7 days

no real news except that my mx got moved from 7:30 am to 11:30 am, which is good i guess because it means that i don't have to be there at 5:30. i seriously hate being up that early. 

8 days, wherein i go ape shit on a lady at the farmers' market

last weekend at the farmers' market i was talking to my friend peter about my upcoming surgery (he was asking if he could do anything to help) when a woman in her 60's walked up, gave us both nasty looks, muttered under her breath, and walked away. peter and i commented that it was weird and went back to talking.

today i was standing at the booth helping a couple (they were inquiring about wedding favors) when i noticed the same woman hovering around. she approached the table, scowling, and interrupted me:

60: were you here last weekend?
me: yup. we're here every weekend.
60: figures. i'm never shopping here again.
me: excuse me?
60 (walking away): you heard me. i was coming to spend $50 but this is ridiculous.
me: ma'am if there's a problem i'm happy to talk to you about it.
60 (gesturing to the couple i was helping): last weekend i was here and you were here FLIRTING WITH SOME OTHER MAN about a BLOG. *pshaw*
me: that man was my friend.
60: whatever, that is SO UNPROFESSIONAL. LEAVE IT AT HOME, LADY.
me (at this point i came completely unglued): unprofessional? not that it's any of your business but i am having a DOUBLE MASTECTOMY in two weeks and my friend was offering help.
60: i don't care, this is ridiculous.
me: RIDICULOUS? I'M GETTING MY BOOBS CUT OFF WOMAN. RIDICULOUS? 


the woman retreated, screaming things at me that i don't remember but i looked up, completely shaking and near tears and the poor couple getting married was standing there slack-jawed. the woman reached across the table and rubbed my arm. 'oh my god, that was really really weird.' i kept it together-ish and apologized profusely for the fact that they had to witness me being actually unprofessional. they bought their chocolate and left. the woman at the booth next to me (in her 50's) came over with tears welling up. turns out she's recovering from breast cancer. turns out the DUDE in the booth on the other side confided in mara that he'd had the same surgery that i'd just shouted i was having to the whole market. man with breast cancer or gender reassignment, we aren't sure.

anyway, people are dicks.

9 days

down to the single digits. emotionally exhausted and ready for it to be here already. trying to do all kinds of stuff i won't be able to do after my surgery, for a while at least. driving. dancing. pedicuring. canoeing. i'm sort of hoping that the weather is either rainy or oppressively hot soon so that i won't feel trapped in bed. lots of people are offering meals, which we're gladly accepting. continuing the funny little dance i've been doing with danny. can't tell if he's nervous or on disconnect. 

10 days

Portrait

11 days

when i was going through chemo i had a hickman catheter like that one over to the left. basically two tubes hanging outside of my body for several months. instead of hiding them inside of my shirts i hung them out the top. i also never wore hats or scarves after i lost my hair. when i finished my treatment i got a tattoo on my arm, a caduceus and gold ribbon for childhood cancer. i guess i wasn't one to hide the experience. i've always talked about it freely.


i'm okay with the fact that i'm getting big fake breasts. of course, i want them to look balanced to my body and feel as natural as possible and god forbid, they look like those awful half cantaloupe things. but it's okay with me if they look fake-ish. because they will be fake and i know that. and i assume that other people will know that too. and i intend to deal with this previvorship thing like i dealt with the cancer thing, by saying something first. t-shirts anyone? -->

12 days

right side

i somehow haven't considered until just now, uploading this photo, that these breasts are going to be gone soon. there will be breasts, but not these breasts that fed my children for so long. they've never been particularly important to me in terms of how i identify myself. i was flat in middle school and high school. then i got cancer. there was a lump in one at one point during chemo and since stanford is a teaching hospital, several med students joined my oncologist and nurse practitioner in feeling me up. i remember lying topless, dissociated, with chains on my wrists for some procedure that related to preparing my radiation blocks. radiation killed virtually all sensation i had in my breasts before i ever really got to enjoy them. when i was 19 i got that tattoo between my breasts (somehow that hurt like hell) and over my original tumor to remind me to stay balanced.

