Well, I think the shock of my initial diagnosis is starting to wear off and it’s not pretty. I could rival a teenage girl with the myriad of emotions I feel in a span of 15 minutes. Laughing one minute then crying the next has become my new normal. And I feel like in this house full of boys, it’s easy to win the ‘one of these is not like the others’ game.
This morning I spent time with 3 of my closest friends. We sat on the couch and simply downloaded all of the most recent information. It’s one thing to have talked and texted about it, but it’s a whole other thing to physically hug each other and be in the presence of friends who really love you. Have I mentioned how much I love my people? The Lord has truly blessed me with the most amazing support team, and I already feel so protected, so loved, so cared for, and so covered in prayer. It was a great way to recharge and refuel for the appointment I had this afternoon.
Around 3pm today, Trevor and I went to see a plastic surgeon who specializes in reconstructive surgery as we explore which treatment option we will choose. Let me just say that I was completely overwhelmed after that. The physician could NOT have been nicer and more informative, but halfway through the appointment I found myself thinking, “this really can’t be happening to me.” I tried to stay focused and present as the doctor spoke, but at some point I think I zoned out. It’s funny to me how your brain literally knows when it’s had enough and it shuts down. Like SHUTS DOWN. (That’s why you always bring back up people to your appointments.) Not only do I need to decide IF I am going to have a mastectomy, but also what TYPE of reconstruction to have. Apparently there are several types of reconstruction approaches to choose from as well. Who knew? I think it’s like when you go into a bakery for a simple chocolate chip cookie and they offer you about 10 different varieties of chocolate chip cookies (I’m looking at you, J.D.’s Chippery). NO. I don’t want to choose between semi sweet and milk chocolate. There is only ONE real chocolate chip cookie, people. Please don’t make me choose what type of reconstruction I’m going to have.
Needless to say, I came home and immediately crawled into bed. That has unfortunately been my go to lately. PJ’s at 5pm and I’m not apologizing for it. Sweet Trevor came and got in bed with me as I started to cry. Then we both laughed and repeated the phrase we have said approximately 3 or 4 times since my diagnosis. “We suck at being parents right now.” Our kids were who knows where for a brief period of time, but the house didn’t catch on fire and everyone still had their limbs when we finally reengaged so I’m counting that as a win.
There are so many ways that God is sustaining me through this process, which I will share in time. But I trust Him implicitly, and know that He will provide whatever I need each day. I was able to connect with Jennifer’s trial nurse, Nancy, today, as well as her oncologist, Dr. Osborne. It was so good for my soul to hear their voices, but it also brought back memories of a sad time not too long ago. Both had the sweetest and most encouraging things to say, but one thing Nancy said that has stuck with me all day is this…”Jennifer’s story does not have to be your story.”
And that got me thinking.
Everyone who travels this road (or ANY road) has their own unique story. And that is something that I find very comforting. I found myself singing Blessed Assurance today in the car. (Well truth be told, I didn’t know it was Blessed Assurance until I could sing my way through to the chorus. I was in great anticipation to find out which hymn it was even though I was raised a southern Baptist and should have TOTALLY known.) The actual words that came to mind first and resonated with my heart were “This is my story, This is my song. Praising my savior, all the day long.” We all have a story. And it doesn’t really matter what it is, it matters what we do with it. And I am committed to praising Him through mine.
Much love to you all and THANK YOU for praying,