I’m sitting in my dining room trying to convince myself that the cayenne-infused coffee I’m chugging is going to calm my body down. (I know this isn’t true – but I am hoping the cayenne will catch the cold I’ve caught and banish it from my system.)
I’ve gone into this impending surgery with much humour, because, well, when it comes to ‘finding the funny’, getting new boobs is great material. I do think that compared to what’s been done to my body in the past year this quick, in-and-out day surgery will be pretty manageable. In a lot of ways I’m looking forward to it. I laugh at everyone’s jokes about boob shopping and quietly admonish those who assume I’m going to come home looking like Pamela Anderson, pre-regret. I crack jokes about telling the surgeon to ‘aim for the dimply bits’ if he needs to do fat-grafting to perfect the look and feel of what is going to become part of me at around 4pm tomorrow. I have planned a shopping trip with my Mom in Winnipeg and crossed my fingers that my now-monthly pay from my Long Term Disability benefits will somehow magically land in my account between now and tomorrow. Retail therapy would be really great pre-surgery.
And, last night, I packed my children’s clothing and all of their sports gear to send with them to their Dad’s, where they will be staying for the next five days. (Which at once makes me thankful and begs the question ‘What the hell do people do who don’t have help?!’)
I also had lunch with my Dad yesterday, canceling plans with another friend I had planned to see for brunch, and also plans for a last snowshoe with a few of my girlfriends. Lunch with my Dad is important. Lunch is how my Dad tells me he loves me and that he’ll (although he will do it stoically-and-maybe-with-some-white-wine) be thinking about me while I’m having surgery. Sharing a burger, or in yesterday’s case, some amazing Lebanese food he had never tried before, is our way of spending time together before something scary happens. It was our ritual before every chemo treatment. It is our calm before the storm. I try not to miss a lunch date with him.
(I love you too, Dad.)
So here goes! I get on a plane with my wonderful mother in two hours. It’s been almost exactly a full year since I found that damned lump, and since then everything done to my body has been about cancer treatment. This is about getting beyond cancer treatment and moving forward. Thanks everyone, for the support and encouragement, and the jokes, and the texts, the phone calls and all the love. Catch you on the flip side.