FREASTS: The Right Choice...Part II

When the alarm clock went off at 5:15am, I had only napped about an hour.  Although I was exhausted I was in good spirits. I had made peace with my decision and the changes it would bring. But I did tear up when I kissed my toddler as he slept, praying I would see him again. I went in alone, which was what I needed. As I lay in pre op, I meditated and focused on coming out of surgery and healing like a rock star. I was so calm as I changed into a gown, emptied my bladder, got weighed one last time (Whoa) and let them begin to hook me up to all of the machinery. I answered the same questions over and over about allergies, last time I ate, etc. Then my handsome (in a quirky way) plastic surgeon came in and marked up my body. When I told him how much I’d miss my belly button, he told me I would still have the same belly button, it would just be moved. This gave me comfort.  
Then the anesthesiologist  came in, explaining that I would have an a an epidural that would numb my chest muscles so that I wouldn’t feel pain when I awoke.  I leaned over on a pillow; the nurse held my hand, and the needle in my lower back was the last thing I remembered. 
This is what was happening while I was completely unaware:

 My oncologist would cut and remove both of my breasts, removing the fat, the muscle, mammary glands and all. Her reputation is that she is thorough and would scrape away all of the breast tissue. Like all. Next, my brilliant plastic surgeon and his team would begin what is called DIEP flap reconstruction.According to BreastCancer.org, DIEP stands for the deep inferior epigastric perforator artery, which runs through the abdomen.  In other words, they would cut a large portion of skin and fat from my lower stomach, and then transplant them to my chest wall in the shape of breasts. Crazy, right?  But not simple. It involves microsurgery, reattaching the veins and arteries one at a time.

This is a diagram showing one breast. I had both breasts removed and reconstructed

For my surgical team, it took 15 hours total.

 This meant that while my family thought I’d be done by 8 or 9pm, I was not out of surgery until after 1am (Tuesday).

            When I opened my eyes, my two aunts were there like angels…

Gloria(L) and Saundra(R) my mother's sisters

 because my vision was blurry. I was distracted by the breathing tube that was still in my throat. Panic set in, medical staff tried to calm me, but I kept trying to speak. I could hear myself saying, I can’t breathe, I was gagging telling them to please take it. When they didn't listen, I tried to remove it. I felt people grabbing my arms and I heard “Sedate Her” , which they must have because the next thing I remember  (12 hours later apparently)  I was waking up with straps on my wrists. But at least the breathing tube was gone. What I didn’t understand in my panic was that they had to keep it in because, just like with any transplant, there was the risk that my chest wall wouldn’t take its new FREASTS. If the tissue didn’t stay alive, they would have to take me back into the OR and remove those. Not to mention, they needed to make sure my throat wasn’t too swollen and that I could breathe on my own. Which was kinda important.This is why I was in the ICU, being checked in half hour intervals. I was under heavy IV pain meds (thank God) so the first 24 to 36 hours were a blur of nurses brushing my teeth, wiping my dry cracked lips and putting petroleum jelly on them, cold cloths on my forehead, I remember them being so great, and feeling comforted despite the fact that I could only open my eyes seconds at a time, and my voice was weak. Unfortunately, I also had a fever of 102 and they worked vigorously to drop it down with IV medication. What I also was unaware of was that they were trying to keep me awake and get my body’s systems going. One of the nurses had me verbally complete the health care proxy form and sign off on it.  I had no concept of time; I just remember when they told me it was safe to move me out of ICU and into a regular room because my FREASTS were still viable. As they wheeled me on a stretcher, I passed a blond haired, fairly young, handsome doc. He introduced himself (I can’t remember his name) and said that he was on the surgical team. He told me I was brave and bad ass for my decision and that I made the right choice.

          According to my family, I was out of ICU by mid-morning on Wednesday and into my room. It was there I remembered that I was going to be a rock star in terms of doing what I needed to heal quickly. I asked that the catheter be removed so I could go to the bathroom on my own. (Why not, I was on morphine?).  It was so weird. I didn’t feel pain, I just felt stiff and tight as I walked in  cave man like baby steps, escorted by a nurse. I still had a low grade fever, so they were constantly checking in on me; they still needed to check the FREASTS every 1 to 2 hours.  I remember it was hard for them to find that swooshing sound in my left breast, so that had to put it in a special spot.

They put on a surgical bra, which I would grow to hate over the next 3 weeks, which matched my waist binder, which I’d grow to love and hate. They wanted me to sit in a chair. I did, and I slept there. But I also walked the hall, ambulating like it was suggested. I was determined to be model patient.

 The next few days would include daily visits from my angel aunts, my fiancé, and my uncle, and special visits from cousins, my dad, my brother, my oldest son, and my sister.   It was my sister and one of my closest friends who took a lesson in how to change my drains (we’ll discuss those in part 3).  I had my friend take this picture of me:

I wanted to document this journey, which would be hard because apparently I had multiple conversations under the influence of drugs that I don’t remember. It was a blur of Law and Order SVU reruns in the TV, multiple sleep interruptions, wraps on my legs to prevent blood clots, breathing into devices to restore my lungs, picking out my meals, taking sponge baths. Great nurses and PCAs, and awful nurses. Looking at the clock, not sure if it was 4am or pm.

