D-Day: Bye-bye boobies

Today’s Veteran’s Day. I know a lot of people have called me brave, but I think that’s a more accurate way to describe those who put themselves in harm’s way by enlisting in the military. I’m just a chick with shitty genetics and a blog.

It’s also D-Day for me. (Although, not D-cup-Day, because I don't have enough meat on me to go that big. A moment of silence for the lost quips, please.) Yes, these are the last hours I’m spending with “the girls” I've known my entire life—the same girls that held up my strapless wedding dress, the same girls that nourished my two children, the same girls that tried to kill me—man, girls are such bitches! Later today, I’ll be sporting the scars of a double mastectomy, and hopefully the near-final version of super-awesome new boobs.

My pre-surgery checklist

While it seems like this whole nightmare began years ago, in actuality, it’s only been a little over a month since I was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer. Maybe it’s because I’ve been waiting for breast cancer since I was old enough to detect the familial pattern among the Connors women. Thoughts of these ladies and a million other things are running through my head right now.

God damn, nine hours is a long time to be on an OR table.

Well, I’ll NEVER get life insurance now.

I hope the anesthesiologist knows what he’s/she’s doing.
I wonder when I’ll be able to see my kids. Will Fio be scared? Will Nora try to body-slam me?
The plastic surgeon will be spending a LOT of time ensuring my boobies look good, so no more topless cooking with the deep-fryer for me!
Shit, is this really happening?

It’s been tough leading up to this day. (I did get good news recently: My ovarian cyst has shrunk and the gynecological oncologist I saw thought it was just a hemorrhagic cyst. Yay!) Thankfully, I have an amazing husband, ridiculously supportive family and two adorable and distracting kids. Combine that with all the kind thoughts, prayers, phone calls and food from friends and co-workers, and it’s been a hell of a lot easier to cope.

Thank you, from the very depths of my heart.

And what has really given me that warm, fuzzy feeling was hearing that a good number of you ladies decided to get that first mammogram, schedule a long-overdue one, or undergo genetic testing after reading my PSA. If I save anyone’s life, all I ask is that you name one of your children after me, even if that child has already been born. Really, changing a 6-year-old's name is not that difficult.
               I’ll see all of you beautiful people in a few.

 To be continued…