Mr. Finian goes to Pre-K

Anyone that knows Finian knows that he can be... a lot. He has big, big feelings. He lets you know about these big feelings - and it's usually your fault. 

He has been so happy this summer with outdoor time, smashing things with hammers, searching for bugs, swimming in the pool (yelling "1, 2, 3 applesauce and jumping in) and learning how to ride a bike without training wheels. 

Finian is our COVID quarantine child. He was shy of a year when we locked down and I stopped leaving the house for work. It's hard to know whether it's his personality or the circumstances - but it's fair to say he's been the most challenging. Lots of separation anxiety when he was in the nursery at the school where I teach. Lots of stranger danger. Lots of general mayhem!!! He has very little patience for us as parents and like I said, his feelings are big. 

Big feelings can also be positive, though. We always thought he was a touch angry before he could talk - simply because he really wanted to express himself. He cries deeply when his feelings are hurt and often needs to mend with a hug before he can carry on. He wants personal connection for every minute of the day. 

All of these things made us feel really apprehensive about preschool. We imagined tearful tantrums in the parking lot and constant dread about the next school day. Part of it was my own making because I signed him up (excitedly) for the full day program. A lot of our friends said, "oh man, how's he going to do?!?" 

I am happy to report that now, in our third week of school, he's doing wonderfully. His teacher is fantastic and engaging - it takes a special skill of distraction to get those nervous 4 year olds in the door. We have had a few mornings where Finian says, "I'm nervous" or "it's going to be a long day". I've also bribed him with the promises of bubble gum and the Dollar store after school. I'm at that point of parenting where I don't care if that's the right approach - it's what works. 

The best part has been some pretty epic stories about school. Straight up lies. 😂 First, he had a friend named Drip Dropp (which is an awesome hip hop name) - but now if we ask about Drip... he gets mad that we mention it. Because DUH, that wasn't real. He also supposedly has a friend named Jake in his class that can also drive. And someone named Grim... who I think is really Graham. 

My friend Sharon can bear witness to the true Finian when he is let out of school at 2:35. First, he was nice and said hello. Then asked if I had watermelon gum. (I did not.) He then threw his backpack on the ground, said "I'm not leaving. Go get me gum." I was able to drag him to the car where Sharon was waiting. Somehow, magically, in sync with the universe, she had watermelon gum!!! And he was happy again until he got annoyed with us for "making him smile". 

So, we can't really win for long - but we're winning in the school department for now. 

And we're really in his best season. This little guy loves Halloween and we're making the rounds to every retail establishment to press buttons, look at creepy spiders and buy costume accessories. 

The Before, The After and Now

It's been a little over two weeks since my double mastectomy and I'm feeling ok. The day of surgery -  I was nearly hyperventilating as we checked in at our arrival time, I didn't think the "after" would be anything close to ok. I was in full mourning mode and couldn't believe this was real life. Couldn't believe I was willingly walking into a hospital and signing papers that said yes, I'd like my breasts removed. 

I think I said this about chemotherapy before - that the high volume of people being treated is a little shocking. SO so busy. And the same can be said for the surgical wing at Roswell Cancer center. My surgeon, I believe, had at least three big procedures and I was the last of the day. We saw her talking to the family of a woman getting a lumpectomy and then sat with our nerves firing for the next couple of hours. They call you back to get you changed into a gown, talk to a nurse, pee in a cup (to make sure you're not pregnant!) And then lie there, listening to rows of people talking with their families and their doctors. 

It's a bit much to sit there for a few extra hours, waiting with dread. Looking at the familiar shape of my body under clothes... Not really knowing how to officially say goodbye. 

(Because we're nosy and because we had no choice for privacy - we listened intently as the woman one curtain over was talking with her sons about recovery. She wanted to know if she could have her nightly beer and to eat the leftovers of her anchovy pizza. Gregory may or may not have called her Grouchella... Which gave us some levity in such a depressing situation. I do hope that woman was able to get her beer, at least maybe a day later.) 

