If the MRI is "IT," I must Aquit!

Hooter Hotline #5

If the MRI is “IT,” I must acquit!

Well, here I am. It’s the night before surgery and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, ‘cept my Microsoft mouse…. Naaaah, I won’t make you read through a wretched rendition of the “The Night Before Christmas!” Besides, New Years is only two days away and I want it to be HAPPY for everyone!

If you ever wondered how shallow I am, I’ll tell you right now. I am bummed about going to surgery again. It’s not the surgery that is depressing me though; it’s the fact that I have to leave the house at 0445 (if the snow has melted)! I need to be at Good Sam by 0530 for 0730 surgery. For a non-morning person, two hours pre-op time feels excessive. My fellow ICU nurses would concur that it doesn’t take two hours to get a healthy person ready for surgery! I’ve helped whisk critically ill people off to surgery in 20 minutes. I’d like to show up to Good Sam at 0700 having inserted my “Home IV Start Kit” with the Lactated Ringers running at about 100 ml/hr, Ancef dripping slowly and a purple surgical marker’s smiley face drawn on the underside of my left breast. I would walk into Short Stay repeatedly chanting my name, birth date and Social Security number if it meant I could sleep in a little longer. But alas, being the patient means being submissive to higher powers and protocols. And for those of you who really know me, being submissive is what I’m all about.

No more time on the fence. Going to surgery means a decision has been made. I think I arrived at my decision a while back, but wasn’t forced to say it out loud until a day or two ago. Speaking my decision made it more real than just floating a thought around in my head. It was kind of odd and monumental to say it because it suddenly became concrete and contractual. I’m having a revised lumpectomy. After considering the MRI results and bearing out my commitment to making a decision based on data, I have to concede the MRI offered no scientific reason for bilateral mastectomies. There was no happy dance with the decision. There was no great sense of relief. And I have wavered a bit since. I have wondered if I’ve taken the easy route, but I always return to the same decision after reworking it. The darts of doubt have ceased their barrage except for the occasional stray, like the one that hit tonight as I looked at Rog with big eyes and asked, “Am I making the right decision?” “Yes, I think you are for you,” he said. Poof! The dart was gone. There is a strange and resolute peace now.

Sometimes I still wonder if I may have wimped out somehow. I know several brave women who have taken everything off so that they can move forward without looking back. They are gutsy ladies. I am in awe of them. I know their decisions were right for them and I trust that God has lead me to the right decision for me. I did sort of put God on notice (in moment of impudence when I wanted to believe I had ultimate control of my destiny), that I function under a “Two-Strike Law.” Should these breasts suffer a recurrence, they’re OUT! He didn’t respond.

Maybe I’ll buy a few more years of good times with them. Maybe I’ll find a bra that I don’t actually hate in honor of their new lease on life. Maybe it will be a pain in the ass to go through radiation and step-up the monitoring vigilance, but I have chosen that with full disclosure. I was looking forward to my button-down wardrobe options blooming, but I will have to be content with the same boring stretch tops that always shrink after the first wash, threaten exposure of my less-than-six-pack midriff and are the source of constant hem tugging,

Our Pastor just left a couple hours ago. He stopped by to read some Psalms and pray with us. He called this morning to set it up, but when the snow and ice started to tinkle down, I called and left a message for him that he could just “mail it in” and pray with me over the phone. Thinking he wasn’t coming, I was running around the house bra-less, in a hoody sweatshirt, baby blue Capri PJ bottoms, sweat socks and fluffy gray slippers when he knocked on the glass slider. “You didn’t think I’d let a little snow stop me from visiting a former Alaskan, did you? I’d never hear the end of it!” In all my glory, we prayed for God’s will to be done and for me to remember that I am in His hands. He prayed that God’s will be accomplished by the hands of the doctor and medical team. He reminded me that God created me and loves me.

So, second round of the “Auroraboobealis” comin’ right up! My lovely little sister informed me the artisan pottery glaze I was referring to in HH #2, is RAKU. At Christmas she presented me with a ceramic star ornament with that very glaze! What a hoot! When I am displaying full post-op northern lights, I’ll whip it out (ornament too) and compare hues! There may be a modified photo coming your way…

Not long after I was diagnosed with breast cancer and before my first surgery, one of the gutsy bilateral mastectomy ladies I referred too, welcomed me to the “survivor sisterhood.” I replied back that the only thing I had survived was the first round of decision making! How true that has turned out to be. I’ve made it another round and you came with me. I am so grateful for my Hooter Hotline friends. Your replies have provided much comfort, laughter and encouragement. I continue to be lifted by your prayers and thank you for them. God Bless all of you and may you have a very Happy New Year.

More to come after I get tired of holding large ice bags like pet dogs and am taking only the occasional pain med!