Gratitude.

Sweet zip bags for two MVPs on Team Recovery

There has been a lot of feeling here lately. The other day the mail arrived just as I was about to sit down to tackle the long list of thank yous to family and friends who have sent love, support, and gifts of love and support. I brought the stack of mail in, sat down in my favorite chair with my favorite pillow, and a favorite record playing in the background. In the middle of the junk mail and hospital bills was a tiny brown envelope. And in that envelope was a beautiful necklace handmade by an old friend, sending her love from far away.

It all conspired to make me cry. Big, fat tears of love and gratitude -- and Percocet withdrawal. 

I am a highly sensitive gal, but I swear the Percocet withdrawal was messing with me. Because I must have cried a million times that day, for every reason possible. A few examples:

--This necklace is SO beautiful.
--My friends love me so much!

--My coworkers emailed to say they miss me.

--Last week's episode of Grey's Anatomy. Sick babies, sister bonding... enough said.

--This chocolate is SO good.

--This fabric is SO beautiful!*

--Honest Kids grape juice is the best juice EVER!

--This HuffPo piece by Carrie Cariello, a mother of an autistic child. It is beautifully-written and reminded me how much I love my nephew, and how courageous my sister-in-law is.

Do you see what is missing? There is no sadness, no feeling sorry for myself. Cancer stinks, but the universe is beautiful. I must have written that on eleventy thousand thank you notes.

And then, just as I was getting ahold of myself, the dog walker arrived. She is the girlies' BFF, no question. And she took one look at me, and gave me a hug. I cried (duh). Bonding with the dog walker. One more person I am so grateful for.

I think my emotions are finally in check today. It was a rough couple of days, no question. Turns out you can't just quit taking a narcotic. You really should follow the doctor's recommended withdrawal schedule. Imagine that. 

*Recovery is expensive! I went a little overboard with the fabric shopping. In my defense, there were two gift certificates involved. (See?! My friends love me.) Photos soon. So much loveliness.

This post is not about quilting.

Today is a bad day. My nerves are misfiring, and my body aches--not unlike having shingles. My head aches. My emotions are uneven.

The other day we met with my high-risk oncologist, the doctor who will help me--a "young," BRCA2+ cancer patient--navigate my treatment and surveillance for the long-haul. Unlike my breast surgeon who has danced around the topic of chemo with me, this doctor indicated it is not only possible, it is likely. Somehow I am supposed to be reassured by the likelihood of a "short" treatment: 12 weeks. Three whole months! 

I am really struggling to understand how it could be necessary to make my body sick when I have already removed the entire breast (both of them!), the offending tumor of less than 1cm, and a clear sentinel lymph node. 

Maybe the test will come back and I won't have to suffer the indignity of chemo. It probably isn't worth worrying about just yet. But when my body feels like crap, the emotions start running. And it's just too damn hard to stop them.

I dreamed about my first mom last night. It was a saying goodbye dream, although it has been nearly 32 years since our actual goodbye. In the dream I asked her how she chose my name. She considered it and replied that the name meant strength and courage, and something about surviving what will come next. So many nights I hope to dream of her and she doesn't come to me. But last night she came, when I needed her most.

The first five days

Surgery complete and recovery in process!

The surgery was a long 7 hours. When I woke up I was groggy, nauseous and sore. The nurse was cranky. I had to wait nearly five hours for my room. But my doctors and husband came by and I was able to comprehend the good news through the narcotic fog: no cancer in my lymph nodes, and both nipples saved! No implants, though. I will have to go through the long, usual expansion process. And, chemo still hasn't been ruled out. 

The first 24 hours after surgery were awful. The anesthesia kicked my butt and I couldn't shake the nausea. Every hour someone came in to take my vitals, give me pills, or poke me. My arm ached. My skin was itchy. 

Once I ate solid food, got some Valium and a little sleep, i started to feel better. The second night I convinced a doctor to do something about the tape and itching and the nurse scrubbed off the iodine that was making my skin crawl. A little more human. On the last day I switched from a morphine drip to Percocet and I felt even better. Ready to go home!

My parents were able to visit, my husband, my sister, my mother in law, and my best friend. Having them near was so important. The nurses were amazing. I hated being helpless, needing to ask for help to stand, to wash, to eat. So much I used to take for granted.

When I came home I cried when I hugged my kids. I slept a full night. I opened an assortment of gifts and read emails that reminded me I am loved. I watched the most recent episode of "Parenthood" and had a good, long, cathartic cry. All of the pent up emotions, the overwhelming feelings, released.

It took me a few days to look at myself in the mirror. To face my stitches. My breasts are mostly gone, but I look okay. And with a few days behind me, I know I will be okay. If chemo is next, so be it. It used to be the thing I feared most. But I'm a survivor. I just keep keeping on.

So many people have stepped up to help. The village is strong! I am so grateful. Food, kid care, books, treats, socks, flowers, and more. So much beauty in the village. So much love. I am spoiled.

Tonight H, my little guy, sleeps beside me. He may not return to his bed for a few days yet. We are needing each other right now and it's more than ok. M, my big guy, is processing the changes. He is smart and sensitive and kind. He leans on his father and his grandmother, but he comes to tell me he loves me. He needs me in different ways, and in time we will get back to where we were. For now I remind them both I am not leaving. I am here.