So Anne came home the same day of her surgery (Tues).  If you think that seems awfully quick,  so did I!  But seeing as how her sleeping arrangements would be much better at home (staying overnight in a surgery center is something like trying to sleep in an airport), she welcomed the chance to begin recuperating in her own bed. 

Understandably, she’s sore and uncomfortable, which my tough cookie of a wife has to be reminded is normal after something as major as a bilateral mastectomy. (Side note: why does the third day always seem to be the hardest?!)

Her surgery went smoothly, I’m happy to report. As you may remember, there were a couple or more cancerous lymph nodes needing surgical removal, the sum and scope of which only being determined  during the actual surgery. Thankfully, her surgeon only had to remove three, which is a wonderfully low number. We rejoiced. 

What we are still waiting for is the pathology report. Microscopic examination of her breast tissue will tell us if there are any cancerous cells lurking. Boy do we pray not. THAT comes back clear and you are going to this guy doing high kicks, cartwheels, and street dancing. 

Flowers, notes, and food have shown up this week, soul-giving tangible reminders that we have the bestest friends in the world. Thank you guys. Tearing up as I type. 

Pray for us. The road is long, dusty, and hard. There’s still radiation. Eventual reconstruction. And recovery. 

Anne is so eager to start feeling better. I love her spirit. But I told her this week, “Don’t forget you were given poison all summer long, love. And now you just had major surgery. You should feel like sh#%.”

Yes, I did say that. 

I hate cancer.