These boots were made for fightin'

My final surgery is less than a week away. And naturally, I'm panicking because I have developed a cold and if it isn't significantly better or gone by Monday, the surgery is going to be postponed. I'm trying my best "I can't control this outcome" attitude, but it's hard. I know I am doing everything in my power to kick this cold. I've been getting plenty of sleep, drinking insane amounts of fluids (mostly water and green tea), taking my multivitamin PLUS Vitamin C, and taking around-the-clock meds, like DayQuil, Mucinex and NyQuil. I know (I know) whatever will be, will be. Whatever is meant to happen, will happen. I can only do SO MUCH to make sure I am better by Wednesday. And if I'm not, then I will deal with the reality. If the surgery is meant to happen on Wednesday, it will happen on Wednesday. If it's meant to be postponed, it will be postponed. No timeline here. Just want to get the expanders out and be done with all of this. No wedding or honeymoon in the works. Just life. My nephew being born, my husband's 30th birthday, a fashion show I'm in next month ... ya know, no big deal. UGH.
All of that aside, my final surgery IS forthcoming (whether it's next week or the week after), and I WILL get my expanders out and I WILL get my amazing new breasts and I WILL put the breast cancer behind me.
Every day I'm alive is a gift. I'm not trying to be sappy or anything; I literally believe my life is a gift. My amazing husband, my dog, my friends, my family, my job, my LIFE. I am so, so lucky. My LIFE, literally, is a gift of my survival - from the Leukemia now 15 years ago (on Sept. 12) and from the breast cancer. Every day I am happy to be alive and happy with the life I have. I always hate when people get mad about celebrating birthdays and turning "another year old." I say - be thankful you have made it another year. Be thankful you are another year old. Not everyone gets that gift. Not everyone beats cancer or other illnesses. I, actually, LOVE birthdays. Not just because it means I treat myself to a bright red mani and pedi (every year on my birthday I paint my fingernails/toenails a bright candy-apple red to symbolize winter and passion), put on high heels and go out and drink more than two martinis. It's because I made it through another year. I MADE IT through another year of life. And what's more: I'm still going strong. And I will continue to make it. Birthdays, like the American Cancer Society says, are to be celebrated for more than one reason. The ACS' main mission, they say, is to "create more birthdays." Why do you think that is? Because more birthdays means someone has lived another year. More birthdays mean people have SURVIVED THEIR CANCERS.
For my upcoming surgery, I have decided to celebrate with a purchase of new pink boots! (YES!) First of all, I haven't treated myself to new boots in a year (winter is coming up, right?), and second of all, I have NEVER treated myself to PINK boots. Pink is my favorite color. Not just because of breast cancer awareness. Pink has always been my favorite color. To me it symbolizes fun and femininity. I got these pink boots because, of course, they will spice up and add a blast of color to my winter outfits of black leggings, jeans and heavy sweaters, but also because I needed a little something to celebrate the end of my breast cancer journey - but also to remind me of my breast cancer journey. Not that I'll ever forget what I've been through, but these boots will help remind me that I didn't walk, or run, through the breast cancer. I fought. I didn't fight the way other breast cancer patients and survivors fight (I was lucky to not need chemotherapy or radiation). I know we all face our battles differently, so I can't ignore all the fighting women out there.
But I fought with what will be six surgeries. I fought through the pain of two mastectomies, implants, muscle spasms, expanders, drains, lymph node removal, biopsies, recovery, healing. And again. And again. And again.
I fought to make a choice to get both of my breasts removed. I fought through the pain of losing both breasts, of losing a part of me, at the age of 26 and 27. I fought to plan a wedding while going through all this. I fought to get married with only one breast. I fought to put on a prosthesis every day for six months at the age of 27. I fought every day for the courage and strength to continue, despite my physical and emotional pain. I fought through crying in the shower or crying in the car or crying at work or crying on the phone to my family and friends. I brushed off my tears, fixed my eyeliner and stood back up and said, "I'm OK."
And today? I'm OK.
These pink boots are for my fighting. Yes, I'll look super stylish in them as I was down the street. But they don't symbolize walking. Or running. Or even sprinting. They symbolize my battle. And although I have one more surgery left, I'm ready to say I've won the battle. I've already won it. And while it's true no pink boots or any other material thing ever help me win my battles or have helped me conquer cancer and everything that comes with it, they add a little pink, happy flair. It's my LIFE and the people in it that have helped me through, every single day. Days when the battles seem neverending. Days when I still can't believe I have more battles left.
Often in Pink and Pearls I refer to my armour, or battle gear, I put on before, during and after surgery.
Sometimes I envision my battle gear to be iron muscles and spikes and razor blades. And that helps me power through. But what my battle gear REALLY is, is my heart and mind. My heart and mind, though physically soft, are the strongest parts of me. And pink boots? Definitely not scary. Definitely no spikes or metal. They look delicate on the outside. Pink and velour. A little bit fuzzy. But they are for my fight.
And I have never, ever WALKED into battle.
Sometimes I have cried on the gurney as they are wheeling me into surgery. I have my "hairnet" on and maybe even already oxygen strapped to my nose. And I start crying. Not because I'm scared. Not because I don't think I'll be OK. But because I'm sad that this is happening to me. Five times. But when the tears come, just like they do at home in the mirror of the bathroom, I wipe them away and I tell myself I am going to DO THIS. I have to be strong. And then the strongest part of me comes out. My iron muscles and my spikes. But on the inside I'm wearing pink boots.