March 11, 2015.

I think I was holding my breath this entire time…
exhaling just now to suck in some more "crossed fingers" and "good juju". 

It was such a rare and aggressive cancer, that I am damn lucky to see today. 
DAMN LUCKY. 

A detour from the (up to this point) chronological flow of events

If I might interject here...yes...right here..smack dab in the middle of act one's cliffhanger...ruining the smooth transitions from one blog post to another. Upsetting the compelling flow of such an entertaining tale...(yeah right).
I mean, you're probably chomping at the bit to hear about all of the pre and post surgery drama? How about the chemo crazies? And the new boobs! (I hear they're spectacular) Oh! Oh! And the all important hysterectomy (rounding out 2010 on a high note, of course).
Easy there, my eager beavers! If you haven't already noticed...

I Love Big Foobs and I Cannot Lie...

March 1, 2010 (part two...or...two soon-to-be-amazing "parts" ;)

I cannot tell a lie...I love big "foobies" (fake boobies). I have always been a huge admirer of them...and working for Hooters, I saw (and poked at) more than my fair share. There were hard ones, squishy ones and super perky ones...far apart ones, close together ones and dangly ones. There were foobs the size of softballs, cantaloupes, soccer balls, watermelons and giant blow up beach balls. And then there were those masterpieces of faux excellence...the lovely, realistic, silicone, under-the-muscle, teardrop style breast perfections that had become my most favorite of the implant varieties.

Introvert Problem #84

March 1, 2010 (part one…)


There's nothing quite like a cancer diagnosis to make you feel like you're guest starring in a "Scared Straight" reality show...only, this program didn't offer the yummy excitement of craft services and luxury accommodations. If that would've been the case, I could have at least enjoyed the tickle from the mic cord being dropped inside my shirt.
Indeed, the show that I was starring in had all the bright lights and big cameras…but they were the giant beasts lurking in the corners of the cold, stark exam rooms. And I was the nervous, reluctant starlet...paralyzed with stage fright...crippled by introversion.

February 28, 2010

It was obvious that I had become obsessed with my new book collection. Over the course of a day and 1/2, I think I got up to go to the bathroom twice, ate next to nothing (which is unheard of) and...as the bags under my eyes professed...got much less than half a wink of shut eye. As far as my self imposed research was concerned, I probably bit off a lot more than I should have chewed that weekend.

To "send" or not to "send". That is the question...

I sat motionless, staring blurry-eyed through the computer screen as if it were a psychedelic, velvet, Magic Eye painting...but the only image I was seeing was the one of my life rushing by. My back had assumed the usual hunched-over-the-keyboard-posture. The weight of my head was supported by my left arm...elbow perched atop the desk, while my hand was squishing my left cheek up in to my temple. My right hand was on the mouse...the index finger was one quick click away from spewing the announcement of my disease out in to the universe.

Guess what everybody? We're still SHALLOW!


Doug and I were invited to a friend's birthday party that night, and I was dragging around the ugly little "plus one" that only we knew about. Since it doesn't eat or drink too much, I figured it wouldn't be a big deal to leave it off the guest list.
Though our moods were less than festive, we showed up and "worked the room" with cocktails in hand and fake smiles plastered on our faces. All I wound up doing though, was comparing myself to my happy, non disease stricken friends. I was after all, the one bad apple out of the whole big bunch and I suddenly felt horribly out of place.

Chasing After the Elusive Dr. Plastic

I was awake, but didn't want to get out of bed. I must've stared at the ceiling for a good 15 minutes...cuddled with my dog for another 15, before rolling over to stare at the wall for another 10. The stack of plastic surgeons' business cards greeted me on the nightstand next to my phone...laying to rest any  denial I had left of my new situation and pending mental, physical and emotional breakdown.

February 24, 2010

That morning came quick and early...I had no sooner booted my snoring husband out of bed, when my swollen eyes were blasted open by the screaming heavy metal exploding from my ipod. For a brief millisecond, the whole breast cancer thing seemed like a terrible nightmare...but reality rudely slapped me in the face when my apologetic husband timidly crept in to the bedroom to make sure I was getting up.

February 23, 2010

I awoke determined not to spend another agonizing moment filled with worry. (just call me already...call me and tell me the good news so that I can get on with my life) I couldn't take it any more...so I spent the day absorbed in mundane house work. I had immersed my tired mind deep in my chores and got lost inside the Clorox bottle...I let the scrubbing bubbles wash the dark thoughts from my head.

The Next 4 Days...

The biopsy was done on a Thursday, which stretched out the not knowing over a very nerve wracking weekend. Luckily for me, I had the calm, sweet reassurance from my oh-so-caring husband. "Stop worrying, prophet of doom...you said it yourself...you're a hypochondriac. It's nothing. Just like before. You're getting all worked up about nothing."

February 18, 2010

Being the "news whore" that I am, I had read up on some random stuff about the BRCA genes, and my level of worry had always been elevated. However, my gynecologist had told me that the gene mutations were less likely to be passed down through the father's side, and for that reason she didn't see the need in having me take the BRCA test.
(My GAWD…that woman was SO WRONG. I could've had a prophylactic double mastectomy years ago, and avoided cancer altogether. I'm still pissed, and I'll never get over it. But I digress.)
Regardless…my gut never truly believed her, and I always immediately ran to her when I felt the need to be comforted by a good squishing.

Early February 2010

The blood work from my annual checkup with Dr. Sports fisherman was good...and would it not make sense that if you have cancer, your blood work would come back riddled with all sorts of "not so good"? That in and of itself assured me how silly I was that I had begun to let my anxieties get the best of me again.

December 2009...January 2010

My days had become shackled to search engines and held hostage by the big, nagging question that was up in flashing lights....What the FUCK?
Hmmm...is it a cyst? Ahhh...a fatty necrosis? Oooh oooh...this is IT...the fibroadenoma!! That's all it is...I've got a simple fibroadenoma! WHEW! As I bounced and twirled my new little "friend" between the index and middle fingers of my right hand, I exhaled with a huge relief

Some time back in November-ish, 2009

It was a cool, crisp winter's day...what we here in SW Florida call a "chamber of commerce day". I hadn't a care in the world! I was thrilled that the Prozac was working its magic...and I had recently gotten "in shape" and lost 10 pounds. I was also coming off of a month long (discount, of course) shopping binge for trendy clothes that would show off my new physique, and was gearing up to REALLY (this time I meant it) go after my procrastinated dream of becoming a kick ass professional makeup artist to the stars.