It's done. I've been mastectomied. I am home, and I'm in some pain, I'm surrounded by my favorite people and an absolutely adorable and loving pooch, not to mention various pretty things and goodies. The windows are open and a lovely breeze is coming in. I just ventured my first effort, with the help of mom, into personal hygiene - which involved leaning over the edge of tub, some shampoo, and a short, unintentional water fight - and now that I have clean hair I feel like I am ready to write a blog about what has been an extremely emotional few days.
I decided, looking at myself in the mirror one last time on Tuesday, that while the drawings the plastic surgeon made did look like an owl, they also reminded me a little of war paint, like I had been painted like a wild animal to scare off anyone who might mess with me on my hunt. This pleased me, and seemed very appropriate. I liked how primal it felt. Today was my battle. Today, after much build-up, was the day of Johanna vs. Cancer, and Cancer was going down. And, I'll tell you a secret: some time ago I went shopping with some friends and bought what I thought was a ridiculous pair of underwear - leopard print with a hot pink lace band. Now, on this day that I would hunt down cancer and get rid of it once and for all, these were the perfect addition to my war outfit. With my war paint, my lacy animal print panties, and yes, my shiny gold faux snake skin ballet flats, who could possibly beat me?
Once we got to the hospital, things moved pretty quickly. Within a couple minutes they had me changed into a gown (and regrettably out of my gold shoes and war undies). My family was able to come be with me for a few minutes then, and with them my dear friend, colleague, and pastor Abby. We all chatted and joked for a while. Dr. Skinner came by and checked in. When it was time to go to pre-anesthesia, we all said a prayer together - all those wonderful people, mom, dad, Michael, Abby, holding hands praying aloud for me. And I cried. I wanted so badly to get through this day with no tears, to be strong from start to finish, to be confident. But my tears were not for fear, or for sadness. They just were. I was overwhelmed with the love. I was touched by the presence of all those people. I knew that at that moment, upstairs in the lobby, several of my parishioners had gathered and planned to pray for me throughout the surgery. All of these wonderful people, rallying around me - how could I not cry?
My mom accompanied me to pre-anesthesia - only one person allowed. Heart-wrenching to decide! Though Michael had been the one to accompany me for the previous two surgeries, and I know really wanted to be with me this time, too, he let my mom come with me. I know (and he knew) that meant the world to her, to be able to hold her little girl's hand for as long as possible. So back we went, and answer questions from the string of doctors that came though - residents, anesthesiologists, nurses, etc. That was when the plastic surgery resident mentioned what he'd heard on the news that morning: that Angelina Jolie had just "come out" about her prophylactic bilateral mastectomies! Wow. This was a heart wrenching decision for me to make, and I don't rely on the beauty of my body for my career. What a brave thing for her to do, so that she could tell her children that she wouldn't die young of cancer like their grandma had. Several people posted this story to my Facebook wall or emailed it to me throughout the day, and I understand there was also some push back from people and media about her doing this. I have not wanted to read about the push back. I will instead revel in her bravery, admire her for sharing her story and for her efforts to educate others about their options, and find some sense of purpose in the fact that it all transpired on the very day of my own mastectomy. I'd like to write her a letter and tell her so. Maybe I will. For now, I'll just tell myself that Angelina and I are making pro-active cancer treatment, even in the form of a body-mangling mastectomy, trendy. Health is cool! Honesty and courage are beautiful!
After a time in pre-anesthesia, mom went off to the waiting room and I went off to the OR. I had a chance to look around the OR for a while as they got ready - and it reminded me a little bit of that scene in Wizard of Oz when they're getting everyone dolled up to see the wizard. That made it seem much less threatening. Lion wanted courage (I got that), Scarecrow wanted a brain (covered), Tin Man wanted a heart (no lack there), and I wanted to be cancer free. Then I dropped into unconsciousness so they could make it so.
While my doctors, my war paint, and I fought my battle, my parents, fiance, colleagues, and parishioners prayed all around the hospital. Some of my parishioners, as I said, had gathered in the lobby, and every 10 minutes they read a Psalm and said a prayer. Psalms and prayers were printed on pink paper, tied with a pink ribbon. My parents and Michael all stopped by at different times. When my mom was there, she asked if they could repeat Psalm 139, which they had just done, because it is her favorite (mine too, turns out!). As they went around taking turns reading, my mom ended up with the line, "For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb." That God, certainly does have a way... (I showed Dr. Skinner later, when she came by for what she called a "social visit," what my parishioners had been doing, and she read it, the whole thing, and if I'm not mistaken, there was a tear in her eye as she read.)
The surgery went well. Dr. Skinner informed my loved ones that she had finished everything and it looked good. They only had to take two lymph nodes, and nothing about them looked suspicious or concerning. She also said, "You have a really neat daughter." (Mutual admiration society!) Dr. Langstein also came out after his part and reported that things had gone well, that my skin looked good and healthy, better than he would have anticipated on someone who had been radiated. The skin behaved so well, in fact, that they were able safely to inflate the implant about 80%. He said the hardest part was making the decisions - that I had done the most difficult work of all. But he was confident that this was the right decision, and hopeful that everything would turn out just as well as it could.
I will leave this here for now, because there is so much more to this story, and this is already so long! Stay tuned for the next installment soon!
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