Booby Healing Fashion

I have maintained a pretty positive and upbeat attitude about this whole process.  I didn't let it get me down when they told me I inherited an almost 87% risk of breast cancer.  I barely batted an eye when I learned my risk of the usually fatal ovarian cancer is way above that of the general population.  I calmly and with determination scheduled my surgeries to have the potentially offending parts of my anatomy removed.  Like a model patient, I have read and studied all there is to learn and prepared myself for all foreseeable complications.  I am so well versed on the topic of Brca mutations that the General Surgeon very frighteningly told me I appeared to know way more on the topic than he did.  (umm, so you're the guy whose gonna cut off my boobs???)  Truly, I have been uncharacteristically cool as a cucumber.

So isn't it kind of strange that I had a minor freak out in Target this evening?   I had previously mentioned  to Tucker that it was suggested I stock up on over sized button down tops and super stretchy t shirts.  We started in the Men's Department.  I thought I would appreciate the fact that nothing would be fitted there.  Guess what?  Nothing was fitted there, but they all looked like men's clothes! (duh!)  To a woman who is about to have her female reproductive organs and breasts removed, femininity is a must have!  We wandered over to the Women's Department. I found several brightly colored button downs but was more than a little bummed at the idea of me having to shell out  good money for this new summer wardrobe.  Whatever.  I'll be fine...UNTIL...Pajamas!  What the hell!  Pajamas should be among the most benign products on Earth!  Not so, says the woman who soon won't be able to lift her arms!  Right off the bat we spied some button down nightshirts that seemed to be perfect.  However, upon closer inspection they were just a more modern version of your grandmother's mumu. I just couldn't go there; a 36 menopausal, boobless woman does not a mumu wearer make.  All of the beautiful, brightly colored soft pajama sets were for all those fancy ladies who CAN LIFT THEIR ARMS OVER THEIR HEADS!  The indignity!  Sleep time has always been my most favorite time of the day (or night), and here I am in the middle of Target panicking over the fact that I will never sleep again based on the lack of availability of appropriate post mastectomy jammies!!   In the end, I walked away frustrated and scared; leaving Tucker in the Lingerie Department all by his lonesome.  (Where apparently he ran into a woman from church!)  He very lovingly chose 3 very stretchy, very bright tank tops that I can step into if need be.  Crisis averted. (ish)

So the moral of this story is that I won't be naked this summer.  No.  That's not it.  The moral of this story is that this is hard stuff I'm going through, and countless other women go through.  No matter how self-assured we are in our decision, we will have those freak-out moments.  And we will get over them.  We will follow this path until we have eradicated as much of the risk we have inherited as possible.  And we will praise God for the opportunities to freak out at our husbands in Target.  And we will show God our gratitude by mentoring others as we have been mentored by those women who have traveled this road before us.
 And we will do this all in our brightly colored Target button downs. 

You Raise Me Up

I often marvel at how God talks to me.  For years, I have been learning how to listen to His voice.  Unfortunately, I tend to  need the thunderbolt moments to understand His messages even though many people seem to hear his voice in the most subtle of ways.  I do believe His voice is perfect, and I have heard everything I have needed to hear when I needed to hear it, yet I'm quite the imperfect human, and as such I fear I will miss the boat as it sails past.  Not so.

My Brca journey has been humbling and a little scary.  As much as I do not really like to admit it, the fear of the implications of my positive test results and impending surgeries have been overwhelming at times.  I am moving full speed ahead in the process because I truly do not want to subject my family to a cancer diagnosis.  This is something I feel very strongly about.  Alas, I am human, and often fragile, and sometimes a lost little girl wandering around a great, big scary place looking for shelter and comfort in the arms of her Father.

The good Father always keeps His promises.

