“Yes they’re fake. The real ones were trying to kill me!”

The decision was made. Surgery date was set; December 29th, 2016 at 1 pm. Bilateral nipple sparing mastectomy and reconstruction.

I week prior to the surgery, I was getting scared. Terrified. “What if I die on the table?” is what I would ask my husband. He reassured me that we would see one another as soon as I woke up from the surgery. I wondered if I could change my mind. Day in and day out, I would stare at my little breasts in the mirror. Yes, they were little, but I was happy and comfortable with them. Days before the surgery, I was waking up in a panic searching for my breast. I spent that morning in bed crying.

Eventually I had to talk myself out of bed and convince myself that everything would be alright. And everything went more than alright.

The day of my surgery, I laid in the room with my husband and three of my sisters. My Surgeon walked in and informed everyone in the room about the procedure. (I have to write a separate blog entry on my doctors) His bedside manner was none like any other. He held my hand and reassured me that day would be the day he would be removing “that thing” (the cancer).

They drugged me up; I remember them wheeling me out of the room, and the last thing I remember was seeing my little sister. Then I woke up with a crap load of people in my room then realized I had new boobs. Bigger boobs.

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