Double Mastectomy: Pre-Surgery Jitters
I received chemo infusions for 4 months. Every day I was either getting an infusion, recovering from an infusion, or preparing myself for the next one. There was a predictable pattern to it, however miserable it was, and the routine gave me some kind of comfort. When I was “in it” there wasn’t much space to worry about anything else let alone any utility in it.
After my final infusion it took me about 3 week to recover. Not ‘back to myself’ recover, but “start to feel human and like I was in my own body” recover. That meant I had a full week to stress and overthink and panic about my double mastectomy.
I worked really hard to stay present. But pockets of stillness can fill quickly with question marks and scary thoughts.
On Monday the surgery was all I could think about. If a moment wasn’t filled with a concrete task - making lunches or answering emails or even in between sips of tea - it was engulfed entirely. I wondered what brand of shoes my nurses would wear, what sounds would fill the pre-op floor, what color my anti-skid socks would be, where they’d place my IV, and how bad my breath would be after I woke up from surgery.
On Tuesday and Thursday, Natalie, my 6-year-old, had meltdowns. She wouldn’t get on the bus. She wailed when I tried to get her into the car to drive her to school. She cried and cried and cried when I tried to get her to go inside. I had to carry her to the main lobby and ask the school’s social worker and psychologist (both angels) to convince her to leave my side. The meltdowns were caused by everything and nothing. The familiar tremble in her tummy, intuiting that something was off. Things were going to change again and although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, it didn’t matter. She and I were stuck in the same riptide of question marks. When would I come home from surgery, and was I really, really, really sure I’d come home at all? Could I still sing her lullabies and tuck her in at night? How could hugs possibly hurt me?
On Wednesday I had therapy, thank God. I was looking for answers that didn’t exist and desperate for information that would convince me that I was in control of something. Had nursing my children helped stave off the cancer for a little while or had it contributed to my disease? What if I had felt the ‘lump’ sooner? What would the pathology report reveal? Ultimately I was trying to do 2 things:
Find ways to blame myself
Prevent myself from being caught off guard...by anything
Friday felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack. The entire day. If you’ve ever had one you know that feeling. Not the panic attack itself, not the deep heat in your stomach that crawls up your spine, but the dread that happens first and lingers. Hushed but omnipotent.
On Saturday and Sunday I squeezed in as much life as I could. I finished the kids’ Halloween costumes, washed 86 loads of laundry (give or take), rode my Peloton (@K8Cruz), went on a hike to the Hudson River, watched the girls’ horseback riding lessons, and even scrubbed the bathroom floor...twice.
P.S. My parents watched the kids while I was in the hospital and reminded them that I wouldn’t be able to lift anything heavy when I got home, raise my arms too high, or even give hugs for a little while. Natalie looked at my mom for a moment before asking, “Will she be able to open my snack packs?” #Priorities
