it will get bad, and I'm glad my baby is here with me, but I still find it amusing right now.

I'm feeling a bit nauseous. Not sure why. I had some cereal and it helped, but my head is spinning. Hubs made me take a painkiller this morning, perhaps due to the crying and whimpering as I tried and failed to sit up in bed. Maybe the pill is the reason. I hate those things. I may call my doc today and see if there's something otc that will work. He did give us his cell phone number.  I assume the office is closed but I could try that first. We'll see.

Found out my daughter can wear a Halloween costume to school as long as it's not a mask and no weapons. Hers includes both this year. The weapon is foam and silly, but still. So now, I need to figure something out. She's so far from being girly, but I suggested a zombie princess (I have a tiara and lots of dresses, we could put green eyeshadow all over her face!) but she didn't like that. She suggested being a 2nd grader. No thanks.

This rain is killing my joints. And I'm sure it's contributing to the pain in the surgical site. The nausea I can't explain.

We're trying to figure out what Wii game I can play now. I think Mario Kart will be ok on my arm. We use the remotes and not the wheel.

Mostly, I want to feel like me again. This blows.

Saturday morning. Another chance to sleep in and I can't do it!

My head was pounding this morning. I think from laying down. It also hurts the area that was violated on Wednesday. I can't really sleep sitting up all the time, but laying down is a real drag for many reasons. Headache. More pain in surgical sites. Trying to get up. However, I developed a great method that wouldn't be possible if both sides were done. I simply bend my right leg, grab with my right arm, and maneuver myself up by a sort of lever system. My face is also in what I like to call the "silent scream". My daughter is studying that stuff in school now, so I should thank her teachers. But if I weren't strong (not that it takes a lot, but when you're in pain everything is magnified!), would I be able to? Probably not. It still hurts and makes me tear up. But it makes independence possible at that moment, which is a very important aspect of recovery.

Oh, and I'm not pregnant. Yippee. Leave it to my freaking uterus to decide to empty out early. Like I need more blood loss, another thing to deal with. But, then again - I'm not pregnant. What sort of hell would that be???

I had a bite of scrambled eggs with my man. I thought it sounded incredibly unappealing until I took a bite. Ok, he made them with cheese and chopped up hot dog. Bachelor breakfast for sure, but damn... it was tasty.

So, now... he is going out shopping and to the gym. I am looking forward to him getting back so I can get a nice bath, have my hair washed, and get some makeup on my face.

Got a floral delivery today. Was nervous, as I kind of hate cut flowers. Surprise! It was a gorgeous orchid plant. Now, to keep it alive. I sure hope I get some bamboo if someone feels the need to send plants - I need all the good luck I can get! I also got an Edible Arrangements delivery. Holy crap, that is amazing. I will be sending these - or bamboo - to anyone recovering from anything. Seriously, the thing that sounds most non-vomitous after surgery is fruit. I asked hubby to go to Brazil to get some of the fruit I had at breakfast last week. It didn't seem cost or time effective, however. This came just in time!

So here I am. No pain medication, it doesn't help enough to make it worth it. And it's not fun. Hideous surgical bra with a nasty drainage bulb hanging from it. Tape residue on my arm and eyelids. But I'm breathing. And my husband still looks at me like I'm the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Bullshit? Maybe. Or maybe we're just really in love.

Day one at home

Slept ok, surprisingly. Woke up to pee, take meds, empty the drain, and while I can't say I've "never felt better", I was surprised at how little I cried when I had to move. There was one precarious moment when hubby went to get my meds and I tried for about 20 minutes to maneuver myself out of bed. That sucked. I felt like a helpless infant. And I thought back to my own mom, how she really didn't have anyone to help her. Yes, she had a husband, but I'm not going to go into the dynamics of their relationship. Only that I'm so sorry that she didn't have what she deserved.

After some Ezekiel toast with almond butter and jam, half a cup of coffee, a few gallons of water to keep flushing the bullshit out of me, and some kombucha, I looked at my arm and the disgusting tape residue that seemed to cover more area than actual skin, I decided it was time for a luxurious bath. Hubby scrubbed me, and thank goodness for Japanese scrubbing cloths . I grew up with these, amazing for your skin, and we tried a few swipes of rubbing alcohol to get the residue off but the fumes made me feel quite vomitous. So, in actuality, the scrubbing cloth and some beautiful organic bar soap did the trick well. I cried thinking of my mom again, how the hell did she bathe? I was too young, but as a teen I did give her sponge baths in the hospital. I wish I could have done more for her, but at least I know she loves that I have someone to do these things for me. Us moms care more about our children than ourselves, and I always want my little girl to have it better than I did, in every way.

