On my wedding day

As any writer knows, when the words hit, you write. You don't wait until morning, because you've got the drive now. So, here I go with a post, as I wait for my Ambien to kick in.
I'm not gonna lie. I've been mostly surviving on chocolate and Ativan these past few days. An unexpected surgery turned my world upside down. I was cancelling work meetings and assignments and plans with friends, and all of a sudden I was forced to picture myself at my wedding, nearly two months away, without one of my breasts.
But as I once told myself, and something many people have told me: life isn't always what we expect or want it to be. Things change and things happen, and we are forced to make sacrifices, whether we want to or not. We are forced to adapt, to accept new normals, to live differently than we may have planned.
My entire life I pictured my wedding a certain way. I've dreamed of this day since I was a little girl. I've dreamed of this day in more detail, and more thoroughly, since actually getting engaged. But two months out I have to re-create this vision I was so set on. I was set on having both my implants for my wedding, filling out my wedding dress just right, and not being reminded (by the look of my chest), for once second, I had breast cancer just months before.
But strong people realize what they have to do to move on and accept life as it now is. Ok, so right now I'm admitting I'm a strong person. And this is my new story:
I never imagined I'd get married with only one breast, and I definitely never imagined I'd lose that breast to cancer. But what I did imagine was marrying the most wonderful man in the world. My soulmate. My meant-to-be. My everything. I did imagine having a big, beautiful wedding filled with the people we love most - our family and friends. I did imagine I would look beautiful and my dress would be the most beautiful dress anyone had ever seen. I imagined I would have fun. I imagined I'd laugh and cry and dance and sing and close my eyes during certain portions of the night, praying that it never ends. And I believe I can, and will, have all of those things.
So I won't have a breast? So what? I'll have everything else, and it's the everything else that really matters. Maybe I'll be able to move more freely without the tight implant, and dance without pain. Maybe I'll actually be more comfortable. I don't know that yet since it hasn't even been a week since the surgery, but I do know the right implant (the one that was exposed and then had to be removed) was tight. I wrote about it a lot in the blog. It was tight and pulling and never felt any better. It makes sense that it ripped my skin. It didn't work out and that's probably why it hurt so much and never got comfortable for me. So maybe I'll have less pain during the wedding, and if that's the case, this all was a blessing in disguise, this unexpected surgery.
I could almost laugh at the whole situation - what happened Sunday night. I could laugh and think, "is this seriously happening ... two months before my wedding?" I could also be mad, and trust me, I have been. Instead of laughing I've been crying and instead of being mad I've felt sorry for myself. I tried so hard to do this, I told myself. Live my life and be OK and be strong and have fun and go on my bachelorette weekend, and look what happened: my implant had to come out two months before my wedding!
But instead of thinking all that I'll just embark on this new challenge of me finding my whole-ness for my wedding. I won't find it in any body parts. (Well, maybe my heart and head.)
The whole-ness. It's all in here, on the inside. And I do know this: on my wedding day, my breasts are the last thing I'm going to be thinking about.