then, i got pregnant and my breasts got huge and were suddenly very useful for quieting screamy babies. they did that for oh, five years. i liked nursing, had some struggles which were probably made easier by that lack of sensation. but going from a small B cup to a large D in a matter of months has left me lopsided and droopy. and honestly, pretty embarrassed of them. so in that sense, now that they're mine (as in not belonging in any way to my kids, or future kids which i will not be having) i'm looking forward to maybe enjoying them for once.

13 days...oy, shit.

feeling a little wobbly seeing 13 days up there but maybe it's a the sinus infection effing up my balance. i'm diverting all my nervous energy into worrying about the kickstarter project. :)

i've been thinking about how long i've been on anti-depressants lately. 13 years or something. all through my pregnancies and nursing. without more than a three day cessation for that many years. i think when the mastectomy and reconstruction stuff is all wrapped up i want to explore the possibility on not being on anti-depressants for the rest of my life. i feel like while it balances some things the continuous use is throwing other things out of whack. hormones. hair. stuff. 

for reals

i got this letter from my insurance today. i can't believe it. they approved me for my mastectomy. there's another letter approving me for my reconstruction. i've been waiting for a phone call saying that it was denied. wow.

14 days & look how well we handle narcotics in this family

parker had a filling today. after an unsuccessful try a few months ago the doctor said he'd give her a mild sedative. so apparently mild sedative + laughing gas + novocaine = loopy parker. and apparently seeing double.

15 days

i've had a cold since before easter. then i woke up with food poisoning this morning. blerg. i really want to be in tip-top shape for my surgery. i'm feeling anxious this weekend, not really sure why. we went dancing last night. ugh. 

16 days the next step for snake & butterfly

we are not above begging people. but we are SUPER EXCITED to announce the start of our kickstarter fund. go to this ----> supercool <---- link right here and give us all your money!$!$!$! you can't help but love us.

17 days - the emotionally stunted partner

i love danny. sofuckingmuch. yes, he's stubborn. yes, he's useless around the house. yes, he thinks reading is passe and that half & half is just as good in coffee as skim milk (blasphemy!). but for whatever reason i enjoy his company in every sense. i'm so comfortable around him that sometimes i forget that he didn't live the backstory with me. and since he doesn't like to listen to or talk about things that have the potential to upset him, he knows only snippets of the backstory that i was able to tell him when he was either trapped in the car with me or so inebriated that he was basically immobilized. despite his latent emotional state, i only briefly considered giving danny the opportunity to opt-out of supporting me through this. nope, we're 30. we're raising three kids. we've been together for almost 5 years. so um, deal with it. you aren't bailing now dummy. i don't care how freaked out by blood you are. the last two months have (so far) allowed me to identify:


The Four* Stages of 'Accepting' That Your Partner is 'Having Her Tits Chopped Off'

