The countdown has begun.
In four days I’ll settle happily onto the OR table and drift off to anesthesia-land, whereupon three surgeons will sculpt me into a Victoria’s Secret model. Tight, flat tummy. Lush, perky boobs. Maybe I’ll wake up with real wings on the back, just like the models.
If only it were that blissful! The reality is, I’m told, that the surgery to remove my remaining breast and shape flaps from my abdomen into two new ones takes 8-12 hours. A night in the ICU for monitoring, to be sure the new girls “take.” Then three more days in the hospital, watching for complications while walking bent over like an elderly Yoda, because the abdominal incision is so tight.
It’s odd, but gratifying, to think that throughout this whole breast cancer fandango, I haven’t spent one night in a hospital. Even for the mastectomy, we were on our way home around lunchtime. When we checked in, the nurse told Jerry, “just drive around the parking lot for a little while, then she’ll be ready to go.” I’m kidding.
So yes, I’m a little nervous. I’m determined to be a good patient this time–no gum or coffee pre-op, no fooling around to fix the IV, no climbing out of bed sans a big, matronly nurse to hold me up. And I will be coming home with a new set of sisters.
Brand new girls.
I can’t wait…
“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.” Isaiah 43:2