Guess what everybody? We're still SHALLOW!

Doug and I were invited to a friend's birthday party that night, and I was dragging around the ugly little "plus one" that only we knew about...but since it doesn't eat or drink too much, I didn't think it would be a big deal to leave it off the guest list.

Chasing After the Elusive Dr. Plastic

I was awake, but didn't want to get out of bed. I must've stared at the ceiling for a good 15 minutes...cuddled with my dog for another 15, before rolling over to stare at the wall for another 10. The stack of plastic surgeons' business cards greeted me on the nightstand next to my phone...laying to rest any  denial I had left of my new situation and pending mental, physical and emotional breakdown.

February 24, 2010

That morning came quick and early.

I had no sooner booted my snoring husband out of bed, when my swollen eyes were blasted open by my favorite "hard" Rock tunes exploding from the iPod on the nightstand next to my head.

For a brief millisecond, the whole breast cancer thing seemed like a terrible nightmare...
but reality rudely slapped me in the face when my husband timidly crept in to the bedroom...
ears plugged and wincing, making sure that I was getting up.

February 23, 2010

I awoke determined not to spend another agonizing moment filled with worry. (just call me already...call me and tell me the good news so that I can get on with my life) I couldn't take it any more...so I spent the day absorbed in mundane house work. I had immersed my tired mind deep in my chores and got lost inside the Clorox bottle...I let the scrubbing bubbles wash the dark thoughts from my head.

The Next 4 Days...

The biopsy was done on a Thursday, which stretched out the not knowing over a very nerve wracking weekend. Luckily for me, I had the calm, sweet reassurance from my oh-so-caring husband. "Stop worrying, prophet of doom...you said it yourself...you're a hypochondriac. It's nothing. Just like before. You're getting all worked up about nothing."

February 18, 2010

I had read up on some random stuff about the BRCA genes, and my level of worry had always been elevated. However, my gynecologists always assured me that the gene mutations were less likely to be passed down through the father's side, and for that reason no one ever saw the need in having me take the BRCA test.

Early February 2010

The blood work from my annual checkup was good...and would it not make sense that if you have cancer, your blood work would come back riddled with all sorts of "not so good"? That in and of itself assured me how silly I was that I had begun to let my anxieties get the best of me again.

December 2009...January 2010

My days had become shackled to search engines and held hostage by the big, nagging question that was up in flashing lights....

What the FUCK?

Hmmm...is it a cyst?
Ahhh...a fatty necrosis?
Oooh oooh...this is IT...the fibroadenoma!! That's all it is...I've got a simple fibroadenoma!

WHEW!

As I bounced and twirled my new little "friend" between the index and middle fingers of my right hand, I exhaled with a huge relief.

What the...??????

It was a cool, crisp winter's day...what we here in SW Florida call a "chamber of commerce day".
I hadn't a care in the world!
I was thrilled that the Prozac was working its magic, and I had recently gotten quite fit-ish, and lost 10 pounds.

Celebrating my new figure, and still clipping tags from a month's long shopping binge (discount, of course), I was gearing up to go after my long procrastinated dream of becoming a kick ass professional makeup artist to the Stars!!!

…But, pink is sooooo NOT my color

I had been taking Fluoxetine (Prozac) since October '09 to subdue the terrifying panic attacks I'd been having for the past couple years.
My doctor had been offering this therapy to me for a while, but I was insistent that I could "mind fuck" myself out of an attack if I trained my brain to do so.
But after too many failed attempts, the panic attacks had become incredibly frequent, and had grown far too intense to ride out alone.