1. ignoring - this is what i like to refer to as the 'talking over you' stage or the 'selective hearing' stage. gently broaching conversation from a scientific point of view at this point will prove unsuccessful. emotional 'woman talk' will be unequivocally unacceptable too. expect to be interrupted by boring work stories that are MUCH more pressing than your alleged-potential-so-far-in-the-distance breast cancer caused by that thing that happened to you like, YEARS ago that involved toxins and radiation that you will not be talking about now, or later. while you will get no feedback during this stage, rest assured that at least some of the scariest words from your 'conversations' will sink in. waaaaay in. which brings us to stage two:
2. emotional vomiting - with sub-stages a) drunken blurting b) YouTube-ing c) angry bartering d) crying in your friends' bosoms - this stage happens rapidly and will be painful for all parties involved. speaking of parties, be forewarned that this stage will most likely to happen at a party (or other event with copious amounts of alcohol). for example, you may find yourself standing in a group of your favorite hipsters, in say, el cerrito, at a pig roast, conversing about foodie things when your partner walks up and drunkenly blurts 'hey, she's getting new tits. they're chopping those ones off because they're poison and i think she should get antlers instead of implants. get it? a new RACK? see what i did there? RACK?' thankfully, other party-goers will probably be drunk at this point too, so now is a great time to announce your surgery to the general public. they'll be receptive and make you promise to show them your cool nippleless foobs after surgery. yesssss. meanwhile, your partner will have a chance to retreat to the den with his wine-garita-isky and iPhone for important solitary processing. and by processing, i of course mean YouTube-ing the word 'mastectomy.' (i do not recommend this btw). after less than four seconds of graphic surgery video he will tell you that your decision is 'stupid and disfiguring and you canNOT do it. seriously.' now is the time to distract him with a conveniently placed set of mini antlers (seriously) and concede nothing. steer him in the direction of an attractive and trustworthy female friend who will willingly stroke his hair while he buries his face in her bosoms and lays out all of his fears. it is best to pretend not to know that he processed, in 45 seconds flat, what you've been trying to get him to process for months. 
3. externalizing - stage three is f.u.n. and a chance to bond through parallel denial, personal grooming, and obsessive shopping. at this point you may find yourself in a bit of denial as well, having recently heard all kinds of terrifying things about those few seconds of video your partner saw on YouTube. that's okay, because now is a good time, for both of you, to channel your nervous energy into selfish pursuits that have no real bearing on your mastectomy. for your partner this will mean transitioning his well-loved and ironic grief mustache into a finely manicured and frequently-combed representation of his powerful manhood and ability to handle what is about to happen. it will also mean that (while you are shopping for the perfect sweatshirt with inside pockets for drains) he will be searching for the perfect sport coat so that the doctors will know, in a vague way, that he 'means business' the day of your surgery. there is a slight regression back into the ignoring stage here as you will talk over each other frequently about your successes and failures in the retail realm. expect to be ignored in your excitement over sports bras that close in the front and return the favor by ignoring his lamentations of how difficult it is to find a sport coat with elbow patches these days.
4. satirizing - after weeks (and possibly months) of stage three, inevitably you both will have to move into the less costly stage four. stage four is all about inappropriate comedy. now is a good time to start listening to each other again - you won't want to miss gems such as how he made his coworker gag while telling him 'how gross it's going to be when i have to empty your drains.' pus/blood/nipple humor never gets old. for reals. during this stage be prepared to talk about things such as hilariously large (back-breaking-ly large, really) breasts found on porn sites that he thinks you should get. during this phase it is perfectly appropriate to threaten not to share the copious amounts of narcotics you will soon be in possession of and hope out loud that what comes out of your drains smells really really bad, even if it means infection. 

* i am open to the possibility of more stages

(still) 18 days - wherein my breasts are a metaphorical swarm of bees and also the one where i am sublimating the second realization of my own mortality through a search for ill-fitting button up shirts for post mx

(yes, i'm cross posting from facebook. for posterity and shit.)

dear gob, someone take away my keys. left to my own devices i went shopping again today. thankfully (?) i'm broke and limit myself to thrift stores and extreme clearance racks. i got four more button up shirts today (i only had one) and a pair of levis (all for $30, but still) (holy shit, look at me justify this). i've been contemplating packing my hospital bag and laying out outfits to wear but i've been successful in distracting myself by making chicken broth (also, wtf? i don't do that either...)

driving away from savers today i had the oddest sensation that my chest was being swarmed by bees, or crawling with ants. before diagnosing me with schizophrenia, i'll tell you that i mean this mostly metaphorically and am not actually contemplating removing my own breasts before may 8th. but the urgency. my brain is shouting: get these fucking stretch-marked death bags OFF of us. (no i don't believe in a separate spirit but apparently draw firm lines between mind and body when having psychotic breaks.)

