Tomorrow I go in for a mastectomy, port placement, and immediate reconstruction (if possible, if NOT then an “expander” is placed).
They tell me, odds are less than 5% I could actually die from complications. I’m “young,” healthy, whatever.
Odds are pretty small I could have breast cancer too.
These days, I don’t play the odds.
That’s why I’m writing this. (To say Hey JU! Thanks for keeping me company and sane (ok that last might be a stretch;)), especially on my husband’s long deployments. Thanks for the creative pushes, the arguments, the laughter. Just, thanks.)
And on that note, I finished writing small letters to my family, just in case tomorrow is my last sunrise.
And I realized while doing so that breast cancer shouldn’t have been the catalyst for such literary sentiment. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Not a single one. So, what happens if you die on the way home from work? While driving to the grocery store? Whatever? Are you content leaving the world, leaving your loved ones with the way things are right now?
So I penned, (typed) up notes to my husband and kids.
Sure I tell them I love them every single day. But I wanted to write something down for them to have, to hold, on the days I’m not around.
It’s not the real thing. But, it’s the best I have to offer once I’m gone.
Odds are, I will be fine.
Odds are, I will recover.
Odds are, I will live to die another day.
(to be continued, or, er, not).