Unfortunately for them but fortunately for me, I have several friends that have gone through this surgery or one like it. I asked lots of questions about how they prepared mentally and how they said goodbye to a part of themselves. These women had such good advice and are on the horizon, over this terrible hurdle and that gives me hope. I wrote two letters to my breasts - one that I kept and one that I burned in our firepit. I talked to them about the approximate 30 years we've been together and how I'm sorry they had to be sacrificed for the greater good. I said thank you for the years of service they provided as I breastfed 5 children. Thank you for all of those hours spent cradling my children close to me. 

I was tearful as we waited for my turn to be wheeled into the surgical room and be put out of consciousness. My surgeon drew a photo of where my incisions would be and made sure I was content with my decision to remove both breasts. I believe Gregory had the harder day, sitting there, waiting for updates.

My surgery went as well as possible. They removed all breast tissue and only 3 lymph nodes. They do an immediate test for evidence of cancer and there was none in my sentinal nodes - so my surgeon only took ones that looked suspect. My later pathology confirmed that there was no remaining cancer so I can breathe a sigh of relief. 

My surgeon gave these updates to Gregory around 5 pm but I didn't get transferred to a room until about 9 pm. My memory is very hazy, but I do know I was crying A LOT coming out of anesthesia. The nurse was handing me tissue after tissue and every time she said, "We'll get you upstairs and to see your husband"... I would break down again and say "...sob...my husband...sob". I was like a little kid who just wanted to see someone familiar. 

As for recovery: the pain is not as bad as one would expect. The most annoying part of the process is the drains put in to help alleviate pressure. They sting and are very uncomfortable. I'm sure the swelling and risk of seromas were worse before the common practice of putting in drains... But it sure as hell isn't pleasant having open wounds on your chest with drainage tubes that you end up wearing in the world's worst fanny pack. (They are pictured below.) 

About five days after surgery, the bulb at the end of one of my drains was no longer holding suction and I could hear the whistling sound nurses had warned us about. I must have dislodged it during sleep because (1) I was sleeping like C-3PO and (2) I haven't slept successfully on my back in about a million years. We went into the weekend clinic where one of the surgeons was able to ummm, push it back in (🤮) and give me another stitch to help hold it in place. 

The drain on my left side was removed last week and I should get the last one removed at my next appointment on the 11th. I thought it would be horrible to have it removed - but they basically pull it out with your exhale of breath and the site closes up as a scab. 

I've been using these pink microbead pillows to stay comfortable as I can feel my nerve endings working again. Most of my chest area is numb, which sucks for the future, but is helpful in recovering from major trauma. My muscles are tight and while I'll work this out with some physical therapy, it's unknown how this will feel going forward. Most of my right underarm is completely numb and while my skin feels like it's chafing, it's not - I think that's just a side effect of my skin trying to heal itself. 

Here I am, with a new shape to my body, tingling nerves and about a quarter inch of hair on my head - trying to face a new reality. I honestly feel better than I expected. What's done is done - I can't turn the decision over and over in my head because it's, well, over. I did it. I'm still me. 

My chest certainly doesn't look the same, with some long dark scars - but it's still my skin. If you can imagine two deflated balloons... Well, that's me right now. All of this skin has been saved to give me options for reconstruction later. Unfortunately I have to look at a work-in-progress for maybe the next six months - but I trust my medical team when they say this is the best course. I still need radiation which causes big changes to your skin. They can't "fix" me and risk my skin changing or devices like implants or expanders being damaged or rejected by my body. Everything needs to heal before I can move into my next surgery. 

I'm sure I'll write another post about my research into what I think I'll do next. Some surgeries are quicker than others and while I'm still healing, I am not in the best place to make good decisions about the next time I want to be cut open. It's still hard to see the accurate "after", that comes after all of the bruises and scars fade. All I have is now, where every day - I get a little bit more movement, a little more distance from the emotional pain and I can still write this blog and express my feelings.