Here I am.  The night before surgery.  It is quite surreal.

Clear lymph nodes.  Clear lymph nodes.  Clear lymph nodes.

We saw the plastic surgeon this morning.  He wrote all over my chest with a marker.   Guidelines for surgery.  Mortifying.

But it made me wonder about the scrubby soap that the hospital sent me in the mail.  I’m supposed to scrub myself in the morning and keep the soap out of my eyes and ears to avoid damage.  DAMAGE?  What the heck kind of soap is this?

The plastic surgeon told me just to dab with the scrubby soap.  This, in my opinion, defeats the scrubby purpose of scrubby soap but I guess the guidelines he wrote on me trump a good scrub.

I have been feisty today.  I am acting the same way I behave the day before I run a marathon.  Kind of moody. Kind of crabby.  Kind of snarky.  Not much fun but I’m still kind of funny.

Tomorrow begins in the nuclear medicine department.  Shots of radioactivity in my boobs.  I can’t wait.

Then we head to the hospital.  Check in and then surgery.

I’m scared but I’m ready to start the  cancer marathon.  I am prepared.  I have supplies.  I’m good.  I hope.

I hope they give me some really good drugs.  I deserve some really good drugs.

When I was first diagnosed, I knew I wanted to be open about my cancer experience however I didn’t expect the outpouring of love and kindness from everyone.  It has been such a blessing.

My dad battled cancer for twenty years before he passed away in 2011.  He was very private about his battle.  He didn’t want people to know he was sick.  Even toward the end.  I tried my best to respect that and I know that the approach was what my dad needed.  He was a very strong man.

I also knew that keeping my cancer a secret would have probably made me feel even sicker.  I just let everything out there all the time and I can’t see why this cancer thing  should be any different.

And also, I am terrified. I am not the biggest social butterfly.  Honestly, people exhaust me.  But I’ve realized that while I spend some of my best nights at home in my p.j’s with a good book, I do need people.  I need support.  I can not tell you how much the support of my friends and family has meant to me.  Truly, it means the world.  I believe in love.  I believe in giving people positive thoughts and good vibes even when it’s the only thing I can give to them.  And here, at the beginning of my journey, I need every bit of positivity.  I need you.

And you need each other.  It shouldn’t take a cancer diagnosis to reach out to someone in need.  We all have stuff we go through and it’s important we try to be there for each other.  Kumbahya and all that.  But it’s true!  It’s so true.  We need each other.

Reaching out can be so simple.  Some people have sent me cards in the mail.  It lights up my day.  Cards are such a wonderful way to let people know how we feel about them.  When was the last time you sent a card to someone you love?  I admit, this is something I myself am not good at but from now on, I am going to make a bigger effort to send as many cards as I can (once I can move my arms again).  Maybe tomorrow you could send a card to someone you haven’t talked to in awhile or someone you miss or someone who is hurting.  It doesn’t have to be me.  Just someone.  Someone you care about.  Someone you need.

Tomorrow really is the first big step.  The needle biopsy, the MRI, the consultations, they were all just the prologue to this journey.  It all begins tomorrow.

I wonder how this will change me.  I hope I can be strong.  I hope this isn’t my last hopeful post.

Tonight I’m signing off with a very cheesy song that has inspired me in the past when I ran marathons to fight cancer.  Now the fight is for my children, my husband, my family, my friends.  This time the fight is for my life.

Wish me luck.