Tangentially

Ah, a 50- cent word. I am a lover of words, so I took it up, challenged myself to a duel, and now use it often...if only tangentially. Heh.

I am disappointed that I will not make my "two chapters" deadline before my surgery next Tuesday, and even sadder that I can't seem to locate the instructions or dates for graduation/final defense anywhere on our website.

I'm frustrated, and scuuuuuuuuured.

{blazer, pants- gap; shirt- brooks brothers; shoes-jcrew}

My surgery is in a few days and all I can do is gaze at the rows of shoes in my closet.  This pair is my current favorite. Mom comes on Sunday. I'm still writing and writing.

Surgery or no surgery, I will be Dr. Thirteen by June. Mark my words.

I have been having odd recurring thoughts recently: of changing my name; weight loss and fitness; pillows-- cotton or down?

It has suddenly gotten stupidly cold.  I realized today that after my breasts are gone, my cute little jackets will no longer fit.

13

Two Weeks and Counting

Until my surgery.

Having a little freak out moment.

You know me...I freak out, I plan. Control what I can.

Post- surgery camisole.  To support and hold drains.  There's also cotton wadding to help me look a bit more stacked until my new boobs are totally inflated.

Pillow. My bestie told me that this is called a "husband" pillow.  It should help with me having to sleep sitting up.

Sippy Cup. Because evidently I won't even have the range of motion to lift a glass.

Slippers. Because tying, buckling, or pulling on boots will suck.

Also suggested are: front close bra (my running bra should do it), button- down tops, a thick  blanket for the hospital, track pants for when I'm leaving...and trashy magazines and TV for times when I'm awake.

For now I have to get out two chapters of the big diss.  It is hard to focus, but my writing group helps a lot.

13

Have you ever left the doctor's office feeling like someone kicked you in the face?

That was my pre-op appointment.

The goal of this, I thought, was to check my vitals and go through paperwork for my mastectomy.  Instead, I had two full- fledged exams in which it was discovered that my blood pressure is high. Too high. 

Stress? check

Overweight? check

Processed or salty food? (not so much)

Sedentary lifestyle? (Yes, I sit in a library all day. But no, I exercise vigorouslsy 4-5 times per week.)

So I had my second medical shocker for 2011: bitch you have to get on BP meds.  Before.Your.Surgery. In less than a month.  As if your ass needed another thing to stress about.

{jacket- old; top, belt-jcrew; jeans-levis; booties-matisse 'nugent'}

Awesome.

I felt fat and mad at myself. This was exacerbated by a phone call from my pops, who' shared that he was recently rushed to the emergency room for stroke-like blood pressure.

But-I don't "do" powerless. 15 pounds in a year is great, but a pound a week would be even better. 

So I made a decision: no more waiting.  It's now. I'm going to have to transition from fitness-only to weight loss.

People. Thank God I never said I have all of the answers, cause if I had I'd be eating crow.

***I remain true to the fact that I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, that psychologically I could possibly be doing this to exert some control in a life dominated by the out-of-control feeling of trying to Get it Done the same semester as a major surgery. Translation: I could be a damn fool, but hey, at least I'm still learning.***

xoxo,
13

Imminent

Once my surgery was scheduled I started to plan my recovery.  I'd hoped to recover over Christmas, when I have 6 weeks off from school and fellowship stuff, and use the long boring time of recovery to rest and write. 

I decided on implant/expander surgery.  This wasn't what I'd planned at all.  I do not like the idea of foreign "stuff" in my body, nor am I comfortable with having a new surgery every 10 years to replace the implants.  But the last photos my doc sent of the TUG surgery freaked me out.  Not only that, but the surgery and recovery are shorter for implant/expander surgery.  The plastic surgeron also assured me that I could do the TUG surgery (or another tissue flap surgery) later in my life--after kids, after maintaining a stable weight for a few years.

{trench- paul and joe sister; sweater-anthro; jeans-levi's; tank-h&m; bag-furla}

Anyhow, my mother promised back in April to come help during my recovery; during the first week to 10 days, I'll need a lot of help.  But when I told her the date, she freaked out. 

Mom: That's finals week. Can you ask the doctor about the following week?

Me: Um, it's two doctors. The surgical oncologist and the plastic surgeon. They go into surgery once a week.

Mom: I have to send in my grades. Didn't you check my schedule?

Me: I can look into hiring a home health aid for the first few days. I'll probably be sleeping most of the time anyway. 

Mom: I am insulted. I can't talk about this right now.

I was confused. I know how critical the end of the semester is for professors, but mom had told me that she had plenty of leave coming, and wouldn't hesitate to take it.  Also...isn't this my surgery? 

But I felt as if my hands were tied: the rest of my family is in Tennessee.  I have great friends, but I still consider this surgery mostly a private matter...and couldn't expect round-the-clock care from people outside of family.  I wouldn't even ask for it. 

The next available date for surgery is January 10, when my mom can get an adjunct or grad student to start the semester for her. I am frustrated and feel a little bullied about the whole thing. But I do realize that this is elective surgery, no matter how essential it feels to me.

So there's my new date: new year, new breasts, eh?

On Pain

Sometimes, when I sit a certain way, I get this odd pain right around my heart.  Over time, I've realized that it's actually the weight of my breasts causing the discomfort.  Still, every so often I forget, and for a moment or two am sure that I'm having a heart attack when I sit up.

So I had a surgery date: December 13.  I made the appointment and sat on the information for awhile, sure that if I changed my mind at least no one would be the wiser.  I figured- if I get scared, I'll cancel.  If the surgery starts to take over my life, I'll cancel. If I start to feel too negative about the whole deal, I'll cancel.

But a funny thing happened: after getting the date, my resolve was strengthened. 

I had signed up to attend a local gynecological cancers conference where I hoped to meet others like me-- those with a family history of breast cancer who do not actually have cancer.  I wanted to sit with a group and ask the question most folks ask me right off: "Aren't you just being paranoid?"

{poncho-h&m; cords-j.crew; boots- calvin klein}

So I had a date. I was all settled. The doc called to reschedule because of a conference. And that's when the shit hit the fan.

13