Tag Archives: mastectomy

He was there

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I got my diagnosis on my mom’s birthday.  That just doesn’t seem right does it?  My surgery was that Friday, only five days later.  What a whirlwind week it was.  My parents dropped everything and drove to St. Louis to be with us, even though my dad was a pastor with a busy schedule.  I don’t remember how many days I had to stay in the hospital, I think only two.  I just remember with clarity an early morning blood draw to check my white cell count to see if I could go home.

Shortly after the lab tech left the room, my dad walked in.  He was carrying his garment bag and told me he was about to go back home but wanted to come see me first.  While he was with me, my surgeon, Dr. Billy, came in to tell me that my levels were low and I was going to have to stay longer in the hospital.  My heart sunk into a fearful thought that there might be more cancer.  Then Dr. Billy noticed they had drawn blood out of the arm that had an IV and it had diluted the blood sample.  He had them come back in and draw from my other arm, it was okay, and I was able to go home!

It may not sound like a big deal, but it helped so much that my dad was there.  I didn’t have to be alone through that brief unsettling moment.  He was thinking of me that morning and wanted me to know.  He was there because he loves me.  What did I do to get my dad to love me? Continue reading →

Re: Ta-tas and such

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WARNING TO MALE READERS:  This post contains much estrogen-saturated material and may not be suitable for the male Psyche.  At the very least, a male reader may experience the WTMI (way too much information) effect after only a few lines.  Hey, I warned you.

A blog is for my thoughts and feelings, right?  And hey, this is my blog, so I’m going to blog about some personal stuff because it’s been on my mind so much the last few days.

It’s amazing how our self-image can be so tied up with our bodies.  I was born a “big-boned” girl and at the ripe old age of 9 months had rolls on my thighs that could cut off my parents’ finger circulation as they tried to change my diapers.  Puberty gave the thighs a come-back and I’ve been less than thrilled about the lower half of my body every since.  My sister and I used to joke that it would sure be nice if you could suck in your thighs like you suck in your belly.

I’ve heard there are two basic body shapes:  apples and pears.  I don’t know who came up with the fruit idea but it kind of makes sense if you look around you.  Apples have thin little legs, but tend to gain weight on top, either having round bellies or big chests.  Pears, like me, tend to be smaller on top but gain weight/hold weight in the lower half of the body more.  Invariably when I exercised more and watched what I ate more, my chest was the first to go.  Of all places I was NOT heavily endowed that was it, so the injustice stung all the more.   AND after breastfeeding all three of my girls, which I am so glad I did, what little I had became like deflated balloons or little empty tube socks.  I’m just sayin’.   Continue reading →