Breast reconstruction, surgeries and the never ending stream of scars: enough already!

Breast reconstruction, surgeries and the never ending stream of scars: enough already!
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Dear God,

Hi. How ya doing? Good but super busy? I can only imagine. I know you have lots on your plate and that my request is maybe not high on your priority list but one can hope. Right? Can’t I? Hope is what this little journey  of mine has been all about.

Tomorrow big guy I’m going under the knife. Again. This is not a surgery of the save my life kind thank God (Hey, that’s you!!) Nevertheless, it’s still yet another operation that I could most certainly live without. However, the thought of having what feels like a full metal jacket under my skin for one more day is simply not possible. (Hey plastic surgeons out there – you gotta come up with something better than tissue expanders for breast reconstruction because in a word, they suck).

My request to you on this sunny but still cold and snow filled day (you could lighten up on that too!) is this: please allow me to never have to experience any more surgeries. Please. I have more than enough scars to show my “toughness” and I’m about done.

My body is starting to look like a road map or a game of connect the lines. I haven’t tried it yet but I imagine if I took a pen and drew from scar to scar I’d come up with something interesting. I’m thinking it would look something like the state of Texas actually, truth be told.

When we’re babies we have such nice, soft untouched and unmarred skin. I got my first scar at the ripe age of three when I was tripped by a little jerk and cut my head open. Smack on my forehead, battle wound number one. And then there were my two C-sections since for some reason or another, I got to be one of those women who in the old days could have laid in a field for three days trying to squeeze these puppies out of me with no success.

And then cancer. Ugh. The C word worse than that other C word (sorry but it’s true!!). That time ten years ago when I got to add two scars to this mix. And then this time. The C word again and adding not one but four good size ones and three little ones. An even dozen. I think we should be done.

Tomorrow I am lucky that I won’t acquire new scars as Dr. Wonderful just goes over the old ones and switches out these expanders (can we have a party please?) and puts in my real, final boobies. The ones I’m gonna live with forever. The ones that will not try to kill me. (That’s not original, I heard that somewhere but it’s a good one).

But even though I won’t be getting any new scars (one will be a little longer so we can remove the extra skin/third boob I somehow obtained after the mastectomy) I am nervous and anxious. I don’t like feeling like a dog being put to sleep. You know I have anesthesia anxiety so keep an eye over me while I’m out and make sure I wake up, K?

And when I do wake up, if you would be so awesome and kind and good and reinforce all the reasons I believe in you and pray to you and look to you and talk to you and stuff to please make it so I never have to do this again, I would be so grateful and happy I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. I’ll have my boobs, my hair and no more cancer. So please, let me be done.

Unless it’s a free tummy tuck or liposuction on my ass. Then it’s okay.

Sincerely and gratefully yours,

A big fan

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