Surprises galore today. First Ed calls me to say, I have the day off, so I'm coming home since I have an audition for a film on Friday. Yipee!!! Good! This will be a good day. I get Ian off to school, look in on Mom where I find her dead to the world, looking as if she hadn't moved from the moment her head hit the pillow. I go in to check email, make coffee, and much to my mistake go to Farmville and my new online aquarium, way too addictive for my own good. When mom gets up we talk and talk, so good to talk. I show her all the pictures I've meant to send but never did, and the next thing you know, Ed is home, and I'm running late to get my hair done for the last time before I lose it all. Mom goes with me while Ed works on his audition. I love Tony! my hair stylist. He is amazing with color and only once a year I allow myself that luxury. A TRUE SPA DAY!!! Relaxing, fun, pleasant. Not like the "Spa Days" of the past month. No needles, no squishing, no weird positions with the outcome a nasty bruise and a scar. We laugh, and gossip about the things you gossip about when one goes to the salon. Celebrities and their issues. Bragging about the kids and what they are up to. Tony supportive and loving, saying don't worry we'll make you look beautiful even when it comes time to say goodbye to the hair. The dye goes on, the wait, the rinsing of the dye, the glorious head massage, and then to the chair to cut the hair. What I thought was a message from Ian turned out to be a message from Dr. Axelrod. OH CRAP! What does that mean? I don't want to check voice mail, but I draw up the nerve from the depleted stores of stoney strength I have left, and check voice mail. Remember a few posts ago when I said, "The difference between a good day and a bad day is the message your radiologist leaves you."? Well, how quickly a GREAT day gets turned into a bad day. I listen to the message, and let out an audible "F*ck" This sucks! I want to cry, break down into gales of weeping. The message was bold and just plain out there, which I totally appreciate, because getting that "Can you call me even if it's after 4pm" Call just plain ol' sucks raw eggs. So Dr. Axelrod leaves this message. "Hi Melissa It's Dr. Axelrod. I was just going over your chart preparing for your surgery and I'm sorry to say this, no I hate to tell you this, but I have to take part of your left breast. That calcification was noted as a papaloma, and although it is benign it is still a papaloma and we must be vigilant. I know this is not great news, but hey, you'll be out, so it's no big deal, really. Call me at ***-***-**** if you can today so we can discuss it. Bye, sorry." Okay, a triple lumpectomy. Is there a special? Buy two get one free? Cuz' I'd be all down for that. After that message the tone changes. Reality broke through the sacred doors of the Salon. It is against code to let reality into a salon while getting your hair done. UNFAIR! I CRY! UNFAIR!!!!
Just when I was coming to terms with the prognosis, the surgery, the disfigurement of my right breast, the left breast intrudes with the proverbial, "It's no fair! No on pays attention to me. I want a lumpectomy, too!" Mr. Lumpy you are an evil bastard! and I'm not afraid to call you what you are. I'm so mad now. Three lumpectomies, a sentinel node removal, lypoma removal, and most likely armpits lymph nodes to boot, and 23 hours to recover before I go home to the insanity of my home. Sore and unable to lift both of my arms. AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom and I kiss Tony and the gang bye bye, and head home to drop the bomb on Ed and Ian. Ed knew already, Dr. Axelrod already told him. Ian sat in stunned silence. We'll get through this, but the ka-ching of the cash register is chiming as my surgery bill will no doubt increase from $10,800 to what? $11,000? What does a lump cost? Who gives a f*ck. Whatever. I call Dr. Axelrod, set in my mind of whatever has to be done for the greater good, and deal with the rest later. She seemed more bummed out than I was. I suppose it must be so very difficult to have to call a woman to add more bad news to her already burdened mind, and it made me feel for her. We agreed and I told her not to worry. How's that for weird? I'm good with that because really, how awful would it be if she only did the right breast, I went through all that radiation and chemo and herceptin only to have the papaloma turn into MRS. Lumpy? And need to start all this sh*t all over again?! No. I'm glad she laid it on the line. I'm glad she is the best damn surgeon in NYC and I have her. What doctor does that? Goes through a chart, all the films, everything with a fine toothed comb, searching to make sure she'll get it all, every damn little bit? Dr. Deborah Axelrod, that's who. So bring on the twilight juice and let's get our freak on and party Mr. Lumpy and his trashy papaloma relatives out of me. Bring it! Just get it ALL! the first time.
We headed up to Midtown to have dinner with Gabby and Seymour. Love Them! We had dinner, surprised them with Ed, and enjoyed our meal lightly textured with the reality of the day. It fell easily back into the relaxed, good natured day it was meant to be; the doctor's news rapidly falling behind me into the already set text for Monday. After dinner, we parted from our dear friends and walked over to Times Square to marvel in seeing our daughter, My mom's granddaughter on the big billboard over the Toys-R-Us building and laughed at watching her do her Beyonce dance on the billboard over GMA. That's my girl up there, looking larger than life. My pride eclipsing the very bad part of my day. Life is good, no matter what. My son is now on the Fencing Team at school, my daughter is in what is most likely going to be a HUGE hit television show, and I have my mom here with me, and my hubby is home for a day (the unexpected pleasure).
I sit here in the dark as my son snores quietly away, and the cats romp in their nocturnal way, while I hear my mom prepping for bed, no doubt getting her latest book out for the bedtime read. Ed is most likely already snoozing away, and I'm left to what's left of the day. It's almost Midnight. Sarah has called freaked out by a spider that was huge on her balcony, so we cheered her on as she bravely, as brave as she could have been, sprayed the Raid at it. It jerked and fell to the comforter on the chair outside, twitched and then was dead. Her spider, my Mr. Lumpy. One in the same. Her demon an easy one to face down, I hope I can be as brave facing down Mr. Lumpy. Sarah saves me once again. If she can face down the worst thing in her mind ~ big, really big nasty poisonous looking spiders, then I can do this. I can and I will.
Four days and counting down. 80 hours. Just 80 more hours before the landscape of my body will be changed forever. Carved away. I can do this. For the greater good. For the greater good...of me.
Nite!
Love and Light!
Melissa
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