Good bye 2017

I have dreaded writing my final post this year, something I have never done before. Usually, I am excited to review all the wonderful things I have experienced and accomplished in 12 months, but 2017 was the most overwhelming year I have had in a long time. I mean it was so challenging, I allowed those difficulties to overshadow the good, take me out of my gratitude mindset. One was my hernia surgery, which I thought would happen in late winter or early spring, but instead, it was postponed, as was my recovery. In my mind I was going to have the surgery, heal up quickly, and be snatched, quite frankly. Instead, I am still slightly swollen in my abdomen and I have no ab muscles. Most of my summer was on bed rest.  Much like after previous surgeries, I know that in due time I will get my strength back, but still, it frustrating as hell.

Secondly, my number one goal of 2017 was complete my dissertation and finally become Dr. Boz.  Well, technically I did finish my dissertation. However, due to some changes within the school, approval on so many levels has been postponed, and there is nothing I can do except file a grievance and pay my costly tuition.  This has been devastating. They were things that happened within the immediate family that rattled me. Not to go into so many details, but there was another breast cancer diagnosis, my adult son moved back home, and my grandson’s mother did not care about him having a relationship with anyone on my side of the family. It breaks my heart into little pieces everyday that he lives so close by and I can count on my hands the number of times I have seen him. How do shape all of this nonsense into a lesson and shape it positively?

Here it goes:

 First, upon heavy meditation, I’ve been rushing all my life. Subconsciously, and somewhat consciously, I have always tried to beat the clock because my experience with the death of so many women in my family created fear about the brevity of life. I thought I had dealt with this, and come to terms with the fact that I have taken steps to extend my life and I will die an old lady. But this year I have realized I have not. I let the idea that I must rush and get things done, accomplish goals before it is too late. The crazy thing is, I only rush to cross items off a list. I don’t bask in my accomplishments, or focus on experiences instead of just accomplishments. Because of this, two of my major changes for 2018 will be:

A.      To have more fun! To live honey! More experiences and traveling

This year I

B.      Celebrate Every F**king Thing. Because I honestly do not celebrate myself enough. The Queen of Self-esteem doesn’t celebrate all she’s overcome!  I have been going and going so long that I am no longer mindful of just how amazing it is.

C.        

1.       I finished my dissertation. I did. I finished 5 long ass Chapters. A year of literal sweat and tears (no blood.)

2.       I created  #SistasAre Dope journal and T-shirt

3.       Published my first Children’ s book

4.       Gave a kickass commencement speech

5.       Graduated from a leadership program

6.       Inspired crowds with spoken word  and got paid for it

Not bad. Not bad at all. And the crazy thing is, I really didn’t take the time to pat myself on the back.

 And you know what else was awesome about this year?

1.       The breast cancer diagnosis meant involved no chemo and was a stage 0. She is cancer free

2.       I was there when my grandson was born and watch him for his first few minutes of life. I got to see my son, become a father.

3.       I was there to see people I love in awards, like my father and my sista friend

4.       I attended the New York red carpet movie premiere of my sista friend

5.       I switched to a position at work that is way less stressful, and I have a better leader

6.       I had the support of family and friends through the dissertation writing, the recovery from surgery and at my book release

7.       I did an amazing professional photo shoot

8.       Welcomed a baby girl in the family whose life I will be a part of

9.       Tried 3 new activities

10. I have discovered estrogen in hormone replacement therapy

2017 wasn't so horrible in hindsight. It just forced me to face some things I had pushed deep down, and it is preparing me to reap (and enjoy) the rewards of my hard work. 2018, I will work smarter not harder because there is some fun not be had!

Going through it to Get to it

I am tremendously elated to be on the other end of a very

difficult transitional season in my life.

