A mixed 8

With my final surgery approaching only a week from tomorrow I have a lot of mixed emotions. I truly believe I did exceptionally well this “go-round” with the expanders. I stayed optimistic, made myself comfortable, didn’t take on too much, rested, stretched when I could, and remained happy and hopeful. Happy both my breasts were gone and hopeful I could get through this expansion process and onto the next and final surgery.

I adapted to my expanders. I adjusted my life and myself to make sure I was comfortable and not in pain so I could get through the process, yet I didn’t let the expanders dictate my life like they did last time. So I adjusted JUST ENOUGH. I made sure I was still living and happy and having social plans, yet I didn’t take on too much because I knew I would be in pain and pain equaled being more mad about the expanders. And I couldn’t be more mad about them. I had to be just mad enough. Not too mad because I knew they were going to be a part of me for a few months and I had to get through those few months with all my might and all my power. Not too mad because I knew, from the first time, if I was too mad, living with expanders would be unbearable. Stress would make it worse. Too much activity would make it worse. So I decided not to be too mad. Just mad enough. Just mad enough. Mad that I had expanders again. Mad I had to alter my life to get through my life. Mad that I had expanders. Mad I had rocks under my chest wall. Mad that I’m STILL going through this process. But not too mad, because, like I said, if I was too mad, I’d never get through it.

I have considered myself a breast cancer survivor since the beginning. Since my diagnosis in April 2011, I was a survivor. I also consider myself breast-cancer free, since the cancer, and healthy skin around it, was removed in May and August of last year. But I’ve never considered myself DONE. That’s because since April 2011 I’ve had five surgeries, and I still have one more. In eight days. Each surgery, within itself, is a battle all its own. From prepping (clipping fingernails and shaving legs and eating healthy and working out) to the recovery (regaining strength, re-teaching myself simple daily tasks). From the time they cut me open to the time I can lift my arms above my head again is a battle. Just sitting up in bed, just going to the bathroom, just getting dressed, in the days and sometimes weeks that follow surgery, require all of my strength. 100 percent of my battle gear. I use the muscles in my stomach to sit up when I can’t use my arms. I cringe in pain with every deep breath. The nausea, the headaches, the telling myself I’ll be OK when this is all over. Every single surgery is a battle. And I have conquered every single one. But I have one more. It makes me happy and relieved to know this will be my last surgery. That this surgery marks the end of my journey. But pissed that I have another surgery. No. 6. ANOTHER surgery. Mad that I’m still NOT DONE.

If next week’s surgery marks the end of my breast cancer journey, then let’s do it. I’m all for it. I’ll put on my armor and prepare for yet another battle. If this is the end, fine. But if it’s not, I don’t have it in me to go through another surgery.

So I’m already a survivor and I’m already breast cancer-free. But there’s still one more surgery left to conquer. Once next week’s surgery is over, THEN I’m done. Then … the breast cancer is behind me.

It’s a mixed eight days. What will it feel like to consider myself done with all this? Especially when breast cancer has been a huge part of my life for the past year and a half? What will it be like to consider this conquered? Finally? Six surgeries later. Eight days from now.

Mixed. As in happy I’ll be done and happy my life can finally move forward. Mad. Mad that this is still going on. Mad I’m STILL going through this. Mad I still have ANOTHER surgery. Mad that this is surgery number SIX. Happy I’ll be done. Mad I’m not done yet.