18 days (technically) i should know better

i should know better than to stay up all night reading cancer blogs when i know the how the stories end. i should know better than to imagine myself in their positions, as mothers, trying to 'create memories' that 'convey who i was' for kids too young to begin to understand mortality in a tangible way. i should know better than to be so flip about all this when the truth is, the terror i feel at the thought of not having my kids is over-shadowed only by the thought of them not having me.

i cannot convince myself anymore that this is just about meh percentages (plane crashes and lottery tickets aside) and insurance having to pay and me getting perky new foobs for free. this is about disregarding disfiguration because i feel duped. because nobody told me when i was 17 and unafraid to die, comfortable in it even, that i'd be thirty and choking down my own happiness. this is about the rabid feeling of loving these incredible (and terrible) little people in a way that makes me want to be flip and really really really old. 

19 days & the world spins madly on

while it may look like a boring zip front sweatshirt, it is actually the sweatshirt i have been searching for. hoodless, cute gathering in the back, and POCKETS ON THE INSIDE. DRAIN POCKETS. you know, i very very very rarely shop for myself but since i found out the surgery was a 'go' i've been out every single day, at least looking. this reminds me of that nesting feeling before giving birth. i'm feeling the urge to clean and purge and prepare and be as ready as humanly possible. i started thinking about it and in a way i imagine this is what someone feels like before gender reassignment surgery (i know, bear with me). i have this odd feeling that something that has been wrong for a while is about to be righted. that this is a new chapter.

everyone on my dad's side of the family has been friends with a woman up in washington who is something of an . . . intuitive? they check in with her at major points in their lives to sort of make sure they're on the right track. all she asks is that you write down a list of specific questions for her to ruminate on, giving no background or details. my dad goes to her with big things once or twice a year. a while back he went to her about something and she said something along the lines of: 'yeah yeah yeah, we'll get to that, but there's a big fat man here with me in a chef's coat and he is insisting that i tell you to test your thermometer. i have no idea why but he says you'll know.' no, my dad hadn't sought a psychic's advice for caramel information. his question wasn't about that. but she (and the man in the coat) were right, his thermometer was way off and causing lots of bad batches of caramel. he talked to her today, asked her about a location for the shop that we've been looking at (fyi, she said 'no, this isn't the right one, lots of turmoil here. there's one with three big windows and an awning. that's the right one.'). she volunteered that i'd made the right decision about something big. that it'll be difficult but that it's the right thing. *le sigh*

i'm feeling that way too. i just got off the phone with dr. runi (breast oncologist) who told me she'd looked at my mri from yesterday. apparently there overall 'warmth', similar to my last mri. in other words, areas that lit up when they did the contrast. she's not concerned about these because they're likely benign but they're areas that i assume would be followed and checked as i age. (IF I WAS KEEPING THESE SAGGY OLD BREASTS, WHICH I'M NOT.) hotspots are areas with increased blood flow - tumors get extra blood but injuries and hormone changes cause hotspots too i guess. in any case, i'll be very curious to see if there's anything precancerous in there once they send them (mah boobs) to the lab.

20 days

i had my final breast mri today. the guy that put my iv in kept trying to calm me as i kept saying, seriously, i'm not nervous. i've done this before. a bunch. also, not afraid of needles. also, not afraid of my own blood. seriously i'm fine. i took a xanax. the claustrophobia thing isn't a huge deal. apparently my calmness flustered him because he kept dropping things and making stupid comments like, 'wow, a breast mri huh? you look young for that.' 'wow, a mastectomy huh?' 'wow, you have kids huh? you started young. me too. i'm a grandpa and i'm only 36.' 'wow, you're like the super patient.' 'hang in there, it'll be okay.

the mri itself only took 20 minutes which seriously makes me wonder why the ones at stanford usually take an hour. the actual tech was super nice, brought me warm blankets and talked me through the whole thing. the xanax i took was so effective that i think i dozed off in the machine. then, when she started the contrast flowing through the iv apparently it blew a loose connection and i started bleeding everywhere. i had no way to tell her and i could feel the contrast going in so i just had to wait until the whole thing was over. 'oh no! you sprung a leak!' i bled all over the inside of a million dollar machine and then smeared it everywhere as she pulled me out. she promised to make the chatty phlebotomist clean it up. win.

