• Pre-Reconstruction Surgery Thoughts


    This week I went for a bloodwork check with the oncologist. All was well. All numbers were in their recommended ranges. This was a relief, if a bit short-lived. The celebration was overshadowed by the knowledge that I have a pre-op mammogram at the end of February.

    The mammogram will be on my left breast (I can’t have mammograms on my right breast because there’s no ‘mamm’ left to ‘gram’) to make sure there’s no sign of cancer in the left breast before the surgeon cuts into it.

    The general reconstruction surgical plan is to lift my left breast to (sorta kinda) match the reconstructed right breast. My breasts will never match exactly. My right breast has a giant scar in place of a nipple, but at least I’ll be rid of the super-hard tissue expander. Besides, no one but Justin and the doctors are going to see me with my shirt off anyway, so I can live with those differences.

    And, bonus, I’ll be rid of the chemo port after surgery. I’m not going to miss that blasted thing one little bit.

    But, even looking at the bright side, I’m still nervous about surgery. My workout routines and writing practices have fallen to haphazard shit. A fact I am reminded of each and every time I try to button my jeans.

    (Not gonna lie, some days I just wear a long shirt and walk around with the top button undone. Because that’s just how I roll.)

    I can’t seem to find a rhythm. It’s hard to stay motivated when I know I’m going to be forced into sitting around for . . . I dunno . . . a few weeks? Maybe six weeks? Way too fucking long in either case.

    That sounds backwards, I know.

    I should want to work out more right now since I’ll be on a forced hiatus. Except, I don’t.

    I want to sit around and eat chocolate and drink wine and forget that a year and a half later this shit isn’t over yet.

    I think of all the miles I ran during treatment and I wonder why it’s so much harder to stay motivated this time around. After much contemplation I determined I’m just tired. Tired of being poked and prodded and cut into. All I want to do hide in my chair under a blanket with a book.

    In fact, I think I’m going to do that now.



4 Responsesso far.

  1. smashedpicketfences says:

    “Besides, no one but Justin and the doctors are going to see me with my shirt off anyway, so I can live with those differences.”

    So what your saying is that you’ve just shattered my hopes and dreams of seeing you without a shirt on?? I mean, I had no plans of it anyway, but now that the possibility has been taken away…it’s just disappointing is all.


    😉 Hang tough, Megs! I’ll send you book recommendations 🙂

  2. Erica says:

    What, I don’t get to see you topless 😉
    Nerves are normal and I think chocolate and wine are the solution.
    I wore maternity pants after my umbilical hernia surgery because I had to, then because of the 10lbs I gained where I could no longer button my plants. Shit happens.
    I’m personally looking forward to Monday, only selfishly because I get to see you, and all I can say in my best minion voice is “banana” and in my best mischievous sled voice “meow” 😉

  3. Erica says:

    Editing takes all the fun out of my typos – punctuation, sled instead of self, I’ll let you edit and find the other mistakes – it’s like a word search or a secret code to know what I meant to say!

  4. Pat says:

    It is OK, Meghan. There is no one I know that deserves chocolate and wine more than you do. But I think Tiffany V. is rapidly approaching you from a stress stand point, but obviously from a different direction entirely.

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