I have been teaching at the same school for about 8 years.  The women there are like my sisters.  The families there are part of my family. Although, we know each other well, what most people do not know, is that in a past life I was a singer.  I was no where near the strongest, or most technical, but I studied with a voice coach for years and years and sang everywhere and all of the time.  It was a huge part of me that just simply did not carry on into my adult life.  (except in the shower)  However, perhaps on a dare, or maybe as a joke, my dear friend, Constance, suggested to the school director that I sing for graduation when she was looking for a soloist for the ceremony.  For some reason beyond my understanding, when my director asked me if I would be willing, I calmly shrugged my shoulders and said, "I guess so."

Having not sung publicly in over 10 years and lacking all manner of musical confidence, I began to prepare for my solo; You Raise Me Up.  In the midst of my journey through the Brca jungle, I suddenly found myself in a whole new realm of frightening.  Not only would I be vulnerable and potentially humiliated, but I would be so in front of people who I cared about deeply.

And then came His thunderbolt:

"When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up... To more than I can be.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up... To more than I can be."

This was not simply about me helping my director out.  This was not a way to get my foot back in the music door.  This was how God chose to speak to me.  He told me all I needed to hear, and He made sure I heard it over and over again as I toiled away with the pianist.  In the shower, in the car, throughout the work day and as I cooked dinner I heard these words.

Today following my solo, I met with the plastic surgeon who will be recreating my breasts. Throughout the entire process, the part I have  feared most is reconstruction. Today, as the fear and anxiety began to permeate through me, I heard it again, " I am strong when I am on your shoulders..."
 Thank you, Father. 

Still Truckin' Along

Still trucking along with my fabulous Brca2 positive self.  Without a doubt, as my surgeries get closer, my nerves becomes more frayed.  I have never doubted my decision in having the surgeries, but the realities are becoming less hypothetical.
In a moment of self empowerment, I decided to commission a special quilt to accompany me during my journey.  I have always been a blanket lover and the idea of a beautiful, bright cocoon seemed more than appropriate.  I traveled with an incredibly talented artist/quilt maker to a fabric store where we planned and plotted my "recovery blanket."  My requirements were that the fabrics be bright and random (as am I!) and that many different textures be incorporated throughout.  The resulting modge-podge was fantastical! Now, when I imagine the upcoming struggle, I also imagine this glorious blanket there to comfort and cheer me.  It is amazing to me how much this project has refocused my anxiety.

As things stand now, a complete hysterectomy is scheduled for June 3rd.  This surgery will be laproscopic and robot assisted.  (pretty star-trek, huh?) I should require no more than a one night hospital stay and a week of rest at home before I feel back to my wonderful Caroline self.  Although the ramifications of menopause seem somewhat daunting, I feel up to the challenge and truly hardly phased by this upcoming process.

But...then... comes...the MASTECTOMY...

Today I met with the breast surgeon who will be performing the operation.  I appreciated his candor and wit.  Nothing puts me more at ease then when I'm among people who are able to find humor and lightheartedness in overwhelming circumstances.  Although, he did not downplay the seriousness of the surgery, he certainly conveyed an aura of do-ability.  Of course, his job is only part of the northern hemisphere surgery. (My loving term for my breast surgeries)  I am to see the plastic surgeon next week.  The vast majority of my prophylactic surgery-related anxiety comes from the process of reconstruction.  Seriously, folks, some of the procedures seem a bit barbaric, but I digress.  Once I meet with the plastic surgeon, my mastectomy with reconstruction surgery will be scheduled.  (The current plan is to have it done within the month of June, as well) This surgery, of course, will require a longer hospital stay with a more intensive at home recovery.  Oh, my Jesus.  This is where I begin to hyperventilate.

Nothing worth fighting for comes easily.  This will be no exception, however, once my surgeries are complete my risk of the female cancers associated with my  deleterious genetic mutation will be almost negligible.  This is why I'm fighting.  I grew up knowing how cancer has plagued the women in my family.  I have listened to the heartache in my Aunt Adele's lover's voice as he described her final years struggling with ovarian cancer.  I have prayed for and with my Aunt Isabelle as she now is fighting this deadly disease.  Because they have suffered, I can be saved, and for this I fight and thank God for the opportunity to do so.