A day in the life

The 36 hours between Sunday evening and this morning was a pretty good snapshot of my life these days. Sunday night I realized my pre-op was the next morning, and finally had an emotional breakdown about all of this, realizing how how close it was, and wept into Michael's chest for a good long time. The next morning, we spent at the hospital at a pre-op appointment for my mastectomy. It took four, almost five hours when all was said and done. I worked on a sermon a bit in the afternoon. I emailed a few wedding photographers. Michael and I went to a second showing of a house we liked. We put an offer on it. I was so nervous I thought I would throw up, and could barely sign my name. I went to a Mutual Ministry Committee meeting. I slept. I went to text study group in the morning. I got a text saying our house offer had been accepted. I laughed and jumped up and down and couldn't even read the text I was so beside myself with emotion.

And there you have it. My life in a nutshell.

Each of those things deserves a whole blog, and might get one, but here's the overview. Sunday night I was exhausted. Two worship services, my final spring concert for my choir, dinner with a fun couple from church. Michael and I were relaxing Sunday night, and I was looking at my calendar for the next day, and there it was: "Pre-op appointment." And I thought, "Whoa, this is only a week away." And I felt the emotion I had compartmentalized so well by distracting myself with so many better things now creep up my chest and suddenly come out, and I was crying. Sobbing. "This is stupid! I'm only 29! This is so dumb! I only have one more week with my boob!" Here after I'd just preached a sermon on finding peace in a decision, I was lashing out - though to be fair, in all that I never thought I'd made the wrong decision. I still knew it was right. I just wished I didn't have to have made it. Michael said and did all the right things - told me I am and will be beautiful, told me we would get through this with God's help, made me repeat that, told me to breathe, told me he's got me, agreed that it wasn't fair, said we'd get through it... and he just held me. He prayed aloud for me and for us while he held me.  When it comes down to it, it was pretty beautiful. He is pretty beautiful.

So the next morning, yesterday, we went to the pre-op. The nurse took a sort of overview of my health, a baseline of where I am now, going into this thing. Told me what to expect. Turns out the surgery will probably only take about 3 hours tops, and also I'm not the first case, but the second (around 11am). She told me about the radioactive dye they will put in me for the senitinal node biopsy, and assured me it wasn't TOO much radioactivity. (There go my dreams of being a super hero.) This is sort of cool thing, the sentinal node biopsy. It can only happen while my breast is still in place, so they do it before the mastectomy. A couple hours before, they put in this dye (I believe there are two, one radioactive, one that is blue) in my breast, and the first lymphnode that it drains to is called the sentinal node - the node that keeps guard. (The blue dye, by the way, will turn my pee bright blue for a bit, as well as possibly the skin around my breast - so maybe there's hope for my super hero dreams after all.) They take out that node and the surrounding ones (5-6 total) and biopsy them to make sure there is no cancer in them. If there is, then the DCIS has become invasive, and we'll have to go from there. But they're expecting it to be negative, based on my biopsy. Meanwhile, the mastectomy happens, and then the plastic surgeon comes in to do the implant, sews me up, puts in a drain, and calls it a day. The purpose of the drain is that when something is suddenly missing from the body, the body tries to fill it with fluid, so the drain keeps the fluid going through and out until my body figures out how to adjust. We have to empty the drains and keep track of the fluid. So. Gross. I'm happy to hand that job over to parents and Michael. Blech. (We also learned how they work, which would have been cool, but gross still wins out on that one.)

I also talked to the occupational therapist, who was a very nice lady. She taught me about exercises to do to regain the mobility in my left arm. I won't be able to lift it much right after, but since I'm a rule follower and will do all the exercises just as she said, I should get it back soon. And too bad, I'll have to leave all the vacuuming to other people for a while. Darn that. ;) I got prescriptions for a couple clothing articles - a special mastectomy camisole (complete with pockets to hold my delightful drains), and a compression sleeve. I'll wear this on the plane to California for the wedding in August to help prevent lymphadema. (I only have a 6-18% chance of developing this, so don't be too worried.) The lymph system is affected by pressure and heat, and so long plane rides can cause issues. Apparently you can get a sleeve in paisley, so that's pretty fun. I'll be the most stylish breast cancer survivor on the plane, that's for sure. (If you want to know more about lymphadema, talk to Michael - the lymphatic system is his new favorite topic to research. It's quite fascinating!)

Oh, I'm tired and don't want to get into the next parts of my life - plus, a house deserves its own post! So, stay tuned for more in A Day in the Life of Johanna.