I have to be there by 11:30 tomorrow morning. It’s 11:45pm and I’m not sure if I’m going to sleep tonight. I just panicked when I realized I hadn’t taken the total dosage of antibiotics that my doctor told me to start today. I misread the label. I called Dad and left him a message. I then called my cousin, Christie, and she talked me off the ledge by convincing me that if I tried to take the full dose by midnight that I’d just end up in bad shape. In fact, her exact words were, “Mandy, don’t do that. You’ll have the worst squirts and you’ll be so sick tomorrow.” Needless to say, the fear of busting a stitch tomorrow kept me from overdosing on cephalex. I still think I will be fine now that we applied our vast knowledge of antibiotics. Guess it pays off to have a family full of pharmacists and nurses – and fathers that share their knowledge.

Now that the crisis is over, I’m sitting on the couch with Jessica while she plays on her phone and I’m trying to wrap up any last minute things that I need to do before I attempt to go to bed. I think I’m getting my game face on…slowly. I feel very focused and determined. I’m in the zone. I think this is a good turn of events considering that this past weekend I watched way too many YouTube videos and increased my anxiety level by a billion. I can feel my resolve setting in and this is exactly what I need right now.

I wonder what it is going to feel like tomorrow when I look down and see that I now have the chest of a 12 yr old boy. Will I feel sad? Will I panic? Am I prepared? I guess you never know how prepared you are until the event occurs. I’m sure that my coping skills are developed enough to handle this. I’ll feel less anxious once I wake up from surgery, hear that my tests are back from pathology (making this definitely preventative)…and I finally see my noobs (no boobs).

I’m going to go shower and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is the big day. I will update the blog in a few days when I am more alert and getting around. I won’t write while I’m on pain killers…although I’m sure it would entertaining. And if I do anything trully embarrassing in pre-op tomorrow when they begin to give me meds in my IV…I can almost guarantee Jess will grab her phone and post the video somewhere very public. She missed her opportunity to do that when I had my wisdom teeth out and embarrassed the family by announcing that I was “hungry as a mofo” a million times and then sang the Chilli’s Baby Back Ribs theme song. I’m prepared for her to not miss another chance.

Thank you for your prayers and encouraging words. Please keep my parents and Johnna in your thoughts as well. 

It’s now 11 hrs and counting…

April 19, the day after my surgery, my parents will celebrate their 39^th wedding anniversary. That’s right…39. The day before, I will walk into the hospital with a 92% chance of developing breast cancer and will walk out on their anniversary with less than a 3% chance.

There have been moments over the last few years where I’ve really hated being the only living child. Most of the time I’m just upset that Jake isn’t around to distract the parental units when I mess something up. It was nice being the good child for a change during those last few years of his life. His manic phases seemed to always overshadow anything I could be doing. And we were both so young. I think his manic episodes also helped to distract us from the effects of the Lyme disease. It was easier for me to look past the weight loss, limping and gray tint to his skin when he would talk to me about whatever he was so fixated on at the time – in the rapid pace and cadence that mania encouraged. It allowed us a small break from the reality of knowing a loved one was dying right in front of us.  

I watched my parents spend every minute of every day worrying and praying over my brother. As the Lyme disease continued to get worse, it consumed all of us. I watched my mother pour all of her energy into taking care of him and making sure that he was safe and comfortable. I watched my father cry in frustration because he couldn’t find the right doctors to cure him. I don’t want to ever be in the situation where I have to watch them take care of me like that. I like to think that this surgery is just as much for me as it is for them.

I keep thinking about the urgency I had in having a hysterectomy. All I could think about was how I did not want to be sick and do this to them. I couldn’t handle the thought of them burying another child. I’m grateful that I got to walk out of that surgery with no illness and no need for treatment. I have no reason to believe that this upcoming surgery will be any different. For this, I am grateful. I will alleviate the worry and burden that we have all experienced over this pesky little breast cancer thing. I will remove the constant conversations about lab work or MRIs or more biopsies. It will be nice to not have to talk about it so much.