i drug mara to walmart (aka the gates of hell) with me tonight and grabbed a couple of these sports bras that close in the front. i have no idea what size i'll be at the end of my surgery. they're taking the tissue. but they're adding the expanders with a little saline. but i'll be super swollen. but for how long? but i'll be getting frequent expansions. but they'll likely be lopsided at first. in any case, i'm spending minimal amounts on undergarments until i get the implants put it...

21 days: wherein i reveal that i'm attempting to post everyday leading up to my surgery

lorenzo: will you get a wheelchair? will we get to see you in it? will you eat pine cones? will the part that hangs outside of your body (drains) be purple? will animals follow you because you have those things? i made you this picture so if you miss me you have it. what color stars do you want on your shirt. who will have to help you? will we have to move veeerrrry slooowwwly like this, so we don't hurt you? what if me and dandan are having just a boys day, can we move fast?

22 days, 23 bajllion appointments

• april 17th - breast mri
• may 7th - pre-op with plastic surgeon
• may 8th - bilateral mastectomy
• may 15th - follow up with breast oncologist
• may 16th - drain removal by plastic surgeon
• may 22nd - physical therapy
• may 23rd - first expansion
• may 29th - physical therapy
• may 30th - second expansion

and after that as many expansion appointments as it takes to get my boobs melon-sized. then, a three to four to five month rest for my foobs (<--- see fourth definition) before the swaparoo! oh, did i forgot to mention that i probably won't be able to drive to any of these? er, volunteers? i'll buy lunch!

also, and how amazing is this, maria happened to bring me two bags of clothes from one of her rich clients today. my size, fortuitous. half the clothes button or zip ups, incredible!

23 days

started doing a little shopping for my after my surgery today. all the lists i've seen say to get button up shirts or shirts that can be stepped into through the neck hole since arm mobility will likely be quite limited for a few weeks. i thought finding clothes that fall into this category would be easier. do buttons go out of fashion? thankfully big blousy things haven't. i got a few things. click on the blue one, it has the cuuuutest little birds on it.

last night i was walking through old navy with lorenzo and he started crying. he said he's scared to be without me during my surgery. i reassured him that the doctors would be taking very good care of me and that his daddy would be taking very good care of him and his sister. i told him that he and parker are the reason that i'm doing this in the first place, so i can live to be very very very old and meet his grandchildren one day. this struck him as hilarious. *waaaahhhh*

also, if i die please play harry belafonte at my funeral. loudly. and repeatedly.

24 days

lorenzo wants to know if i get crutches so he can try them after my surgery and is disappointed when i say 'no'. parker wants to know how long i'll have to stay out of the swimming pool and shrugs when i say 'about a month.' she figures dad can take her. danny says he will not be shaving my armpits for me while i can't. tickets to see my hairy armpits and my no nipples will of course be sold.



my last mammogram came back clean. i have my last mri next week. i imagine i'll be resting easy in the hammer-y claustrophobic-y tube knowing it'll be my last - at least breast related.

so, it's april & in may i'll have no/new tits

so yeah, wow, i guess i'm having a double mastectomy on may 8th. i had my appointment with my surgical oncologist a couple weeks ago and then today with my plastic surgeon. i really like both of them, am feeling confident in their abilities and am completely overwhelmed with being treated like an adult in a medical setting. i honestly expected this whole process to involve long drawn out arguments with professionals wherein i'd have to cite studies that i've been following for a decade, get second and third and fourth opinions, and generally prove myself as a rational human being. incredibly though i 'look about 16' both doctors looked me in the eyes and said (basically) 'yup, makes sense. let's go ahead.'

i'll post more tomorrow about the details...