In the last two years I have:

• had my ovaries removed =(adjusting to menopause) 

• had a double mastectomy with full reconstruction

      =(multiple surgeries and body image issues to follow)

• ended an 8 year relationship to the man I lived with and thought I would marry =(adjusting to single life physically, emotionally & financially)

• started a 9 month leadership program (more work, meetings and deadlines)

•   finished my doctoral course work (which meant starting a dissertation).

      That’s a lot right? Well, wait…there’s more.

 

The first half of 2017 was all about:

•  waiting for the arrival of my first grandchild (he came April 3rd),

•  finishing the leadership program (I graduate June 14^th.) 

• completing my dissertation (by the end of summer… FINALLY),

•  and most importantly, after a year and a half of living in pain and discomfort. I have my last surgery date scheduled for July 7.

I was in limbo for so long, it feels amazing to finally have

some closure. Although there will still be some challenges,

physically, emotionally and mentally… I see the light at the

end of the tunnel. It’s bright as hell and I am relieved,

delighted and excited. 

No Matter What They Say

Centered on the world's stage,

she sings to her loves and beloveds,

to her foes and detractors:

However I am perceived and deceived,

however my ignorance and conceits,

lay aside your fears that I will be undone,

 for I shall not be moved. - Maya Angelou

One of my favorite and most quoted poems. It’s been swirling in my head lately as I think about people’s opinions and how they should be handled. (The barrage of opinions on social media after  Beyoncé's Grammy performance started it all).

 As a self-proclaimed diva and Queen of self-esteem you can bet that I carry myself with an epic ( like EPIC) level of confidence. As an educator, mother and youth worker I am passionate and outspoken in advocating for them. As a black woman, I am adamant about using my art as activism.  All of this is subject to both celebration and misunderstanding. But if I responded to every single prejudgment, criticism, or straight  throw of shade, I would then be detracted from my life’s work. Instead I ask myself some key questions before responding one of three ways:

1.  Keep going ( ugh, it’s so hard sometimes).  Ask yourself, does this person’s opinion ultimately affect my life or my life's work?  There will be people who won’t believe in your dreams, there will those who try to compete with you, and there will be those who allow themselves to be influenced by other’s opinions of you.  If these people have no influence over your income, then keep it moving. As long as you are authentic, people will eventually see the truth past other people’s smoking mirrors, sabotage, and rumors.  In other words “Twirl on them haters”- 

Song Suggestions:

 Jill Scott- Hate on Me

Queen-Janelle Monae

Fake Love- Drake

          No time -Lil Kim

2.   Clarify - If I think your opinions matter, I first ask myself why it matters. If it’s because I truly value you or because you in fact can help me with my mission, then I will make an effort for you to get to know me better or to explain my perspective so that we can come to  a mutual understanding. I have to say this is one of  my least used responses because frankly, I find it time consuming if you clarify yourself to the wrong people.
     Sometimes your clarification doesn't have to be direct. It can be more indirect- in the form of a major statement- ( as poet my clap back game is major). I look at Beyoncé and how she responds to haters through music videos and live performances- in that I can show you better than tell you manner. Yasssss!

   Song suggestions:

            Tru-Lloyd

             Apple Tree- Eryka Badu

                     Hate it or Love it-Mary J. Blige

                    Woo-ha Got you all in check- Busta Rhymes

3.   Reflect ( Also hard as hell) –  10 years ago I’d give you the side eye and stank face all rolled into one if you suggested I reflect on others' opinions. I mean, to actually think that 10 people use the same unflattering word to describe you is tough, but necessary...if you want to grow. Sometimes I reflect and I’m like WRONG ( it's about them not me), and other times I’m like, DAMN they’re right! And then I make a conscious decision to work on it if it is something I care about.  It requires pushing your ego all the way to side and sometimes it sucks.

Song suggestions:

Strength Courage and Wisdom- India Aire

Man in the Mirror- Micheal Jackson

I Remember Me-Jennifer Hudson

Everything is Everything- Lauryn Hill

Twirl on!

