1818

1,818 days.  That is how long it has been since I was diagnosed with breast cancer a second time, and how long the road over, under, around, and through reconstruction and treatment has been.  As of April 9, I will be able to say that the cancer has not recurred for five years, which is something of a custom among people who cannot medically call themselves "cancer-free."

183 days - that's how long it's been since I have written in this blog.  So, you may ask, what prompts this entry?  

Well, last fall I met with Dr. D'Amico and had the surprising conversation about new implants.  And there we left it.  In the intervening months, our health insurance has moved from United HealthCare (who I knew how to work with by now) to Cigna (who I definitely had NO idea how to work with.)  So last winter Marie (Dr. D'Amico's "in-charge" off all things financial) told me that we couldn't do anything until we had Cigna officially and I could get her an ID card, which was January 1.  Promptly after New Year's I faxed a copy of the card over and called the office. 

Since I had met again with him in October, and had decided to go ahead if the (new) insurance company would cover the surgery, all that was left was telephone calls.  Marie called and then the nurse called, and I told them all the times I could NOT have surgery and be incapacitated or otherwise hampered by recovery dos and don'ts (BHSS retreat, RAC trip, Passover seder preparation) and the date was set - April 7, 2015.  It seemed like FOREVER until April.

But a couple of weeks ago the paperwork came in the mail - all the signatures, witness signatures, dates, and initials, plus an appointment for a pre-surgical physical and bloodwork.  Done, done, done.  And now it's April 1 and last night was my last Advil and tomorrow is my first special washing with the antibacterial soap and now it's REALLYREALLYREALLY real.

I've got my Passover supplies and my timeline spreadsheet and that, at least, is under control until it isn't.  The sponge cake could fall, the chopped liver could be "too" something or "not enough" something, the matzah balls could sink...and I wish I could turn off the other worries just for a couple of days.  Just to get my head into the Passover prep game, get revved up about enjoying the evening with my family, and then enjoying the second seder with my family and my friends at BHSS.

I did not take this decision lightly.  Much of the fat that was transplanted to help with the hollows from the mastectomy has, sadly, died, and instead of melting away and leaving, it has surrounded itself with scar tissue.  These are lumps that, oddly enough, are painful.  (Ironic, isn't it?  Completely numb in the reconstruction area except the stupid dead fat thingies.)  At any rate, this tissue is called "encapsulated" and some of the surgery is called a capsulectomy for that reason.  There is also an "implant exchange" (mentioned in an earlier post) and a "flap revision" which I don't know what that is but I'm guessing it has something to do with adjusting everything so it looks all even and (someday) attractive and natural.

Today I heard myself telling someone that it was going to be a good thing, and since the insurance was covering it, not too bad in the expense department, although our new deductible and out-of-pocket are bigger than they used to be.  Am I crazy?  Am I risking my life for a "bargain?"  Is this a bad decision?

I don't think so.  I think that anesthesia is safe, and I think I haven't had a problem with it in all the years I've been having surgeries.  I think that the lumps hurt, and I think I can see them in photos where I'm wearing clothing that is not even that "revealing."  I think the doctor is pretty damn good at his job.  But what do I know?  I know it is scary anyway.