My Mastectomy And A Note

Tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m., I will check into UAB hospital for a preventative double mastectomy with reconstruction, a surgery that may take as long as ten hours. I’ve been quite anxious about this, dreading the pain and the interruption to my life. Of course, I’m grateful that I can do this before my inevitable breast cancer diagnosis and know that I’m lucky the BRCA gene mutation test allowed me to take matters into my own hands. Even with the greatest news of all…my daughter did not inherit the gene mutation and will never have to go through this process, I haven’t been a lot of fun to be around the past few weeks as the tension has built.

I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease when I was 26 and have had a fair number of surgeries because of that…intestinal resections, gall bladder removal, a hysterectomy…and then both of my children were C-sections…with 8-inch vertical incisions up my belly. When I had my ovaries removed in October, they weren’t able to get to them using a laproscope so the same incision site was opened yet again. Then there was the back surgery I had three years ago when a disc ruptured and too many procedures under anesthesia to count, along with the cosmetic breast reduction surgery that was my 50th birthday gift to myself. If only I had known four years ago what I know now. The plastic surgeon who will operate on me tomorrow said it is actually to my advantage that I’ve had breast surgery before…things were lifted back where they used to be…which increases the chance that the nipple-sparing technique he uses will be successful. But still, I’ve been shaming myself over my vanity.

I’m a surgical veteran and know the drill…the pain, the helpless loss of control, the indignity of hospital stays. Basically, I know that I’m about to have a pretty wretched couple of weeks.

I’ve done my homework, read up on the BRCA mutation and my surgical options, have had repeated consultations with the breast and plastic surgeons who will be working on me tomorrow. I’ve followed hundreds of message threads from the multiple Facebook groups for previvors I’ve been invited to join since writing about my mastectomy decision. I’ve talked to my mother and friends who have had mastectomies. About three weeks ago, I decided I had taken in all the information I could…no more because I was tired of second-guessing and what-iffing.

I have wrapped up the hot button items on my “to do” list at Merrimack Hall, have delegated everything I can think of and have to admit, for a control freak like me, it’s sort of liberating to have no option but to turn loose of things. I’ve cleaned my house, paid the bills, tried to leave everything in an orderly manner…more for my benefit than anyone else’s. I bought mastectomy bras and button-front tops with pockets to hold drainage tubes. And through all the planning and preparation, I’ve had a knot the size of Texas in the pit of my stomach and a constant feeling of dread.

On my last afternoon in the office, I made a final sweep of my desk, with my teeth clinched and my nerves frayed. Just when I thought I would come unglued if I found one more thing I had neglected to do or delegate, I found this:

Chelsea's letter

My friend, Chelsie, made this for me and attached it to the holiday goodies she and her mom had given me for Christmas. I saved it because I intended to write a post about this note, one more thing I hadn’t done. I couldn’t have found her message at a better moment in my life.

If you need a slight translation, Chelsie wrote, “Be happy. You I love. Smile. Chelsie.

The pit in my stomach lifted a little bit. And I smiled. In Chelsie’s world, all you need to do to be happy is just to…be happy. Smile. That’s all it takes.

Chelsie…the adorable one in the middle!

Chelsie…the adorable one in the middle!

Chelsie has written me lots of letters and she always ends them the same way: Debra, you I love. Now, to some people, it may seem that Chelsie has her words backwards because the rest of us would say, “I love you, Debra.” But it occurs to me that when we say “I love you” to someone, that makes it all about us…”I” feel something about you and this sentiment has everything to do with “me” and actually nothing to do with you. The way Chelsie expresses her love makes it all about the other person. Debra…you I love.

So tomorrow, I will do something I don’t want to do and I will have a rough week. But I will try to smile because Chelsie told me to. I will be happy because Chelsie said I can. I will remember that Chelsie’s love for me isn’t about HER feelings. Her love is about ME. Chelsie…you I love, too.

How bout we all take Chelsie’s advice! Facing something tough and scary? Smile! Feeling down and defeated? Decide to be happy! If Chelsie can do it, so can we.

To everyone who is thinking of me and praying for a speedy recover, I thank you. Your support has given me courage. And to Chelsie and all of my friends at Merrimack Hall…YOU I love.

 

 

12 thoughts on “My Mastectomy And A Note

  1. Best wishes for all to go better than expected and that you have the speediest recovery EVER! You have done your homework and made the most informed decision you could based on all available resources. Never second guess this, only look forward and think of all the people praying for you. You are a very special lady and deserve peace and happiness! God bless.

  2. Dearest Debra,
    You are in my thoughts and prayers. You are such a special part of my past life and I know how tough and strong you are! Together we were a force to be reckoned with!!
    Your bravery is a message to all women to face their adversity with a positive attitude .
    I know from my personal trials, my positive mindset has everything to do with the outcome.
    Always remember that you are loved, always.
    God is good. Keep faith and trust in Him.
    Your friend through dance,
    Susu

  3. Debra, I have been dreading this for you. Praying for the speediest of recoveries because we will miss you. You mention your vanity, but it is hard as we get older to except all the changes our bodies go through. I don’t think of it as vanity, I think of it as feeling young again.

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