First off, a huge thank you to everyone for the support, well wishes, and pure sunshine you’ve been sending my way during this slightly different kind of roller coaster. Your kindness has made me feel like I hit the jackpot in the “awesome people” lottery and honestly, it’s been powerful enough to supercharge my healing. Who knew that love and prayers could pack more punch than chicken soup?

Now, let’s talk about Surgery Day.

It kicked off bright and early at 6 a.m. because apparently, miracles and joy don’t believe in reasonable start times. The morning felt like a nostalgic trip down memory lane, flashing back to my previous lumpectomy and my dad’s mastectomy two years ago. Oddly comforting, really. I thought, “If Dad got through this with a smile, I can pretend to be a functioning adult after this too.” His pain-free recovery turned out to be the best parental pep talk I’ve ever received.

The day moved along quickly, thankfully. G was there with me and witnessed the moment I became “radioactive” aka, getting the tracer injection that lights up your lymph nodes like a tiny Christmas tree. I swear, that was the most pain I’ve felt in ages. Two needles right beside the nipple, boom, instant agony. I joked that my breast was just getting revenge for not keeping her (even though, let’s be honest, she started it).

Then came the “blocker” saga: an IV scavenger hunt to find a vein. After multiple tries, I was oddly proud to be part of the training hospital experience. Listening to med students debate the best method was a real highlight. They kept asking if I knew which side was my right, and I genuinely had to think about it. Dear brain, what’s more confusing, those med students or the doctor’s tattoo on my upper arm that looks like a graffiti tag?

Then the big moment: the spinal needle. I was wheeled into the operating room, where about 12 professionals introduced themselves like a very earnest party planning committee. The surgeons returned to explain the plan, and when they asked if I had any questions, all I could blurt out was, “Please, plastic surgeon, don’t harvest any pubic hair for my new breast area.” Her face was priceless. I worried I’d offended her, so I added, “I read stories about people shaving their breasts…I was just worried…” She reassured me that would definitely not happen on her watch, leaving me feeling like an awkward goof but a relieved one.

The surgical team looked like they’d had a long day, and tension hung in the air thick enough to cut with a scalpel, probably thanks to how long the blockers were taking. Thankfully, the nurses stepped in with some serious Zen energy to keep the vibe calm. Before I knew it, I was out cold.

I woke up in recovery and was told everything had gone smoothly. The next couple of days were a caffeine-free, sleep-deprived blur of hourly checks and Doppler scans to confirm my blood was still in the game. It was exhausting, like a marathon in slow motion, but the care from the nurses was outstanding. I’m endlessly grateful for their expertise and compassion.

Today, I’m finally home after three hospital nights and getting stronger with each passing day. I marvel at my body, not in a conceited way, but with genuine awe. It’s been through the wringer: stomach opened, tissue rearranged, arteries rerouted, ribs adjusted, skin stretched, and more stitches and staples than I could count. And yet, I was up and walking the very next day. Apparently, I’m part superhero. 🙂

The one thing still bothering me is a persistent headache, likely sinus-related or a side effect from meds and anesthesia, but definitely not from my recent bodily adventures.

And let me tell you: my new breast looks incredible. We’re talking serious Architectural Excellence. My stomach? Never been flatter, thanks to some highly strategic tissue relocation. I’m walking around like a proud building inspector, admiring the new wing.

Bonus fun fact: my resident surgeon pointed out that the radiation tattoo I now see near my brand-new belly button was originally on my ribcage near my breast. We’ve got a full-on tattoo migration happening, a true walking art installation. How cool is that?

Bottom line: I am safe. I am healing. I am strong. And I am deeply loved. I feel like a million bucks, maybe even a couple million, considering the new “property value” I’m working with.

Thank you all for being part of this wild ride. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s stood by me every step of the way. Sending love to each and every one of you.