Got dressed in my sassy zebra striped nightie. Originally I picked a button down shirt and shorts, but realized how much easier it was in the hospital to go to the restroom and how annoyed I was all night, having to fuss with my shorts and undies. Duh. The zebra nightie looks a hairball less fetching with the surgical bra and lump of drainage bulb underneath, but I've got my makeup on and am pretty sure that I'm looking better than yesterday in the god awful hospital gown. They should offer a premium package - I'd pay more to have something a bit more feminine on while recovering. I did consider bringing my own, but gave up on the idea when I realized that, well, I just wanted to be alive. Now? I'm glad to have options that say, "Hey! I only have one breast, but gaaaaaad damnit, I'm dressing it up like nobody's business. Ps. Fuck you, cancer"

So far it's going pretty good.

We've taken pictures along the way. Hubby even got a shot of me getting that awful radioactive shot right through my breast. The one that almost made me smack homeboy across the room. The one that made us both cry. And now, looking at it, I can not only remember the pain, but remember that I survived it. I spoke with quite a few medical folks there. There HAS to be a better way. That shit was unnecessarily painful. I mean, really. Feel a little pinch, my ass. That was torture. That was like a biopsy without the numbing stuff. Fuck them.

So now I'm clean, except my left armpit. But I'm pretty sure I smell fine - not much time to sweat.

Speaking of sweat, I'm very antsy right now. I need to move. It feels better. I'm very tempted to do easy squats against the wall with my swiss ball. In real life, I can do 100 and start to feel a little something normally, so 10 every now and again would be fine. I'm pretty sure I can't do pushups for a long time. Worse things have happened in life.

I want to clean the place - I want to do a lot. That's so Me. I'm a spaz.  If only the pain meds made me sleepy... but that would suck too, because I'd be cursing about being so tired. Yeah, I'm not really complaining I guess.  I really don't know how folks get hooked on pain meds - it's not fun for me. Again, I guess that's good too.

Time to call the docs. I love my husband. He's a true warrior. Maybe he'll curl my hair.

Made it through

We escaped tonight. I'm so glad we only did one side - it feels so heavy and tight. I can't imagine that on both sides!

I look completely deformed. I know it will expand and be the most beautiful breast, ever... but now it is a hot mess.

Surgical bra. Not as bad as I had envisioned. Tight. I know it has to be, and realized why in the cab ride home, but still...

Drain. Gross. But interesting.

I can't lie, I feel like shit. But I'm glad it's over.  Let's see if I can learn to rest a little!

Holy Hell. Tomorrow? 5 AM? I'm not ready!

Yup, tomorrow. 5am.

My phone rang at about 9pm tonight and I didn't recognize the number, so in true Me Fashion, I didn't pick up. Probably a gig, or some weirdo. Or both.

It was my surgeon (the chopper, not the builder)! Left me a lovely message in his style - telling me to get some rest (if only he knew!), and that he was looking forward to tomorrow and he promised to get rest himself. DEFINITELY more important for him to sleep.  And to call him if I needed anything.  And that he's looking forward to starting our journey tomorrow. Wow. That's old school. Makes me feel better. I know he does this because he loves helping those of us with wicked breasts that try to kill us.

I'm not ready. I have slept perhaps a total of 30 hours in the past month. Last night I got a whopping 2. And not from nerves, but lack of opportunity. The avalanche of work will come in handy as my income dwindles during recovery, and the boost of being seen in such high profile positions will help sustain my career over the course of my travels from "SHIT! THIS HURTS!" to "Hey, I dig this whole watching movies all day vibe". But of course, in true Me fashion, I've been getting a bevy of calls for work in the future. It's been difficult to juggle, who do I tell, who do I say yes to... but I'm managing to keep my head straight.  I think!

My daughter and I shared cupcakes before her dad picked her up for the night. I worry about her schoolwork while I'm down. In fact, she asked if she could do some of her homework tonight at his place, and I said no. She said I should give her a chance. I asked what happens when she does the homework there, and she honestly answered that she doesn't get it done. So, what chance am I supposed to give her at this point? Really... him. I think she heard the words and realized. Went back to work. When her dad picked her up, I reminded her to wear her track gear to school tomorrow, and to make her lunch.  Her dad: "Since when does she make her lunch?"  Me: "She's 11, she can make a sandwich and pack a snack".  Her dad:  "Nobody told me!"

