Last night I dreamt that it was the day of my surgery.  I was already checked into the hospital and in my very glamorous hospital attire.   I was surrounded by family, a few friends, and a random selection of people that I recall flashing my pert, early-to-mid 20’s boobs in order to be cast on an MTV show.  (Not really, but kind of.  It could happen.)

In my dream, however, there next was a very devastating moment.  We were all embracing.  I was going through the assembly line of emotional supporters, taking in words of encouragement and well wishes.  Everyone in my family was telling me everything would be “ok”.   Mike was telling me that he loves me very much and that our girls were being very well taken care of and safe at home.  Then a guy that I had a somewhat deep, unrequited love with in my early 20’s told me (jokingly), “Don’t worry about losing your boobs.  They’re on their way out anyway.  It’s a good time to swap ‘em out.”

Now that I am awake, lucid, and recalling this dream, it is funny.  This is something that I am truly learning to love about myself.  That no matter how anxious, emotional, and neurotic I get, my sense of humor pops up.  I think it’s a fat-kid defense thing that has survived my many attempts at self inflicted, permanent brain damage.  I like that amidst being in the throes of this very strange, very emotional and scary dream last night, my subconscious lets a joke through.   And, also, that I tried to tell myself that I don’t need to totally mourn my boobs.  Because, honestly, the air went out of the tires once I started breastfeeding twins.

By having this prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, I am moving on to something better. But right now it doesn’t feel better.  It feels scary, intimidating, and like a breeding ground for a whole new level of self-image insecurity.  I am worried about the pain of both the mastectomy and reconstruction, as well as the effects (and side effects) of being on pain medication.  I am worried about the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks that I will not be able to hold on tight to my daughters, hug them, pick them up, or play with them.  I am sad about missing the leaps and strides that they are taking every single day in growth and development because I’ll have to rest my body,  “take it easy,” and not go with them on their regular, somewhat mundane, daily outings.

I hope that while I am stuck at the hospital recovering, missing my family, trying to not to freak out about being alone in a place that I dread, wishing pain and discomfort away, that my drug addled mind (please, please, please let it be drug addled!) let’s one of these quips slip out.  They say laughter is the best medicine.  I just hope it isn’t one of those crazy, riotous types of laughter.  Because I’ll have just had a good portion of my anterior plane sliced and diced…and the last thing I want to do is split a stitch up in this bitch.  Oooh, snap.