Creeping toward normalcy

Think I’m finally getting used to what’s considered my new normal: New body parts. New scars. Permanent numbness. Shitty side effects of Tamoxifen. Daily PT exercises. New boxes to check on forms at the non-cancer doctor doctor’s office.

And there are all kinds of positive indicators that I’m really leaving this crap-tastic year in the dust.

A few weeks ago, I saw my surgical oncologist, who’s beyond pleased with how everything has turned out. He’s prescribed an annual screening (not diagnostic!) mammogram moving forward. Also saw my kindly GP, who ran a ton of blood work which I’ve passed with flying red and white colors. The hysterectomy is well behind me—my abdomen only gets a little twinge-y if I do too much core workout stuff. Recently got on a plane and had not even a hint of lymphedema. I start in Northwestern’s “survivorship program” next month, which will manage my care over the next several years.

Sounds like this is all wrapping up, right?

But tomorrow I’m going in for another surgery. I’ve been a little evasive about this, but here’s the truth: My boobs don’t match. I want them to match. (They did before, dammit.)This last surgery is simply to swap the augmentation implant with one that will provide symmetry against the reconstruction side of affairs. Same excellent plastic surgeon, using the same scar location, general anesthesia but outpatient, and limited recovery time.

To be honest, I’ve been feeling really anxious about tomorrow. But I know this is what I want. Because it’s my choice and up until now, none of this has been.