This is what I deal with. I joke often that if it were up to him, she'd be drinking from a bottle and wearing diapers. Sadly, it may be the truth.

So, there's incentive to heal quickly enough to have her back and run the homework bus as I do. Husband is wonderful at that, sometimes better than I am, definitely more patient. But I don't want her to see me in pain. So - I'm really hoping to feel better faster, and get my acting chops tip top so I can fake it 'til I make it kind of vibe. For her. And me. And my guy. Really, everyone wins if I don't feel like ass.

So, I'll pack my little hospital bag now. Not bringing much - they warn you not to. I guess a change of clothing, some toiletries, and a book. I can have hubby get me stuff and/or carry around more valuable items, of course. The question is wedding rings. I feel lost without. Maybe I'll just have him carry them in his bag, but that makes me nervous. The last thing we need is to lose a breast AND wedding rings!

It's surreal to think that tomorrow at this time I will be awake (theoretically) and without my leftie. The old girl was good to me - fed my daughter for 9 months (the right was really a waste, but maybe that's why she's cool now?)  It's always hard to say goodbye to a friend, but I sure wish they could take the stretch marks away, too! Oh well, if the stitching looks weird, I plan on tattooing (I hear I'll be numb enough to not care about the needle). I giggle at the thought of having the word "Fake" written on it. Something dorky. But, maybe I'll just want her to look like a breast. I have time to decide. For now, let's get this shit out of me and take an amazing extended nap. Will I be hungry for dinner tomorrow? I sure as hell won't want hospital food. And, upon the advice of a friend, I've packed prunes. These hospitals - sometimes they just want proof that you can take a dump and they hit the "eject" button. I don't want to leave until I'm ready, but at the same time, dealing with my daughter's surgeries, I know the hospital is no place to feel better. All the beeping, moaning, needles... it's just too much. Inhumane. Give me my bed, the netflix on the ipad, a few good books, some pain meds, and snuggly cats (good Lord, I hope they don't pop my damn expanders with their claws!)

My head is so dizzy at the moment. It's 10:51. I planned on eating and drinking until midnight, when I need to stop all that stuff, but damn, I'm tired. I'm really dehydrated though, so maybe I'll just load up on water and hit the bed. Across town at 5am. That means I have to get up at ass o'clock. Hubby too, and he's out late tonight working. I sure hope he gets some rest tomorrow, but I know he won't.

One of the worst things is thinking of my daughter and hubby worried. We had to alert the teachers, to help us look for any behavior that says she's distressed. But really, what will help her is if I'm home, we can watch movies or maybe even play video games, and order sushi. I need to man up (the loss of a breast will help that along) and do this like she does her surgeries. I mean, the girl never even wants regular tylenol. We'll see how it goes for me... I'm hoping that apple/tree theory kicks in and I find a huge set of balls in my spirit.

Deep breath.

Knowledge is Power

Today was a good day.

I just got back from a business trip. Literally, an entire day in an airplane. An entire day working. An entire day in an airplane. But I'm home. I was exhausted, cranky and stressed when I got in last night, but a nice spinach salad with asparagus and tuna set me straight. Unpacked and started to pack again (leaving tomorrow morning for another few days out of town, but luckily, I can take the train there!)  Hubby was out cold by the time I came to the bedroom. I took a melatonin and continued reading one of my daughter's books - she gave me "homework", to read a series she has really enjoyed. I can't lie - after I got through the muck of the beginning, I'm getting into Warriors (it's about cat gangs, not the old 70's movie!!!)

Today, we had our favorite photographer over and did a shoot. I haven't even thought about this, and judging my caloric intake yesterday (about 10,000), I wasn't worried. But there we were. I did my hair and makeup, and held my breath, wondering what these unusual images of me would turn out to be. I felt more relaxed as I took pictures with my man, but he also made me cry several times. Luckily, my eyelash glue is rock solid. In fact, 8 hours later, I'm still wearing my falsies. Eyelashes, that is.

