Here We Go Again

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I’m going under the knife again.

Tomorrow morning I’m heading over to the day surgery center bright and early for my exchange operation. This is the procedure where my temporary tissue expanders are removed and replaced with the permanent* implants.

I will also have fat grafting done from my belly to help fill out my chest and make it look more normal since the implants and muscle can’t exactly replace all the tissue that was removed. Much of my adult life I’ve joked that I wanted to suck the fat from my belly and put it into my boobs–who knew all it would take was a little cancer to make it happen?! (Sorry, I’m really into the morbid jokes these days.)

I’m going to have the blasted drains again (UGH), but hopefully  I won’t have to keep them as long this time. My recovery is supposed to be much shorter, too.

I posted a question about the surgery today in a Facebook breast cancer support group I participate in, and one of the members told me this was a step toward getting back to my old self. I really hope she’s right, because my body feels very not-like me right now. The tissue expanders are uncomfortable–they feel sort of like wearing a bra that doesn’t fit quite right all day. And then there’s this concave situation I have going on in the middle of my chest that’s kind of a mess. I know that I’ll never look or feel exactly like I did before, but if I can get close, that’s good enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Feelin’ Myself

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I don’t know what it is–maybe it’s the new year–but I’ve been in a mood this week.

And that mood has been decidedly good.

I’ve really been “feelin’ myself,” as the young folks might say. What exactly does that mean, you might ask? Well, according to the Urban Dictionary:

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Yep, that really does sum it up. I went back to work in the office yesterday, and it felt SO good to be back. I love my job, and I love my coworkers, so I really missed being in the office every day with them. And they all welcomed me back so warmly–the day was like one big warm fuzzy.

And on top of that, I missed having that nice, normal routine of getting up and leaving the house to do something every day. It just felt so nice to get back to something that feels so familiar.

I’m also starting to embrace my growing-in hair. I’m honestly just grateful to have enough to cover my scalp, but beyond that, I’m actually starting to get into the look. And it helps that I’ve gotten lots of compliments on my hair from my very kind coworkers. While the wig I wore before more closely resembled my old hair, it never looked or felt right to me–something about it was just off. What I’m rocking now is MINE, and while it doesn’t look like what I had before, it looks right because it’s me.

Physically, I’m still recovering from surgery, but I feel so much better and have my next surgery planned, so I have a timeline for when I’m going to look more “normal.” My body is still pretty rough, but I’m coming to terms with it and looking for fabulous new clothes to cover it (any excuse to shop!).

So, if you see me walking around these days, you might notice I have a little more pep in my step. It’s because it’s 2017, and I’m feelin’ myself in the new year. I hope you are, too!

 

Goodbye, Girls

 

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I was in 4th grade the year I got my first training bra.

I scarcely had anything to fill it, but all my friends were getting them, and when you’re on the verge of becoming a teenager (I believe it’s called  a “tween” nowadays) and your friends are doing something, you just have to do it, too.

So, one Saturday my mom took me to Sears (lingerie and lawnmowers–talk about your one-stop shop!) to pick out a training bra. I perused the rack of simple white numbers, settling on one with a dainty blue flower applique on the front.

That Monday I wore my new bra to school. No one knew I was wearing it–save my girlfriends to whom I excitedly flashed the straps on my shoulders to prove I finally had it–but I knew it was there, and it made me feel so grown-up.

Tomorrow I’m bidding adieu to my “girls,” or at least, to them in their natural state. I am nervous. I am sad. I am angry.

I’ve never been the type of gal to be all wrapped up in her ladies, so to speak. They don’t define my identity as a woman, or how I feel about my appearance. But they are a part of me. They fill out my clothes (and I am way into clothes). They nourished my child. And they also tried to kill me.

So they must go.

