If ever there is a cold, dark night of the soul, it is the night before surgery. I am counting down the hours until my appointment with the scalpel and concentrating on keeping the mask of bravery in place as I share a rare dinner with both my daughter and my son. I got all my legal ducks in a row earlier in the day with my attorney. The will was in place, along with my living will, power of attorney and most importantly, documentation of who has agreed to be responsible for my pets should things go wrong. I thought about my life. I thought about the lives of my adult children. There, at least, all is good. My son married his soul mate in October and into a family who loves him as I do. His bride is like a daughter to me, smart, kind and clearly as in love with my son as he is with her. The icing to that cake is they are both well-employed and are happy in their work. The same for my daughter, who flew up from Houston with less than a week’s notice, to be with me for the surgery and initial recovery. She and her fiancé are well-matched and happy in their love. The kids are alright.
I thought about my own life, my struggle with learning the lesson of being true to myself and can say I have few regrets and much to be thankful for. Until this moment, my body had not let me down. I was healthy, fit and worked at what I loved. First, it was journalism. Then, I made my love of horses and all things equestrian my work and co-authored two books about horse training. I taught kids with a variety of ability levels to ride and raised the funds to build a therapeutic horseback riding center when I was president of that charitable board. Then, I realized I had a niggling regret that I thought about medical school and did nothing. Realistically, I was too old, but not too old to get a BSN. With the exception of the mountains, of documentation required, I love my work as a nurse case manager. I make a difference in the lives of my patients every day. So, no further regrets there. But the uncertainty of what I was facing swirled around me as I brushed my teeth in the bathroom mirror. Would I wake up after surgery cancer-free? Would I feel good about my newly configured body? How would this experience alter the essence of who I am?
You never know how you will feel about losing one or two breasts until you are in the position of finding out. My surgeon was surprised I had little interest in reconstruction, though I did agree to meet with a plastic surgeon for the information. However, that choice slipped away when given the opportunity of a fast surgery date due to a cancellation in the surgical schedule. I could, if I wanted, revisit the option, post-op. I agreed, without hesitation, to surgery with less than a week’s notice. And that was just fine with me. Love me, love my single-breasted self, I decided the morning of my surgery.
That morning, I made a discovery. If you say to yourself and others often enough that you are strong, brave and able to confront your cancer demons and stare them down steely-eyed, you will believe it and you will do it. And so, with the love and support of my family and friends, I did.