It's a funny thing, saying goodbye to a body part you take for granted once you realize it's not going to become exactly what you want. It served a purpose, a very good one - feeding my daughter as a baby. 9 months of quality nourishment. Sweet.  But now, I'm gonna miss the little bugger. As flawed as it is. Stretch marks (oh crap, those might stay, right?) and all. But, that's the way the implant bounces.

My daughter came back for the night - and we all went to dinner. Paella, octopus, red wine (not for her!), and after, we walked to our favorite bakery. On the way, my husband explained to her that I have to have surgery. She looked sad but took her cues from us - it's not a problem, just a little nuisance. I'm glad he talked because I surely would have broken down. But I did tell her that she gives me strength - and after her 3 surgeries, she was so strong. I would try and be strong like her.

We talked about how I won't be able to hug for a while, so she gave me lots. On the sidewalk. It was nice. But it's also amazing how children take their cues from us. I'm trying to not cry now as I type, as she is doing her homework (that her dad "couldn't find" again... grrrr!)  I would rather be watching a movie with her or something, but it is what it is.  I want her success, and I am leading by example. Which means I have to pack. We're dropping her at her dad's in the morning on the way to the train station. Both of us have trains leaving at similar times tomorrow - so I get hugs galore before hopping on!  For a very long 2+ days. I have to say, diving into so much work has really helped my head. If I hadn't been so busy doing what I love, I might have needed some very strong drugs to keep myself from freaking out. Luckily, I'm being propelled by art.

Spent way too much time doing that homework that was not done, and she couldn't complete it all. I can't lie, I got snappy with her. She wants to do it at her dad's, which means, as history will tell us, it will never get done. But I can't, at 10:40 pm, insist that an 11 year old stay up to finish her homework. I need to pack and practice still. Geez.  I wrote my ex a very comprehensive list of all that needed to be done, cc'd my husband and her grandma on it. And am going to keep my fingers crossed that her dad is not a complete ass hole and doesn't want his daughter to fail like he has all of his life. Yes, I'm angry. I can't trust that she will do her work at his house. I mean, seriously.

Being a parent is more than having sex one time and getting knocked up. Being a parent is about shaping your child's future, being there for them, guiding them on a path that will allow them to find success, however they define it. It's NOT letting your kid fail every class and then whine that you don't know how to do 6th grade math at 51 years old, or that you "didn't know they had homework". Shit. Be a fucking grownup. I'm positive that doesn't help with my cancer, and it certainly will not help recovery. Constant worry that she's not doing her work because she's spending time with that ass. I'm probably going to insist that no matter how shitty I feel after surgery, she will stay with us. I will not let her fail. I will not let her be like her worthless father. She deserves everything but what he offers, which is basically a black hole. And me on pain medication will be more help with homework than her dad. Yes, even strong meds. I could be asleep and more helpful than he is.

She deserves a happy life. And it is my mission to ensure that she find the path.

Catching my breath

It was a very long week.  Good work, good vibes, but exhausting.

I had a full day today as well, didn't sleep much, but got up with hubby to walk him to the train station, which got me to a 2 hour workout. Whew, I needed it! Felt better, did a little grocery shopping, taught a lesson via Skype, and worked in the garden before it got too cold - glad the basil, mint, rosemary, kale and chives were good to harvest. Made some (a lot) of pesto to freeze, not sure if I'll toss the mint (there's a LOT more out there, it is a weed, after all!), set the rosemary to dry, put the chives in the fridge, and made kale chips with my girl. And consumed kale chips with my girl after a lovely spinach and salmon dinner.

She's up now doing homework - I had to take a Benadryl because it seems I have 2 spider bites on my calf. Itching like mad all day, but no way could I go through my day on an antihistamine without collapsing.

More construction all week - which means, even though I have a rehearsal tomorrow at 11am, I have to vacate the house after dropping my girl at school at 8am (they want to start at 7am but I had to put a note on the door, our lives are disrupted enough. I'm not a fan of showering at the gym, but I may just beg the staff to keep my equipment up front (which I just found out is more than anticipated), workout, shower and hope I don't catch some horrible foot disease, and haul all my crap to a 4 hour rehearsal before I get my girl and come back home - hopefully the construction will be done for the day. We have 4 more days of this hell. At the least. At least this will not be going on when I'm recovering from surgery - that would be an absolute nightmare!

