Louie, Louie, You Gotta Go

Yep, the left reconstruction (introduced soooooo long ago as Louie) will be removed on Tuesday, September 14, first thing in the morning.  The doctor is also going to remove as much scar tissue (I think) as he can at that time, and it's a short procedure - I believe he said an hour.  Plus, it's not general anesthesia, just IV sedation, so we hopefully will be home by noon.

  Part of the reason I didn't write sooner is because as of a few days after my last post (mid-August) I made the appointment to get checked out and set the surgery date, and then that got put off.  But, while we were on the phone they booked me for this procedure on September 8th.  Then we actually went for the appointment and we were told that September 8th was not available, but the 15th was, at a free-standing facility nearby.  The next day, there was a message on the answering machine saying that the insurance company wouldn't pay if I had the procedure at that facility, so the doctor's office was checking into using the hospital instead.  (I already knew the hospital is on my plan, but nobody asked me.)

Ralph is doing great.  I guess that's good.  However, after Tuesday I'll have to wait about 6 weeks until the surgery to relocate a muscle from my back to my front (!) and in the meantime I hope to deal gracefully with my physical self being far from symmetrical.

My psychological self is doing okay, too.  I have now been told by two medical professionals that the dosage of anti-depression medication I've been using is pretty much a "placebo dose" and you know what?   I have no reason to discard an invisible, inexpensive crutch until I'm ready.  As I've said before, it just doesn't matter to me right now if it's the medication, or this wonderful woman Luba who I get to talk to sort of regularly, or if time and the hectic work schedule is healing those particular wounds.  I need to feel this good to get on with it.  I still need to meet with the oncologist to begin my tamoxifen, and that has the risk of depression (among other delightful potential side effects,) but it's got to be started or I'll never move on.

Today is Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish new year (literally, the "head of the year") and last night the Board of Trustees representative talked about our own personal "construction" projects.  I think he was speaking metaphorically, but I leaned over and said to Rod, "That's kind of funny; I think I've got one of those already."

Also last night, Rabbi Mosbacher asked us to think about what we would write in a note to our 20 year-old selves from our current vantage point as over 30 year-olds - some sage advice to take advantage of youth, to grab more out of life while we were young, to party more (or party less! )  At first I thought I might have told my younger self (warn my younger self?) that  this thing would happen. 

But I remember four years ago, in November of 2006 when I was diagnosed the first time and I had to have the lumpectomy and the radiation and it all seemed impossible, and I cried on Alex's shoulder that I just couldn't "do one more hard thing."  Well, there turned out to be a lot more of those things than I could have warned myself about, and it's pretty amazing how much you can handle when you have the love and support of so many.

So, unless I get another telephone call telling me that the procedure for Tuesday is being delayed yet again, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.  As I have said more than once for the past couple of days, if I can manage my head and manage my pain (what the medical profession calls "discomfort" - hah!) then the rest is just inconvenient.