My Lady Lumps

I now have these little conversations with my breasts as I'm getting ready. "Why are you doing this to me?", "I always took great care of you", "You got 3 bras everytime we went running!". This is now just a typical morning. We're sort of on-the-outs. Yet there is a lot of emotion tied to fact that tomorrow morning, a golfball-sized chunk will be cut out of one of them. I'm not nervous about the surgery, but I'm nervous about what it'll be like afterwards. I'll never look the same again. Will I ever feel the same? And it's hard not to let these feelings overwhelm the big picture- this is to SAVE MY LIFE. And that's a pretty humbling thought to take away the silliness from worrying about a divot or a couple scars. And the amazing part of this journey, is the incredible support I've received from everyone. I feel like this ridiculously spoiled child. And sure, I've done an embarrassing amount of crying these past 3 weeks, but 80% of it has been from being so grateful and moved by all the acts of kindness I've experienced.

One of my care packages from my amazing coworkers! Filled with everything I could need! And I have no words for this. My Brother got this tattoo this week with my initials. I've just never seen anything so sweet.

I check into the hospital in 6 hours- I hope they're not serious when they tell me to get a 'good nights sleep' before surgery!

Shit Gets Real

It was naive of me to think I could just have this golf ball sized tumor removed and call it a day. The 'chemo' word came as quite a shock to me. It really takes the wind out of your sails. And I get it, it's ridiculously superficial, but all I can think about is MY HAIR. I love my hair. And up until this point, I think I was handling the meeting with the surgeon pretty well. Even the embarrassing moments. Like the MRI of my breasts hanging down that clearly shows my left side is larger then the right, being inspected by the surgeon, the resident, my boyfriend, his mother and my mother. Like an art show of my messed up ta-ta's. But everything else seemed like a walk in the park until now. But I can only deal with one thing at a time and the surgery is scheduled for next week. They explained to me that I would get an injection and then be transported by ambulance...20 yards to the hospital. Apparently I will be some form of radioactive (cue Imagine Dragons song). But I think it's a silly waste of resources. Instead of the ambulance, I asked if I could just borrow a HAZMAT suit so I can go running and screaming into the hospital to freak everyone out. Oddly enough, they told me no. What a disappointment. Then they up an appointment for me with reproductive endocrinology...wtf. Look, if I can barely say it, I shouldn't be going. And I definitely never thought I would be seeing a fertility specialist to freeze my eggs at 29...I mean, COME ON. But that's not even the disturbing part. That was walking into a room with a doctor who looks like Newman from Seinfeld who is asking your boyfriend about his sperm. My life is just filled with awkward moments. But now I'm exactly 2 weeks into this journey and I'm already so amazed and thankful for the insane amount of support I've received from friends and family! And I know I'll need it. Hell, I'm going to need to pick out a bad-ass wig...

Milk Machine

Let's be real. I know all days won't be glamorous, but I'm not always expecting the completely ridiculous. Today, I had an MRI of my breasts. They have you lay on your stomach in this massage chair looking bed, with the hole for your face. But then, to make it even more fun, there is a hole for each breast. So they just kind of...dangle. Much like what I imagine a milking machine to look like. But whatever, I had a nice 45 min nap. And by this point, not much bothers me. I've been poked and prodded and felt up so much the last few weeks, I'm starting to feel a little trampy. Like a medical-imaging trollop. These things used to be a prize! Now everyone has seen them! But, atleast they got a tan. Tomorrow I meet with a surgeon. It's not exactly how I expected turning 29 to go, but since when does life EVER turn out the way you plan? You just take life's lemons, throw that shit out, and drink some tequila!