Moms Don’t Get Sick

If you know my father, he is the embodiment of a traditional Irish man. He keeps all his emotions locked up inside unless the Yankees are losing then clear the room immediately. The boomer generation seems to think therapy is for the weak and for many years that was how my dad saw it. So one morning when he was visiting he sat me down and asked if I had thought of therapy before my double mastectomy, I was unprepared. I would have been less caught off guard had he said to me he could do the surgery to save me the medical bills. He went on to say he was worried that this major surgery was going to mentally and emotionally crush me. Now, had you told me 6 months before I would be discussing my breast removal with my father before even a single sip of coffee one morning I wouldn’t have believed you. But here we were. My dad had seen me go through so much already and couldn’t bear to watch me go through one more life changing event.

I realized at that moment we were looking at this surgery from two completely different sides. He saw it as me losing a huge part of me but I saw it as I was finally removing the thing that was trying to kill me. The day I was sent home with the information that I had cancer, I couldn’t believe they just let me leave with this boob still attached to me. It was trying to KILL me and I was supposed to just keep living with it for the next four months through chemo. I woke up that night with my heart jumping up into my throat and in a complete body sweat. The cancer was right there on my chest and I wanted it out. I wanted them to immediately remove it so that I knew it wasn’t growing or spreading inside me anymore. Unfortunately with Inflammatory Breast Cancer, if I had surgery to remove it before chemotherapy the rash on top of my breast would move to the scars and continue to grow. Oh but I so wanted them to just take my breasts away. I had nursed three beautiful children and as I’ve said before my husband had different ASS-ets in mind. If they were trying to kill me, I certainly had no need to keep them around.

I see this next step in my recovery as finally removing what has caused all this pain. I am no less a woman without breasts. In my mind, I am more of a woman for fighting for my life with my whole heart. I can get padded bras, I can get inserts, and in a year or two I can get reconstructive surgery. But that is not my priority. My priority is seeing Maggie start cheerleading in the fall. My priority is seeing Claire start Kindergarten. My priority is watching Bo hit more and more milestones.

I know I will probably have many unplanned emotions after the surgery but the bigger picture is that I am working to be healthy again. I will eventually be starting to see a therapist because up to this point my support system could relate with not feeling good. They could imagine the worst stomach flu every three weeks for four months and have empathy for me after each chemo round. The next step is a little harder for them to connect with. They of course will be with me every step of the way but the removal of a body part is something, thank god, none of my people have gone through.

I keep telling everyone that I have never been so excited to be flat chested. The killer boob will soon be removed and I will be the hottest cancer survivor this town as ever seen. I am ready.