Surgery day was terrifying. My daughter and my best friend came with me for moral support and I was doing pretty damn well. We were laughing and keeping things…well, sarcastic. That’s how we roll.
Surgery lasted about 4 hours and was a success. I would have to come back in a few weeks to recheck the margins, but everything looked good. Close, but good.
I was in almost no pain. Thank you, drugs! Within 5 1/2 hours, I was up, walking around, and taking selfies.
By the next morning, all I wanted to do was jump ship and get home to my fur babies. I never used button up shirts after surgery. If I was careful, I could put on a regular t-shirt. After all the horror stories, I felt very lucky I was having such an easy go of it. I wasn’t scared of the way my chest looked. I was empowered by them. Those scars were battle wounds; hard won, tender, and raw, but even a day later, they were giving me a sense of strength and power…
and the beauty of a fighter. I earned these. I fought hard. This is cancer.