I wish I had 2 days off before I leave the country for a short gig - but I don't. I have Tuesday off technically, but, they'll be doing work again. I'm going to see what they say - maybe I can do some paperwork if they can keep it down. This will continue through Thursday evening. Luckily, I'll be out of town for the last 2 days. And please, let them be done when I return. I feel bad for my daughter and husband, but it is what it is. I guess.

I think that antihistamine is starting to work. Stupid spider bites.

I have some stuff to do before I hit the sack, so I might as well do it!  One of the only things at this point that is propelling me to the finish line (other than the checks to be collected from said work) is the fact that as soon as I get back from that last gig I will have my surgery. Which means, sleep. But it's good to occupy my mind so much. I'm amazed that my anxiety isn't through the roof, but it has no time to climb that high!

Like sands through the hourglass...

Today marked the start of a very busy time. Seriously. Not a day off until surgery. They might not even have to put me to sleep - I'm sure I'll be beyond exhausted!

A long day today. A bit frustrating too, but that's the business I'm in. I'll be in this scenario until Sunday morning.  Which will give me time to wash the glitter off, catch a nap, and get ready for rehearsal Monday. For a totally different job. Wednesday morning, I'll board a plane and fly all day, for yet another job Thursday. I'll board another plane early Friday and land back home that evening. Saturday a possible gig. Sunday and Monday? Out of town to do another job. Leave very early Tuesday for another job. And Wednesday. Ahhhh. Wednesday. Blissful sleep under the surgeon's careful guidance and lots of medication.

What a freaking lullaby.  Cut. Rip. Slice. Plop. Ugh.

But then, rest. Forced rest. And needed. I look at my schedule in the next 2.5 weeks and think, this "rest" is well deserved, but I wish I could have it under different circumstances. Of course, I never take a real break. I have to be forced to. Is this cancer a sign for me to slow down? If so, I'm sure a better and less invasive scenario could have arrived. Though I pulled my back really bad on Saturday - yesterday sucked royally, though I managed to go out and see the hubby work. It was fun but painful. The good news is that now I can actually wipe without my back hurting. I know, TMI. But it's really a moment in your day that you don't think of, until it's painful. And I worry that it will be the same after surgery. I'm not good in a bed pan. I am pretty stubborn, so I'm pretty sure I can envision myself with my IV pole shuffling and moaning to the restroom in the hospital. Nurses trying to encourage me that a bedpan is a good and useful tool. I'm pretty sure I will NOT be in the mood to piss into some plastic bin in the bed I'll be sleeping in. No thank you, I'll just figure out how to get my science project of a body in the loo. And I will try to wipe myself. Because as bad as a bedpan sounds, I think needing the help of a nurse to wipe my lady bits sounds like a real awful time. I'd probably end up holding until they let me go home, and I'd build a wiping mechanism out of tinker toys. Who knows, maybe I will start a company that manufactures personal care products for use after mastectomy. "The Post-Mastectomy Butt Wiper! How much would you pay???  ... But wait! It now comes with a 'Sexy Surgical Bra', complete with snap on nipples if you had yours removed! Nobody has to know. " *wink*

I'm not sure I'll offer a money back guarantee, though. Those are pretty personal items for someone to be mailing back to me.

I have work to do. Hubby is working now, but will be back in an hour or so. A friend is in town, and it would be nice if we could have him over for some wine. Which means, that I should also be cleaning up instead of typing. Why do I have this incessant need to type? I haven't had much opportunity, or desire, to talk about what's going on. Imagine some dude calling his friends to talk about his Ball-Removal Surgery. Yup. It's just weird. And the stigma that goes with it in my business - I need to be able to line up work as soon as I'm able to go back and get in it. Folks say I may be too ambitious, but I get depressed if I'm not working in my art for a bit. I practice it daily. And nothing is more satisfying than getting on a stage and helping to make people smile, or cry, or whatever we're there to do. I'm an emotional sap. I like to help people get in touch with their inner sap, whether or not they share with the class, or feel it inside and enjoy it swirling around.

I guess this blog is a good outlet. I know some friends are reading and they can keep up with the wild rantings of my brain - or what's left of it since my breast seems to have taken over all thought.

It's weird. I can feel the lumps that have been there forever, always benign. And apparently, they're not the cancerous bits that have screwed me over. But I still wish someone had removed them long ago. They just remind me that something evil lurks beneath their surface. It's like they're laughing at my misfortune. They didn't have the guts to be the bully, but their friends sure showed me.