Body Image Revisited

The body image saga continues.  If you’ve read my memoir then you know that starting as early as 11 years old I struggled with body image.  I thought I was had finally conquered it in mid twenties, even if I was close to 250 pounds. I mean I deemed myself the Queen of Self -Esteem! For about 10 years after that, I was in a really good place. I had mastered posing so that the camera hit all of the right angles. I had come to love all of my flaws, finally accepting my lumps and bumps, and really focusing on what I loved about my body. Then 2015 came and I’d have to come to accept a new body. Just as I’m starting accept the fact that I have no feeling in my breasts (which I have now decided to call NOOBS -new boobs), and get happy that the foot and a half long scar across my abdomen is fading,  my incisional hernia enlarges and that’s ALL am able to see. I’m cognizant  of it all day long. Aside from the extreme physical discomfort, I find myself double checking mirrors and buying shirts that disguise the massive bulge protruding from my right lower quadrant. I haven't been this self-conscious when getting dressed in so long, it feels awkward. But it’s really because I do in fact feel self-conscious. And why? I  have yet to understand why this insecurity has crept back in my psyche. I mean before the surgery I gained like 50 pounds, and after the surgery I walked around for 6 months with no nipples or areolas? Why am I tripping?  I had no answer, so last week I decided to get back in the gym ( I have to keep it extremely light until and even months after my next surgery). It made a world of difference, because after one session, I was reminded of just how powerful and amazing my body is. Each chest press made me feel more and appreciative of my body and its journey. It reminded me that this shit is temporary and aesthetic. What matters is keeping it healthy for its next healing challenge! Here we go!

Hold on

I can officially say that the second week of January 2017 was the most emotionally draining I’ve had in a long time. But if you know me, after I have time to refill my  cup,  I reflect and figure how what's next…. how do I make it better? What can I do differently? How can I help?

Tragedy and Trauma (with capital T's)  were the words of week as I found myself needing to be there for others while internally dealing with my own emotional response. There were very few people who actually checked in to see how I was doing. Then there were people I called and they focused on how they were feelings. I ended most of my days on my couch in a catatonic state, followed b restless sleeping and wearing my mask at work. Now that the week has ended, and I've had time to think, I've learned at least two major lessons this week. The first is I've learned is ...  ask for what you need. There are some of us ( like Me) who are perceived to be these strong people who may bend but never break. And while I do consider myself to be resilient and adept at self-care, this week I really needed a shoulder to cry to on because I spent my days hugging & comforting crying teens and young women during the day, and texting, instant messaging and calling them by night. All of this after news of a successful and then thankfully an unsuccessful suicide attempt, sexual assault on video, hospitalizations and mental breakdowns. All in a matter of days. 
In the mist of it, the innate nurturer in me just wanted to make sure everyone was okay, so I sprang into comforter mode.  But when it was all done, there were about three people who called to check on me. Then I realized it’s not their fault, they assumed that I got this, because most times I do. What I should have done was said was, “Listen I’m emotionally drained and heartbroken, can someone come get my 5 year old so I can have moment to cry."  "Can someone cook me hot food because I just want to lay here."  "Let's a have chocolate or wine and talk it out."  But I didn’t, so I cannot be mad that I didn’t get what I didn’t ask for. My commitment is to make sure from now on that I ask for what I need and I teach my students and mentees to do the same because no one should suffer in silence and so many people do.  As I was there this week  for one of the strongest people, this truth was reiterated.

