Angels & Demons

My exchange surgery is scheduled for Friday. Today I have my pre-op appointment with Dr. McAndrew. The nurse takes my blood as usual and I amazingly don't wait too long for the doctor. She and I discuss how I've been feeling and my blood results (all normal). She asks when I'm having my exchange surgery and I tell her it's Friday and this is supposed to be my pre-op appointment. She fills out the necessary paperwork and within no time I'm driving home. Her office calls while I'm in the car. It's Claudia, her nurse. "Sharon, you didn't see me on your way out," she says. I respond that I didn't know I was supposed to. "We didn't know this was your pre-op appointment and we have to draw more blood. Please come back before Friday." Fuck. So annoying. I hate having my blood drawn and twice in one week sucks. I'm not sure why it's so hard for my doctors to speak to each other.

I get home to a very tired, but not sleeping house. Miles, at age 2, has decided he doesn't need to nap anymore. Only, he really does for us to be sane. He's screaming that his nap is over, he doesn't want to rest, his lips are dry and he needs Aquaphor, he has to go to the potty and anything else he can think of that might get me to come into the room. It doesn't work, but he does wake Baron up who will now want to go to bed at 5. I really would have thought that cancer would have made me less of a sleep nazi, but no such luck. Lack of sleep still makes me want to cry. The only upside is that both boys are asleep by 630.

Boris and I spend part of the night reading a booklet by the manufacturer of my soon to be new implants. I have to acknowledge reading it. It's full of all of the downsides and diseases the implants "may" cause. Leaking silicone is just the tip of the iceberg. Apparently, women with silicone implants are not only at an increased risk of suicide (although I personally think it's because depressed women get implants to feel better and then end up still being depressed just with bigger boobs), but are also at an increased risk of getting just about every cancer on earth. Fucking fabulous. I read the list of horrors to Boris. "Oh good," I tell him "I'm also at an increased risk for getting brain cancer, lymphoma and leukemia. The booklet says they have no idea what the correlation is. Seriously. Read this." He smiles and tells me I'll be fine as he reads the booklet. I really have no choice so I guess I should get over it.

I question Dr. Slate for the 245th time about my new implants. I remind him to make my boobs as small as possible and ask (again) how long I have to wait before picking up the boys. "One month," he says. I don't know why I ask because I'm not going to listen. There's no way I'm not lifting them for that long. One week, maybe.

The next 2 days go on as usual. I spend almost every second with the boys. There's virtually no down time between their naps, or in Miles' case, non-naps. Lately Baron has been more angelic than usual. His latest and I think greatest baby trick is that when I ask him for a kiss he leans in and lays his perfectly pouty lips on mine. Maybe it's just because sans naps, Miles is sort of the devil, but seriously Baron sleeps like a champ, is happy all the time and worships me. The night before my surgery however, the angel has left the room and Baron, whose nap was ended prematurely by a screaming Miles, is delirious and yelling his brains out. Miles once again turns into me and says "what can we do to make Baron feel better? Maybe he wants a toy?" I think about how much I worship him.

It's not surprising that Baron is so feisty. He is my son and he is a warrior. In the moments when I think Miles is challenging I try to take a deep breath because I just know it's nothing compared to what I'm in store for with my sweet miracle warrior. Sweet until he's pissed off or doesn't get what he wants and then watch the fuck out. Like mother like son, I suppose. The good news is that I love the feisty except when he's screaming at me. At lunch today he was happily eating until I made the mistake of getting a chocolate covered almond from a shelf in front of him. He immediately stopped eating and started screaming at me. I held out my empty hand and told him I had eaten the almond and it was all gone. He pointed to the box of almonds in front of him and screamed until I gave him part of one. It's amazing how he can tell me exactly what he wants and doesn't want even though he can't talk. At the moment he's telling me he needs sleep. Immediately.

After I put him to bed, Miles and I go into his room to read. He's waiting for Boris to come home from work to put him to bed but I ask if we can snuggle while we're waiting. "Why?" he asks (he asks "why" about 93837462 times a day). "Because I'm having surgery tomorrow and then won't be able to pick you up for a few days since I'll have an ouchie," I explain. "Because you have cancer?" he asks. I reassure him that "I don't have it anymore. My old boobies had cancer so the doctors took them away to make me better." He thinks about this for a minute. Then he asks, "does Daddy have cancer? Can I see the cancer?" I want to die as I explain that only I had cancer and that he can't see it. I reiterate that I do not have it anymore and that I'm feeling great and will be fine. He asks if I'm going to the hospital and I tell him I am but just for a little while and will be home to have dinner with him. "Why are you going to the hospital?" he asks. I explain "the doctors are going to fix my new boobies to make them softer." "With a screwdriver?" I smile and tell him that the doctor does use special tools kindof like a screwdriver.

I'm looking forward to being more comfortable with "soft boobies" and am overjoyed that this is my last surgery (I hope!). I've been told by my cancer friends that the surgery is nothing and I'll be up and running in no time. I have no doubt.