Mastectomy Eve

Contrary to what the title of this blog might indicate, Mastectomy Eve is not nearly as wonderful as other days that end with "Eve." Although, to be fair, it wasn't too bad. My parents have spent much of the day with me, and have been waiting on me hand and foot (while Michael has been trying to fit a week's worth of work into this one day, and care for his dog who suddenly is limping - poor girl!). My dad went to the grocery store and bought groceries for a delicious dinner of cranberry chicken breasts. Yes, we went there. (He bought four and made three, and said, "I'm going to put this chicken breast in the freezer... unless you think they might need it at the hospital tomorrow?" Har har. You can see where I got my sense of humor.) We had a lovely dinner together, complete with wine and bad jokes, and they even washed the dishes. Not a bad deal.

How am I doing? My mom kept asking me throughout the evening. My answer was consistently, "I'm really good at compartmentalizing." I feel like I should be a wreck. I'm not. I feel like I should be packing an overnight bag for the hospital. That sounds extremely boring and tedious. I have been anticipating this night, thinking about what I want to do, and now that it is here I can't think of a darn thing I want or need to do besides just sit here like a bump on a log. And to be honest, I think I deserve some bump on a log time. I have been pushing SO hard this past week. At work I've been trying to pull together everything for the next month of my churches' life, making sure people are in place to cover the things that need covering. I'm sure there is something I have missed. I've been calling doctors and getting things scheduled and going to appointments, and planning boob-themed parties. In addition, Michael and I put an offer on a house that was accepted (!), so we want to get all the next steps of that process going before I am unconscious and/or on heavy pain meds and unable to sign for important things. So after my pre-op, I hunted for some info on my student loans for my mortgage originator, and then after the special radioactive injection I had today, I went to the bank to sign the mortgage application. Push, push, push, and now all I want to do is sit here. I'm exhausted! I'm glad I get to sleep for most of tomorrow.

But really, I know I should be paying more attention to my emotions at this time, and letting myself feel what I need to feel. But... dare I say it... I think I might feel at peace with this. Especially after my appointment with the plastic surgeon today, I feel better about it. I'm ready. I can definitely see a possible breakdown in the hospital tomorrow, when reality comes crashing down on me in a way it is so far only been glimpsed. But I could also see going through this just fine, not shedding a tear. The resident at the plastic surgeon said some people get the first part of the anesthesia, the relaxing part, and get a little "drunk" (I suggested loopy, but he insisted on drunk). He said just like drunk people sometimes do, a lot of people lose control of their emotions and cry. (I asked if southern people get really thick accents at that point, like a southern boyfriend I once had, who got real southern when he drank. He didn't really have a good answer for that.) So maybe I will. Maybe I won't. I have imagined so many different ways that tomorrow could go, I feel like I'm prepared for anything. 

I had a friend tell me that in her prayers, she was telling God that I have enough character already. But apparently God didn't agree, because I do believe that this thing might give me even more. I don't like it, and I doubt I ever will. I won't come out at the other end "all better," but I might end up better in other ways, even if my man-made boob is inferior to the God-made one. But I am not a boob. (You may quote me.) I am much more than that, and all those other layers that make me who I am will be stronger, deeper, more colorful, more interesting, more seasoned, more compassionate, more loving, more understanding... more Johanna. 

The Lord almighty grant us a quiet night and peace at the last. Amen. 

(opening line of Compline liturgy)