 This leads me to my second lesson. Early last week I learned that I’m not done with major surgery.Nope. Because of my hernia, I in fact will have to endure another 6 hour surgery, a couple of days in the hospital and 6 weeks of recovery. I was devastated when the surgeon explained why a simple laparoscopic surgery would not be enough. After a small temper tantrum in the car on the way home, I realized. I will get through this as I did all of the others, that that is just the way life works, if you don’t give up. You will get through it and come out on the other side, most times stronger, better, and more beautiful. This is also what I remind myself… and what I will teach my students and mentees as well.  It’s definitely easier said than done, especially when your world is crumbling and you don’t have emotional support or coping skills, like many of the young people in my live. I just hope that by persevering and sharing my story they can see that it is possible. Depression, illness, death, loneliness, etc. It is possible to come out on the other side. This too shall pass.  As I type this I can hear that Wilson Sister’s song in the back of my mind... "Hold on for one day, things will go your way." It’s so true, and until they can hold on to themselves, I’m going to be there to help them hold on. 

4 Lessons from 2016

If I had to sum up this year for me in one word, it would be TRANSITION. 2016 was full of changes for me wrapped in lessons, successes and blessings. To start off with, I ended and 8 year relationship (not  BARACK OBAMA  though I am devastated) with someone who I was engaged to, lived with and had a child with.  This was difficult because my decision wasn’t based on something catastrophic, dramatic or scandalous. I didn’t catch him cheating, he didn’t hit me. I just realized that some of our beliefs were so inherently different it affected how we dealt with each other, parenting, goals and overall views on life.  At first I thought, what would everyone think…his family, my family, and the naysayers? But then I had to listen to my inner voice which loudly and repeatedly told me that  he was brought into my life for a reason and a season, but not meant to be my mate for a life time. Imagine trying to articulate that? This was at the beginning of the year, and still we are transitioning from cohabitating fiancés to co-parenting friends.

   The transition to living on my own after 6 years has actually been amazing. It’s given me the opportunity to really self-reflect and think , to take care of myself; to plan.  

 A few months ago, my oldest son told me I was going to be a grandmother in April 2017. This was like the official stamp on the end of an era. No ovaries, in menopause, I’m a grandmother before 40. This transition will be all about letting go and trusting that no matter what my baby will be more than okay, he’ll be great.  

 I also resigned from a leadership team at my day job and began a leadership program outside of my realm. Trying something new was easy; giving up something old was a difficult decision, but so worth it in the end. I was tired of fighting an unnecessary battle, one in which I was asked to go against the warrior and change agent I am.   

But instead of telling you ALLLLLL my business,  I’d like to summarize a few take aways from my last 361 days and hopefully they will speak to your spirit:

    1. Do not allow others to stifle who you are at the core. This includes friends, family, lovers, and employers. If you are asked to do something that is without a doubt contradictory to who you are a person, something that makes you feel guilty, strained, or at war with yourself- don’t do it. Life is too short to live with that type of inner turmoil. Be unabashedly, uniquely you.

    2.  F%CK WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK. PERIOD.  Don’t let other people’s fearful, judgmental ideologies dictate what you do.  Tell them to take their SHOULDS and shove ‘em.

    3.  Let go of the people and the things that don’t bring you joy. You can’t choose your family, but you can choose to love them from a distance. When you let go of the things that don’t make you happy, guess what happens…you get happy!

     4. STRETCH. Your thinking, your activities, your mind. Even if it’s a little bit at a time. Change is inevitable but  it is so much more enjoyable when you control it.

These steps are why, even though the devastation of losing Prince ( and OBAMA)  I was able to have an adventurous, happy and amazing transitional year.  What’s next for 2017? Stay tuned! 

