Between determining the plan on May 20th and my surgery on June 2nd, life kept moving—Memorial Day fun, kids' activities, Post Malone/Jelly Roll concert, school wrapping up, and preparing for recovery. I didn’t have much time to dwell on what was coming, only the reassurance that our plan was right for us.
Then came June 1st, and with it, a tidal wave of emotion. I hadn’t had a real crying spell since before May 8th, when we learned the cancer hadn’t spread to my lymph nodes and there were no other tumors—that was relief. But this day was different. Surgery was upon us, and suddenly, emotions hit like a Mack Truck into a fire hydrant.
Despite never feeling deeply attached to my body—largely due to years of body dysmorphia—I couldn’t shake the weight of what was happening. It wasn’t just about removing the cancer or getting a “free boob job.” This was an amputation, a permanent change to something that had been part of me for 39 years. My God given lady parts were being removed from my body, never to be seen as the natural entities they have been. This was what all the emotion was about and once I could pin-point it, I felt a feeling of acceptance, strength and the willpower to begin this next chapter in this crazy thing called life.
The Morning of Surgery
When June 2nd arrived, emotions struck again. Nick asked, “Are you ready to get this behind us?”—cue another emotional fire hydrant moment. I tried to leave our bedroom three times before I finally composed myself enough to head to Mercy Hospital.
Wrapped in my Little Sleepies jammies (IYKYK) and UGG slippers, I got checked in and felt a surprising sense of peace. Sitting in the waiting room, holding hands with Nick, I knew I wasn’t alone in this—his strength carried me through.
Pre-op was simple: one last round of body wipes, vitals, IV, and the best heated blanket ever (seriously, where do I get one of those?). Then came visits from Dr. Cantwell and Dr. Olimpiadi, confirming the plan. The next thing I knew, Nick and I were saying our good-byes, the anesthetist put some good juice into my IV and I was being wheeled down to the operating room. The only thing I remember after that (vaguely) was moving myself from one bed to the next in the OR before I slightly woke up in recovery.
Funny story—turns out morphine dreams are wild. A friend working post-op visited me, and I swore she was lying next to me on the gurney, stroking my hair, saying, “You did great.” When I told Nick she was lying with me, his response? “I don’t think that’s allowed.” 🤣 Spoiler: when I reached out to her to ask if she laid with me, it was definitely the wild dreams, but her visit was comforting.
A short time later, I was ready to go—I had two drains placed, but thankfully, felt nothing.
Lesson #4: What are drains? That seems scary!
Drains, if you are curious are placed after a mastectomy and other surgeries to remove excess fluid that builds up in the surgical area. When breast tissue is removed, the body naturally produces fluid as part of the healing process. If this fluid isn't drained, it can lead to discomfort, swelling, and delayed healing. No bueno, not interested!
Drains also help prevent seromas, which are pockets of fluid that can form and sometimes cause scarring or infection. These drains have flexible tubing connected to a soft plastic bulb that collects the fluid. Most drains stay in place for one to three weeks and need to be emptied a couple times a day to reduce the risk of infection. I had prior experience with drains from a previous surgery, so I knew the drill.
At home, I had prepared the bed for what I needed to be able to come home and crawl right in. My bed was prepped for recovery:
✔️ Two wedge pillows (one for my head, one for my legs)
✔️ Pregnancy pillow (to prevent rolling onto my left side)
✔️ Mastectomy pillow (for chest support)
I was finally home, ready to crawl into my self-made cocoon of comfort.
This journey isn’t just about the physical recovery—it’s about embracing the change, finding strength in uncertainty, and moving forward with resilience.
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