FREASTS: The last night Part I

Here I am at the 6 week mark for my surgery, and the whole experience has been surreal. Rewind to the last week of August, which was pure chaos for me. It was the first week of professional development for educators and I had to be a presenter. While my summer was great I was feeling extra fat because I needed to put extra meat on my stomach for the surgery and well, I did. Let’s be clear, you cannot spot gain  weight just like you cannot spot lose, so I was feeling plump in all areas. My breasts were the largest they'd
been in a long time and my weight was close to its highest. Therefore I only had like 2 bras I could fit and a few maxi dresses. I was highly emotional all of the time. I was like a pregnant mother nesting, preparing my house for the week would be in the hospital, preparing my toddler for  mommy being "at the doctor’s" for days and him not being able to climb on mommy or mommy not being able to pick him up when I came back. I was decorating a classroom and getting lesson plans ready for my extended absence  (8 to 12 weeks). This meant staying after school for 2 to 3 hours daily while all of the other teachers rushed off to enjoy their last days of summer. I was preparing for a surgery that would not only change my body, but would change my life! The week was flying by as I felt like there wasn't enough time for to complete my to-do list. My surgery was scheduled for August 31, the first day of school for students. I would not be there,  instead I'd be on an operating table being sliced and diced.

  It would be a 10 to 12 hour surgery, I was nervous about not coming out of it alive, I was anxious about how I would react to my “Toya the Remix”. What if I hated my freasts (fake breasts)? What if I looked at this new pair without nipples and with big scars and I panicked?  What if they were lopsided, or my abdominal scar was atrocious? I know supposedly the internet is not your friend when it comes to medicine but I did extensive research, sometimes at 2 and 3am, looking at other people’s scars, finding recovery tips, and while it helped me prepare my home, it definitely put my anxiety at an all-time high. I couldn’t sleep at night. I almost had panic attack thinking about going under and the type of pain I’d have to endure. 

 The only thing that took my attention away was the deadline for my comprehensive exam for my doctoral degree.  I couldn't continue with my dissertation until I passed. It was due September 8, no exceptions, no excuses, even medical (Please believe me, I tried). It was more than 60 pages long. And I would have to complete it a week early if I wanted to succeed.

 Fast forward to the night of Sunday, August 30^th ...the longest night ever. My hospital bag was packed, the house was spotless, everyone was asleep and I had done more research on the procedure than I needed. I had two Reiki sessions and had been put on many prayer lists, so in terms of the actual procedure, I was felt relaxed and prepared. There was only one thing weighing heavily on my mind.I knew I had to finish the exam before I went under because I knew there was no way I’d be able to write coherently once I came out of surgery. As I made edits, my eyes were strained, I wasn't sure if I was thinking clearly. I was hungry as hell, but doing the mandatory fasting, not even water.I had a toddler meltdown at about 1:00am thinking, I should just give up, I should just wait until next semester and retake it, even if it meant more loan money. I wanted my peace of mind; I needed my peace of mind. And then I heard this little voice, scratch that, a big voice tells …  BULL SH*T! You are Brenda’s Child, there’s no giving up! You busted your ass on this for a month and now you wanna quit!?

 The voice sounded a lot like Tom Hanks in a League of Their Own. But instead of yelling “There’s no crying in baseball” he was saying “There’s no giving up. People are counting on you. You aren’t a hypocrite are you? Follow Through.”  

So I did. I finished my paper at 3:34 am. I still didn't hand it in. I closed my laptop, went into the bathroom and looked at my for the last time. I felt my erect nipples for the last time, realizing I'd never know what that would be like again.

 I took a selfie of my extra-large, gravity-stricken breasts and my stomach, that since my first son was born 18 years ago, had looked like two large lips frowning.  I looked at my red sleepy eyes and then I shrugged my shoulders before I took what would be my last shower for 3weeks. Screw it, I’d sleep under anesthesia. I was going to let everything go and clear my mind for the surgery I had to report to at 5:45am.  I was signing off.