A change gon' come

Wow, it's been a whole two months since I've written! Excuse my lateness! I blame it on Spring...so many new things have been blossoming for me, both blessings and lessons. The lesson I'm currently learning is to keep my emotional cup full. Usually I'm pretty good about self-care, making time for me, for family, for friends, for work, for fun. I'm great with making time for my physical, and definitely my spiritual.  What I found out I sucked at is understanding that sometimes it's okay to put my feelings over other people's feelings. I'm such an empath that often I feel people's pain to a point of physical discomfort, but recently I've had to remind myself that my feelings matter too; particularly with grown people. There are several people in my life who take advantage of my kindness, who take my emotional strength or my financial generosity for granted. Of course, me being who I am, I always try to see things from their perspective... until lately. This is because I'm noticing that they really don't give a fuck about my feelings. Seriously! 
So as painful this was, I had to put my foot down and make some changes. Hopefully, upon reflection, they will understand but if not, too bad. I'm abusing myself by letting people take advantage of me, whether it's business or personal. I sit back and remain in silent misery just so someone else won't feel bad. I mean one day I was in literal tears because I couldn't understand how people can be like that, totally inconsiderate of my feelings.  But now that I've made my point clear and stood my ground, I feel wonderful. I do know that this will be a constant struggle for me though because I'm a natural nurturer, but in 2016, I'm gonna let grown people nurture themselves!

Happy Foob Year!

5 days later, here I am wearing the most hideous surgical garment ever. I mean the last ones were ugly, but they were all white and  made no attempt to be cute. However uncomfortable and unattractive this contraption, it does what it’s supposed to, which is support my newly lifted foobs and sewn on fipples.

 I have to say this surgery was a breeze compared to the last two. Aside from the fact that we had our first snow/sleet/ice storm the night before, which caused my surgeon to arrive 15 minutes late, everything went as planned. At 7:45am the anesthesiologist injected my IV with the feel good stuff. At 11:10 I was awakened by a nurse placing pillows under each side of my arms. She told me I could keep sleeping, which I did for another hour. Then I was ready to get up and go. My fiancée came for me, and other than feeling light headed and dizzy, I felt relieved; no more surgeries, I did it. I was home in time to watch Judge Mathis, which I eventually fell asleep on.  With the help of some narcotics, I slept on and off the rest of the day.  The next day, I was still groggy and my only discomfort were the stitches were underneath the foobs. It felt tight, and itchy, but nothing unbearable.  Because I wanted to celebrate with champagne on New Year’s Eve, I was hell bent on not taking any pain meds at all. So I sucked it up. My reward was spending my holiday surrounded by family, and wearing scarves and sweaters to cover up the bulky surgical tube top. I tried to go the whole week with only sponge baths, but once 2016 came around, I gave in, being sure not to wet my bandages. In two more days I will get to see an updated version of my foobs and fipples. 

At this point I’m not even excited about it because I’ve just become more and more accepting of my body no matter what it looks like. Besides, it’s amazing, I mean look at all it’s been through and it continues to heal and allow me to do whatever I set out to!

After the Storm:Foobs & Fipples

I’m beginning to feel like a pro. Wash all the clothes, clean the house, take out button up and zip up clothes (because I won’t be able to reach over my head), pick up my toddler all day (because I won’t be able to do that again for a few weeks) and prep him for mommy recovery again (he is not happy about it and threatened to punch the doctor’s for giving me boo-boos). Before I take my shower tonight I’ll take one last picture of my foobs before I get my fipples. The way my oncology gyno explained it is that he will pretty much do origami with my scar tissue and create semi erect fipples. In order for them to be even, my surgeon will do a freast lift, which means now I will be EXTRA perky.

I know it seems painful, But I have no sensation in my freasts

 Still it will be a couple of more months before Toya the Remix is complete and I finally get my areolas tattooed.  As prepared as I feel, because of course I’ve done the research, I still get nervous about going under. And while I know the pain will be minimal compared to last time, I hate pain and pain meds and being limited physically.  I know it’s temporary. I know it’s worth it, but I still get nervous. Who wouldn’t? And I’m still looking forward to spring when I will be healed much more internally so that I really get back in to my fitness. I mean what do I look like with a flat stomach, perky foobs, but jiggly arms and a flat ass??? And no, this is not me putting myself down. I  have loved my body through all its stages, but since I found out I need more stomach fat in order to have these nice breasts, I had to go through some major changes. Prior to all of this I was killing it at boot camp. I felt strong, powerful, I had some cut in my arms and my backside was getting good and round from thousands of squats. I tried it few weeks ago and I was filled with adrenaline as I pounded the medicine ball to the floor, and did jump squats and planks (I used to do 1 minute, now it’s like 15 seconds). But two days later I was almost incapacitated at work, abs were sore, the muscles underneath my boobs were sore, okay no sore, straight hurting. I had to quit. Okay, not quit, but postpone until 2016.