I have a lot of moments where I wish I hadn't gotten married a few months ago. I wish I could break up with my husband, whom I love dearly - and let him find a woman who is not damaged. Find a woman who is cancer free, who won't need his help after surgery, watching her kid, helping her get about, washing her hair, cooking all the meals, etc. I love him so much, and it makes me feel bad that he's going to have to work so much harder after just a few months of marrying someone who everyone would have thought was one of the healthiest women on the planet. Shit, I was even fooled. But here I am. And there he is. And I feel bad for him. I've always thought that our relationship was one that made both of our lives better, stronger and easier. I've never been in a relationship where I thought that before. And I feel like I'm mucking it all up for him. He does so much for us when I'm healthy. Maybe I can send him out for a weekly massage. It's the least I could do for him. If I could only afford one of those fancy massage chairs. Yes, the one that just a few entries ago I said I wanted to buy.

Ok, I still do. But what to get? And is it worth the money, when things are about to get pretty tight financially?

If anyone has any good suggestions - on a really deep working massage chair - that would be worth the money and would last a lifetime, let me know! Maybe I can just bite the bullet and get it for Christmas for the family. Early Christmas. Like, Halloween. That'll probably be around the time I can wipe myself. Seriously, I should get on that invention thing... right???

Is cleaning the house considered a good workout?

I ended up on the bike for nearly 2 hours last night. It had been way too long since I felt the desire to work out. Mostly, I stayed on because I was completely sucked into the book I was reading - Why I Wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy.  I'm almost done. It's funny, many folks have commented that I should write a book about my experience, but reading this book last night made me realize that someone did it. Yes, it's a totally different experience, but done in an easy to read and funny way. How folks have been describing this little blog. We'll see how things turn out in the end. If I die, I won't have to worry about it. If I survive, I'll see if I feel like it's relevant to share with more than the few people who read this. I did take creative writing at a very prestigious arts school, but it was not my major - just something I enjoyed doing. I hunkered down in the back of the classroom and never spoke a word. I think my teacher thought I was mute. Which was what I wanted. He paid attention to the students who were writing Majors, not those of us who needed credits, enjoyed writing as a hobby, and would rather take that class than some other artsy fartsy class that had little to do with what we were GOING TO DO WITH OUR ARTISTIC LIVES!!!  Of course, I realize now that writing helps me as an artist in general. But at 16 - all I knew was that I gained a ton of weight, went to a nearly all-gay school and didn't understand why my guy friends would trim my hair and not be interested in me (the pudgy girl with the bad perm... huh).

But here I am. 41 and about to lose a tit.

And now, I have acquired the skills necessary to communicate to you all how much this utterly sucks balls. 

Hubby is out working all day but we enjoyed a nice breakfast of french toast (ezekiel bread, organic eggs, almond milk and cinnamon) with a gorgeous organic maple syrup on top, and some ridiculously good bacon - we hadn't had bacon in months! I have a bacon fetish, but it lives next to my desire to not become that pudgy 16 year old again. So, we enjoyed this beautiful breakfast (a much better idea than hitting a diner, as I would have certainly ordered corned beef hash, eggs over easy, and would have devoured the toast which certainly would never leave my system in this lifetime).

We have the possibility of having clients over tomorrow night - and are planning to spend the earlier part of the evening out at my hubs gig, which is at an amazing BBQ place. I'm considering not going, but of course he's told his band-mates that I'm on death's door (not really, but it's fun to be dramatic sometimes). See video.

So I've been cleaning. I mean, furniture moving, scrubbing woodwork, neurotic cleaning. I figure, if this job comes through, it will be nice to have the place all sparkly and shit. And if not, I have a ridiculous schedule ahead of me up to surgery. I know, I keep mentioning it, but it's really daunting. I almost feel like I'm nesting, a-la 8 months pregnant. I'm getting ready to make a comfy home for my new baby breast. Instead of nursing, I will be lovingly emptying out the drains, instead of rocking it to sleep, I will be taking pain medication and hoping to be knocked out so I can't hear my own whimpering.

And I really want my house to be clean. 

