After being poked and prodded and biopsied and MRI’d this week, it looks like my best option is a single mastectomy with reconstruction. So, it looks like it’s bye-bye, boobie. 

I feel very badly for my breast. I feel like I haven’t done enough for it in this life. I mean, sure, it’s known it’s fair share of attention and my husband is quite fond of it and its mate. But I never have flashed it at Mardi Gras. Or taken it to see Paris. Or bared it at a nude beach. It’s spent most of it’s life encased in a bra, getting poked by underwire and cursed by the dreaded underboob sweat. (Although, in the interest of full disclosure, it was wiping off the dreaded underboob sweat that led me to finding the lump that put me on this path: Respect the underboob sweat!)

I have weird visions of what a reconstructed breast will look like. For some reason, I keep picturing a Madonna-cone bra shape sitting next to my middle-aged, saggy, underboob sweat-soaked friend on the left side. I have since learned that it is the law in most states that insurance companies cover surgery on the unaffected breast in order to achieve a symmetrical appearance. (Must have missed that day in law school.) That certainly elicited a sigh of relief, as I was afraid of being left after surgery with cross-eyed boobs – one pointing straight ahead and the other pointing at my feet.

So my left-side will also get what my husband has affectionately termed a “freshening up.” He may be looking forward to that a little bit more than I am.

I was very excited at the reconstruction option that included taking fat from my abdomen to reconstruct my breast. I’m picturing a C-cup sized melon baller taking out a big scoop. And God knows, I’ve got plenty of abdomen to go around – if anyone needs implants, I’m happy to donate! Perhaps an ad on Craigslist:

Implant quality belly fat! FREE! Pick-up only!

People keep asking me how I feel about all of this. Frankly, I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I feel like I’ve been thrust into a role:

Now appearing as Breast Cancer Patient #1 – Meredith Vartuli!

I haven’t really cried, I haven’t really raged (Anthony may beg to differ) and I haven’t really asked Why Me? I guess it’s possible I won’t do any of those things, but it’s equally possible that five minutes after I post this blog, I’ll have an epic meltdown that will have the fine folks I work with calling the men in white coats. Of course, my kids are on winter break this week, so a breakdown engendered by all the family togetherness is also possible.

But since everyone keeps asking how I am, I will say that I am overwhelmed. Not by my diagnosis, but by the outpouring of love and support. I’m touched and amazed by the offers of prayers and supports from people from every stage of my life – from people I knew in elementary school to the parents of the kids my children know in elementary school. I’ve read lots of articles that talk about how isolating cancer is, but how can I feel alone when every time I pick up my phone or check my email or log on to Facebook there’s another message of support?

I can’t thank you all enough for being there for me. And I can’t imagine ever being able to repay you for your kindness.

Oh, and before I forget. Have you made your mammogram appointment yet????

Much love – MLV

**Mad props to Cara Stevens for the title of this post. As soon as she said it, I knew I would use it as a blog title. Thanks!