Monster farts

I woke up early. I can feel my body vibrating. My fingers are buzzing with electricity. My jaw is tight. 

I sit alone in my darkened living room listening to the sun rise. I can see the pink and yellow shine through the cracks of the blinds but if you listen instead of simply looking you learn a lot more. Hear that? It’s the dawn of a new day.

My husband wakes to use the bathroom. He walks over and gives me a kiss on my forehead before returning to bed. 

He lets out a disgusting monster fart that makes my dog’s eyes water and says, “was that you?” Mother. Fucker. 

That was something his dad used to say. It was his dad’s birthday last week. He would have been 63. He passed 7 years ago. Before he saw his son build our home, before he met Tommy who was named after his father and before he could witness my transformation into a bad ass bitch. But I know he sees. And I know he approves. Hi papa. 

I slept all day Saturday. I don’t remember one moment of the day. ZZZ. 

I used to feel horror if I had a day when I just could no longer function and resolved to shutting down. I would feel the rise of the mom/wife guilt monster peering over my shoulder. YoU SlEpt ALL dAy?? Were the kids ok? Did they eat their mother fucking fruits and veggies during meals? Did they get a bath and read Shakespeare before bed?? BITCH. WHO CARES.

Right now this moment is yours. Right now your body, your mind says stop. What you’re going through is enough that you need to unplug and try again tomorrow.

The fear, anxiety, the unknown anticipation of my upcoming surgery feels heavy. I know it’ll “be all right” but will it? I know I’ll “do fine” but will I? I know “I’m strong” but am I?

Fuck. I feel moments of greatness and preparation peppered in with debilitating anxiety. I feel scared, mad, sad, glad one at a time and then all at once. 

I wrote letters to Steve, my parents and the kids. Not necessarily in case something goes wrong during surgery but so they have a personal message from me during this moment in time. I want them to know what they mean to me. Not in the obligatory this experience has changed me and I feel more enlightened so this is how I love you sense. But more of a personal connection to each of them. Hey. We did this together. You. And me. Can you believe it? Look at our strength. I know you love me and I love you. But we stood together, held each other up, and look at where we are. 

In the last few days I’ve felt the energy of a warm buzz in our home. Tommy nervously asks “when will they take your boobies mum?” I tell him I’ll have surgery on Wednesday and they’ll give me new and improved boobies bud don’t worry. He looks up with his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. He runs to Lilah sitting closely to her, he squeezes her arm and says “they’re taking mommy’s boobies Lilah.” 

Steve immerses himself in cleaning the house, doing laundry, taking out the trash, occasionally lifting weights, staying quiet, walking back and forth. I can see his brain running like a car that needs to be turned on but can’t be driven. 

Lilah is my right hand. She carries the torch without letting the weight get her down. She glows. I can see the stress in her eyes but she ain’t gat time to let it get in the way. She occupies her space with projects, drawing contests in magazines resulting in funds for her school. She holds Tommy’s hand and says, “I know bud. But if they didn’t take mama’s boobies then she would still have cancer and she wouldn’t be here at all.”

Today is the final day that I’ll spend in the only body I’ve ever known.

 New bewbs. 

I can look at it like the end result will be an upgrade but it’s an upgrade that I didn’t choose. 

How will the scars look? Will they travel directly across my breast like a newly paved road? Will I have nipples or will I have to wait months before I’m able to tattoo pale pink lumps onto my manufactured breast? How will they feel from the inside?

I’m not worried about the pain, or the tight feeling in my skin after the reconstruction. I’m not worried that I won’t wake up after surgery. It’s having to say goodbye which is the hardest part.  It’s like leaving a job you worked at for years, all of the friends you made, memories you shared now it’s time to leave and your life will forever be changed. And you’re not sure where you’re going from here but you can’t ever look back.

A friend once said, “Don’t wish your life away. Don’t wish it was Friday. Don’t wish it was over. Be in the now.” I’m not wishing the surgery was behind me. I’m not thinking ahead to whether or not I’ll require radiation. This is my life. This is today. And I love every minute of it. 

Monster farts and all.

New bewbs here I come.