I started crying in the car tonight on the way home after dropping my son at his grandparents’ house, where he’ll stay this week while I recover. Through my tears, I told my husband how much this all sucks. Yes, I am very lucky in so many respects. It could all be so much worse. But, still–it fucking sucks. I cannot believe sometimes that this is my life. This is really happening. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all have just been a really terrible, vivid dream. It just can’t be real.

I’m sure it will feel very real tomorrow. People who’ve been through this surgery assure me it’s not as bad as you’d expect, and that it’s easier than chemo. I can’t imagine how that could be possible. I mean, chemo sucks pretty hard, too, but there aren’t drains (ugh), and I could still hold my son even when I felt like garbage.

But for now, I’m saying goodbye. I’ll miss the girls as they once were, but I’m hoping they’ll cause me less trouble from here on out.

I Miss My Hair

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Last night, I dreamed I had hair.

I was walking through a hotel lobby, wearing a cute dress and kind of bouncing with a little swagger in my step. And as I walked, I could feel my long hair bouncing along with me. I remember in the dream touching it, surprised, because I couldn’t believe it was actually there.

I miss my hair so much. I know this is a silly, vain thing. I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is such a minor inconvenience. I know that I should just be grateful that my treatments appear to be working, and the side effect of losing my hair is a small price to pay. I acknowledge all of this.

But, I still miss it.

I run my hands over the fuzz that’s left on my head, willing it to grow and multiply. My oncologist told me that it could start growing back while I’m on Taxol, and I’m trying so hard not to get overly excited at that prospect, lest it not actually happen.

I look at other people out in public, envying them and their full heads of hair. I feel like people with beautiful hair are everywhere. And I’m so jealous of them.

I gaze wistfully at my hair products and appliances, seeing them gather dust in my bathroom. I still shampoo my head, which is kind of silly since there’s so little actual hair there, but it feels better to me to at least use a little something.

I got a pretty nice wig, but to be perfectly honest, I hate wearing it. It looks so fake to me (even though it has fooled quite a few people at my job), it gets hot and itchy, and it has a weird smell. I thought wigs would be fun, but I think they’re more fun when you’re not forced to wear them. I much prefer just wearing my beat-up old ballcap that I’ve had since high school.

So, I’m just watching and waiting, hoping to see some growth.

It’s Just Hair

I cut my hair this week.

Knowing that it’s going to fall out once I start chemo, I figured it would be easier to deal with that loss if less hair was actually hitting the floor/shower/pillow.

A haircut might not sound like a big deal, but for a long hair devotee like me, it’s a major change. How major? This is the last time I had short hair:

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In case you can’t tell by my amazing fashion and way-cool Geo Storm, this is 1999.

That’s right folks, I haven’t had short hair since the ’90s, when I was growing out my Dharma & Greg haircut (I also had the Rachel–I was really into sitcom hair back then).

I love my long hair. It’s thick and shiny and pretty.

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R.I.P., long hair.

I told my stylist about my cancer diagnosis, and she was understandably shocked and saddened. She’s been styling my hair for nearly a decade now, and she and I have known each other through getting married, buying houses, having kids–all the big stuff.

Since she knows me so well, I knew she’d be able to help me through this process. We decided on a sassy layered bob. I probably should have gone shorter, but this was already pretty drastic for me, so I decided to stick with what felt comfortable.

But first, I had to take care of my roots.

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Sex-ay!

I know it was probably stupid to spend good money on highlights for hair that’s going to fall out in a few weeks, but getting my color done just felt normal and good. I need every chance I can get to feel normal and good right now.

The actual process of getting my hair cut wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be. A few snips and it was gone. And once my amazing stylist was finished, I actually felt excited about my new ‘do.

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Hello, awkward selfie.

I know this look won’t last long, but I’m enjoying it while I can. In fact, I’m actually thinking about staying short once my hair grows back in.

I know the real hair drama is still ahead of me. My stylist made me promise to call her when I’m ready for the clippers. I know that cut will be different and much less fun. But, hair grows back, and right now I’m trying to remember that it’s a small price to pay to meet a much greater goal.