We’ve always joked about all of the horrible historical events that have happened on April 19^th and how my parents have defied the odds on a day that seems so cursed – especially when you consider all they have experienced together. For those of you that aren’t aware, April 19^th is the anniversary of Columbine, the Oklahoma City bombing, the Nazi invasion of Warsaw ghetto, the day that the Branch Davidian complex burnt down, and the day that Fidel Castro resigned. (On a lighter note, for those of you that are interested, it’s also the anniversary of the premiere of The Simpsons.) I like to think that this week/this wedding anniversary, my parents will show the universe one more way they’ve defied the odds…and we’ve defied the odds as a family.

So Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad…I’m sure I’ll sleep through the 19th, so I want to say it early. I love you both and am thankful for the insight and support you’ve given me. With your encouragement and support, I’m given the gift of life once again. Johnna and I are so lucky to have you.

And now, I will live to find you a retirement home where kind nurses will change your diapers and you can eat all the applesauce you want…while Johnna and I manage your estate. Just sayin…I’ll take real good care of you. I’ve got it all planned out.

I know this might sound weird but the last few days I’ve found myself saddened by the changes my body will go through over the next year. It’s almost been like a pre-op grieving period. All of the sudden I’m scared of that moment when I wake up from surgery and see my temporary chest. I wonder if most women experience shock when they finally see a chest that’s (in my case) considerably smaller and doesn’t resemble anything that they are used to seeing? I wonder if it’s a hard thing to get used to looking at. I’m not scared enough to reconsider or question my decision. The thought of continued worry and radiation exposure for the rest of my life isn’t appealing at all. The thought of being forced into this surgery while going through chemo doesn’t sound good either. I know that if I was told that I had a 92% chance of winning the lotto, I’d buy tickets immediately. With this kind of risk and my horribly bad luck with my lady parts, I know what I need to do. I want to be in the 3% bracket and live a life where all I need to do is eat right and exercise to control my blood sugar…and make sure my liver is functioning properly. (hehehe)

No matter how rational and well thought out this decision is…I’m still going to be “Bride of Frankenstein” for a year and the emotional part of this decision is weighing on me. Thankfully, I have the internet to help me in my quest to reduce my uncertainty and calm my nerves. Reading other blogs by previvors and survivors helps tremendously. This weekend, I ran across this really cool awareness campaign, The Scar Project. It’s basically a  protrait series of fabulous women post op and it makes our scars look beautiful and artistic and something to wear with pride. The women look so feminine and strong. It was really encouraging. It made me feel better knowing that it is possible to still be feminine even with noobs (noobs = no boobs). And when all reconstruction is over, it‘s possible to be feminine with newbs (newbs = new boobs). I’m trying to keep things in perspective. I just have to emotionally prepare myself for this transition period. I’m thankful every time I read another blog, run across another website, meet another previvor or survivor because the sense of community and “normalcy” of this process is reassuring and comforting.

I also think this grieving period is something that we all experience. Much like grieving for a loved one, grief seems to manifest itself in different ways. You have good days and bad days. You feel peaceful and tormented. I think this week is when I really get to experience this process of grieving. It’s like a week-long funeral for my boobies. Let me make this point clear – it’s not a vanity thing that I’m experiencing. It’s more of an identity thing. Over the last few years, I’ve been forced into challenging and examining my concept of what makes me a woman. I had to challenge my definition of being a woman when I realized that I would not get the option to ever be knocked up and participate in a rite of passage that’s so closely tied to female identity. Now, I’m altering and temporarily losing the other outward sign of my identity as a woman. So in some ways the cool thing about this process is that I am learning to dig deep within myself to redefine my concept of me and what makes me a woman. It’s a refinement process. And so I’ll embrace my boobie funeral this week and hope that in the end I discover a renewed since of self and a new sense of humility and grace.