Normal

My writer's block is creeping back (which is why I haven't kept a blog in so long...) but the phone calls are pouring in and I wanted to give an update on my ladies.

Time is no longer in slow motion and we're pretty much back to being normal Jen and Celal, aside from the fact that we now live with my mom and Pete and are both unemployed and, oh yeah, I still have cancer. My crying sessions are down to about 15 minutes every other day. I get a little melancholy now and again but we mostly stay busy so I don't have time to obsess. I've also managed to forego the early morning schedule and follow through with staying up late and sleeping in, just like the good ol' days (meaning, about three weeks ago). I still can't decide if I like Jimmy Fallon or not. But, as long as The Roots are pulling him along each night, I keep on watching.

Yesterday, Celal and I went down to Hollywood to the genetic counselor. She basically scared the pants off of me. We made a lovely cancer family tree. She mentioned something about Li Famini as a possibility (I'm not sure that it's spelled correctly because I refuse to look it up - it's really rare and it's not likely that I have it). But first is the test for BRCA1 and BRCA2, so I'm just going to start there and focus on that. She drew some blood and sent it off for a $3k genetic test and in four weeks we'll have the results. IF I test positive for either, it would have a lot of meaning. It would (1) answer the "why?" I have cancer (genetics), (2) show that I am also susceptible to various other cancers including ovarian and pancreatic, among others - so I would know to closely monitor for those, (3) allow my younger cousins to appropriately monitor themselves knowing there is a genetic tie, (4) help the oncologist to plan my post-op therapy, since there are certain treatments that work better for the genetic-based breast cancer, and (5) rule out that Chinese famine disease that I don't want to know about. This all sounds swell, but seriously, do I want to know all of these things?? We asked her, "What is the best-case scenario?" and her answer -- there isn't one. Wow, thanks, I feel so much better! Anyway, 70% of breast cancers are environmental, without a known cause, so there's always a good chance of that. I suppose that comes with it's own drawbacks as well but it sounds a lot less scary to me than the other two options.

Today was the fun part where I got to find out about the actual boob job. We went for the first visit with the plastic surgeon. We sat in the (expletive) waiting room for 90 minutes, and it was a full two hours before he checked me out. By the time he came into the examination room, we had moved onto mindless chatter about my mom's bowling-ball ("marbled") bathtub and were laughing pretty maniacally when he walked in. (Yet another group of doctors to think we are nuts.) Anyway, I originally had it set in my head (with no prior research) that I wanted no implants. I heard they could use fat from the love handles or somewhere else to do the reconstruction. This sounded grand and lovely until we discussed details. He said the fat would come from my stomach, squeezed up the left side and showed the size of a new tit. Noo thank you! I surely have a little pudge belly, but not enough to make for adequate cleavage. He also said the scar would run from hip-to-hip and they might even cut into muscle. All the way around, this is not the route for me.

So, option two is this. After the oncology surgeon does her mastectomy business, he will jump in and place tissue expanders, which will stay in about 6 to 8 weeks. They are like small implants that he can gradually blow up through a metal port (with once-a-week saline injections) so that my skin stretches enough to put in implants. Once they are to the size I want, I will have another surgery (an outpatient procedure) to install the permanent implants. And after that heals, I get to go pick up my nipples in the drive-thru. Then, it's off to a tattoo artist for the coloring. (Should I go with a rouge or perhaps pink dewberry?)

Anyway, his portfolio is impressive, and I finally learned that I won't have a giant Zorro scar across my chest as I had previously imagined. I still fear waking up from surgery without a limb, but maybe that's just a Freudian delusion related to losing my precious breasts.