I should have called my friend who I hire sometimes to clean when life gets hectic. I still may during the busy times. I don't want my man to feel obligated to scrub, but I don't want to feel mad about the fact that he's not. I guess along with sickness comes a feeling of entitlement - everyone should be doing your shit since you can't. I don't want to feel that way, and I tend to overextend myself when it comes to not taking care of me. After my amnio, I was told to lay down for 2 days. I did. On the kitchen floor while I rearranged cabinets and other activities. But back then I had a useless husband and a need to do everything because he refused. That's not true, he DID do a great job in sitting around in his undies watching movies.  My bad.

So now, I should get back to cleaning, since I haven't done much space wise (but my thoroughness is pretty good).  I have so much to work on, so much to learn and do, but I really want this place clean as a whistle - which I've never actually seen, so I would assume it is clean enough to see through.

I still really want a huge bowl of cereal and a Bailey's and coffee, but I'm drinking iced coffee to keep my engine revved. I'm sure any holistic doc would tell me to watch the coffee, and I really don't drink much during the week, but I'm afraid if I don't, I won't have the energy to go all Cornholio and get it all done. I'm still taking my turmeric, drinking that awful Noni swamp water, drinking the baking soda (now I'm adding lemon) which makes me want to vomit, and blissfully I still enjoy my home brewed Kombucha. Thank goodness for deliciousness combined with healthy properties. 

I think as a reward tonight, I'll light the first fire of the season (don't worry, we have a fireplace), and perhaps make a Bailey's and coffee to sip while I watch a movie. We'll see how that goes. I need to learn how to treat myself to stuff I want, but it's hard when nobody ever treated you well - my husband does, yes, but this is all brand new to me. Baby steps.

Humor

I think more people should try humor out. Today I got some "mastectomy" gifts - pink socks, a homemade card featuring gorgeous, round breasts with a removable bra on top (hysterical and, really, does Hallmark make a mastectomy card???), a book of adorable animals with really awkward and inappropriate comments (right up my alley), a melon baller (something I had envisioned they could remove the cancer with when I initially was diagnosed - now they need a freaking bulldozer, but I'm glad THAT wasn't gift wrapped!), and a copy of Why I wore lipstick to my mastectomy . Which, I believe, I will have time to read.  Finally! Time to read, watch movies.  This mastectomy thing might be a good game plan for me to be able to chill out! I told the girls that I might just have the other one removed next year, so be prepared to get me more presents!!!  Though, we also figured that we could celebrate by having a one year old party for my new breast.  I could strap a party hat to it. Sounds like a plan! Maybe I'll bake a boobie cake!  And how fitting, during Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Which I find kind of funny. I'm SO aware of Breast Cancer.  I'm pretty sure I will be aware year-round. Round. Hah.

Now I'm trying to motivate and get my arse to the gym - it's so close to busy time, and part of me wants to laze around until tomorrow. But, I'm overbooked until surgery and I certainly don't want to be a fat-ass on the table, and especially through recovery. Ok, I'm not a fat-ass. My ass is never fat, no matter how much I gain. But, you know, I want to feel good about myself. And yes, I will wear makeup in the hospital. I've instructed dear hubby that he will learn to do my basic face. Who knows - maybe he'll be so good that he'll become my makeup artist! FABulous!!!  The eyelashes might have to be bare - I'd rather not go blind at this crucial time in my life. But, who knows... glitter solves all.

Back to my issue.  What I really want to do is eat a box of cereal, curl up in bed with a mug of coffee and Baileys, and watch a movie until I'm comatose. I don't see "workout" fitting into my scenario, but I'm enjoying an iced coffee with vanilla almond milk (sadly, sans Baileys) and am hoping it will kick my little booty into gear.

It's funny how few people I've told. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed or anything. I just don't want people to worry, unnecessarily. I'm going to disappear for a while and come back. Perhaps with a perkier breast. But at least with a cancer free breast. I hate that look people get when they know you have cancer. I'm not the best at handing the "poor dearie" look. It makes me cry. Luckily, not a lot of folks have used it on me, but perhaps it's my attitude, my general demeanor.

Anyhoo, this coffee is not helping somehow. But it's a gorgeous day out, so maybe I should just put my gym clothes on and walk toward the gym. Doesn't mean I have to go inside, right? If I can get that much done, then at the very least I can do an hour of cardio and watch some mindless tv. I'm really a lifting weights kind of gal, but I find recently this feeling of apathy toward the "Man Section" of the gym. Maybe I'm jealous because the rate of male breast cancer is so much lower. Then again, us ladies don't have to walk around with all that weird stuff hanging between our legs. I still don't know how they do that.