 I know I’m powerful, I’m still here. But I cannot wait to get back to being the weight lifting beast I was becoming last year around this time!

Storm- a friend gave me a little statue  of her to help me weather "The Storm"

 But wait is exactly what I have to do.  Tomorrow I check in at 6:00 am signing off. Later folks

From FREASTS to FOOBS: Part III: Recovery

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC MEDICAL IMAGES and  one sexy image!

As my aunt wheeled me down the hospital corridor, I was mixed with emotions. Happy to be out the hospital… away from the substandard food, the constant interruptions from folks trying to get vitals, and from the inconsistency of great nurses and awful nurses. I would get to be in my house,  around my children, and the fact that I was being discharged meant that I was well on my way to recovery. But I was apprehensive, what if something went wrong? I had learned how to navigate my way from my hospital bed to the bathroom,  but  once again all of the research I had done indicated that I would have a hard time at home. It was recommended I get a shower chair, a raised toilet seat, and that I sleep in a recliner since I couldn’t fully stretch out.  (The recliner was and still is my best friend).

 The trip home left me depleted. With the help of my fiancé I got myself adjusted on the recliner sofa in the living room. That night both he and my toddler slept on the couch next to me. Every four hours my fiancé woke me up to take my meds so I wouldn’t have to be completely exposed to the pain. The next day, turned into two weeks of the monotony. Sleeping and awake at odd hours of the day and night; visits from my aunt angels, cousins, and good friends; meals being cooked and delivered; drains being emptied.

Oh the dreaded drains. The absolute worst part of this whole experience. Two hanging from each side of my upper rib to collect fluid from my Freasts (fake breasts) or what I now call FOOBS(fake boobs) and two hanging from either side of my hip to collect fluid from my abs. They had to be emptied and the disgusting fluid from them measured and documented.  Because of this, I wouldn’t need a shower chair, because I only took sponge baths. And I got to wear cotton old lady button up robes. Thankfully I had my aunt, and a very good friend who stepped in when the visiting nurse couldn’t.

courtesy of breastcancer.org

With all that was going on, there were some amazing facets of my recovery. First of all, I didn’t need that raised toilet seat. Turns out all those years of Pilates helped me build an awesomely strong core underneath that once thick layer of belly fat. It was much easier than anticipated. Secondly, I wasn’t totally freaked out by what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I mean, my foobies had no nipples, but still it wasn’t nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be. I think other people were more uncomfortable than me.

It was during this recovery I got to see who my real friends were. I was surprised by the number of people who reached out to me in some way, and disheartened by those who I expected would but didn’t. Still with so much love and support around me, I couldn’t dwell on it for more than moments at a time.

Each day I was more and more amazed at what my body could do, how it healed itself, regenerating cells and nerves and FOOBS!   

Perhaps the best part of recovery was 19 days after surgery when with the doctor’s clearance I was able to get dolled up and receive my 100 women of Color award for my work.  Not only did I receive an award alongside 99 other phenomenal women, I also  got my own holiday in my hometown! Sure I had to tiptoe around, sit while everyone else was socializing and I was exhausted after the 4 hour event, but  when they called my name, I strutted across that stage like my foobs weren’t still swollen, and my abs weren’t sore. Because that’s what you do once you dub yourself the Queen of Self-Esteem!

19 days post op... pretty sexy considering all that was going on underneath

The Journey doesn’t end here. Stay tuned as I continue on to the next stage of reconstruction on December 28^th. I'll get my Fipples 

 (fake nipples)

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