The day my fiancé finally brought my toddler to come see me, it all came full circle. He was soooo happy to see me. At one point I glanced up at my wall chart with all of the nurse’s names and the date. It was Friday, September 4th. The anniversary of my mother’s transition. I looked at my toddler, I was about his age when I would go see my mother at the hospital, and like I saved my dessert for him, she’d save her dessert for my sister and I. It was mind-blowing to me, and I was rushed with emotion.  I was sad for the little girl in me who had no idea that one of the times she left the hospital would be the last time she saw her mother. I felt sad as a mother, for my mother, who at 23 knew she wouldn’t be around to see her kids, and that one of those hospital visits would be that last time she’d hug her little girls.  But I felt grateful that because of modern medicine, I would be there. I would be there for my toddler, and despite missing me dearly, he’d see me again. That doctor was right; I’d made the right choice.

My oldest son

My 4 year old

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. 

What's that saying?

Oh yeah, it's something like, if you want to make God laugh, make plans.  It's been over two months since my last entry because I've been busy....growing life (and vomiting) that's right, Brenda's Child is with child! Are you as shocked as I am? Then again I guess I shouldn't be because if you read my post about the tarot card reading I received back in July, the woman told me she saw a baby for me and the man I was with. Funny, I only seem to focus on the stuff I wanted to remember from the reading...like all of the money I am going to make off of my words!  
 I won't turn this blog into a pregnancy one, it will still be about all my complexities, which will become more complex since I'm becoming a mom again after 14 years. In some ways it will be easier, I'm older, wiser, more established, and I know what to expect. The hard part is, I know what to expect. I love babies, but pregnancy and labor suck to me. Some people say they love it, me... not so much. I give props to both of my grandmothers for birthing eight babies each, with no epidural! I'm telling you, we are not made like that anymore.
My first time being a mom was difficult because I had to go to college full time and work full time. Looking back, I really can't believe I did it, starting 4 weeks after delivery! This time I have stable employment with maternity leave (AWESOME). The downside is I am forced to slow down...Zumba, traveling, and writing.

As I approach my second trimester this week, I'm hoping my energy will pick up and I'll be back to hustling (so can make the other prediction about the money come true).

New Years Eve Eve

Pretty much the whole last week of December I began reflecting; Asking did I really stick to my guns? Do what I set out to do? First let me say, not completely. Secondly, let me say that this year was still really big for me:

I graduated with a master's degree
got a $600 grant to edit Volume Two of Our Voices
 went down 1 1/2 pants sizes
published my memoir
put on the most successful Diva pageant ever
 started co-habitation for the first time since I was 21
 got certified as a Zumba instructor and actually made money 
 got close to some new wonderful females (which I wasn't really open to)
 spoke at colleges
met Susan Taylor
 discovered meditation
 read several self-improvement books
 traveled with my books
 went to Cali for the first time
 has an awesome tarot card reading
 performed in front of my biggest audience ever...
the list could probably go on longer.

This year I've truly grown, which is essential!
Now let's keep it real, I fell off the wagon. Yeah, I had a few occasions where I drank and over drank alcohol. I honestly allowed the stress of my life to become an excuse for having one too many when it was time to celebrate. At least twice I've done this.
Most people joke about not following through with resolutions, but I take it seriously. Towards the end some aspects got tough!
The last two months of my life have been hectic between running diva pageant rehearsals, promoting, teaching Zumba four times a week, being a mom, being a live-in girlfriend, a good friend, a mentor, and a full-time teacher, I allowed myself to fall back into some not so good eating habits. I slowly integrated fried food, take -out, and white carbs back into my diet. If it weren't for Zumba, I'm sure I would have gained back my weight; instead, I've maintained where I could have released. So in 2011, it's back to business, and learning strategies to cope with stress that doesn't lead to binge drinking and eating. I'll say it, that's what it is; no need to sugar-coat it. I know I haven't done what I am capable of in that department. It's not about weight either. I'm actually loving my body these days. It's about my commitment to myself and my health. But it's the end of a DECADE, and the start of a new one, so it's all good.
As a matter of fact, it's all the more reason to make some major changes happen. I'm taking the last ten years, all that I've learned, and soaring to the next level.
First on my list, get a literary agent. It's hard damn work trying to get people to notice your work alone. So this is my MAJOR goal for 2011; at least the first quarter. After that, national exposure!
Pretty much after that my goals haven't change much; or at least the essence of them.
I still want to take my career to the next level, beside just financially.
I've come to realize that I don't have to force myself to tell my family I love them as long as I show them in my own way. If I prefer to write it in a letter or card, that's just who I am, ( see I'm growing, accepting me. )
I will still challenge myself physically.
This year I do want to try new things, like water skiing or something; I want to get all I can out of life. I think that's what's most important. And I just want other people I care about to do the same. Happy New Year to Me, and have New Year to you!

P.S. I am also proud that I kept a planner all year. What a life saver!