Attack of the killer boobies.

I'm not sleeping. Many emotions are running, wild and unwanted, through my head.

Tomorrow I go under the knife to remove a lump found in my left breast.

I'm feeling angry mostly. Sure, my boobies and I have always had a tumultuous relationship, (They've always been a too small and never produced enough milk for nursing my babies.) So they've actually proved to be quite useless on all accounts, but I never thought they'd threaten to outright kill me! This is just beyond reproach. But they're also mine. And I don't want to lose any part of them.

I've tried to be brave, or perhaps I've just been in denial. I didn't even allow myself to think about this surgery at all. But this afternoon, I talked to my mother-in-law, who had this surgery performed on her several years ago. Before our conversation I didn't realize that this lumpectomy procedure left a very noticeable crevice in the breast. I suppose everyone's turns out different, but there is going to be some kind of deformation from the cut.

The weight of this little realization, once hit, hit hard. I've since been bauling and mouring the loss of my little wedge of boob even before its gone. I know its stupid and vain of me to even shed one tear over this, but I am. I want to stay whole and I feel so powerless over that.

It angers me, too, that my surgeon didn't tell me this specific detail of the procedure. Perhaps she felt it wasn't important to me, the appearance of my breast, and if that is the case then she has highly over-estimated my self esteem. Perhaps she figures she'll talk to me about it in the morning when I'm already gowned-up and tied to the bed with IV's. Perhaps she'll breeze into my room, armed with her felt-tipped pen, start drawing smiley faces or some shit like that all over my chest then casually mention, as she's running out the door, "Oh yeah, by the way, you'll look really funny after this surgery. I sure hope your husband has a real vested interest in you, and hasn't married you for your looks!" Perhaps she figures the details of cosmetics don't really matter when it comes down to living or dying. Perhaps this is just absolutely necessary and I can't accept that.

I hate feeling such strong emotions, anger especially, but it is preferable above despair, which is probably the reason I choose it most often in times like these. They're out now. I have successfully purged all of them onto this screen and feel quite tired now. Hopefully I can sleep.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.