Damn, damn, damn it all

  Last week as I was reading The Fresno Bee, I opened to the obits and was shocked. My heart dropped. There in front of me, was an obit for a young woman I partnered with on a painting for the Art of Life project (I wrote about it back in 2010 on this very  blog), sponsored by my oncologist, Dr. Chris Perkins. It was about a year and a half ago, January 2010.
  I remember meeting her and hearing her cancer story. She'd been going to Dr. Perkins for about 10 years.  Younger than me and oh so vibrant. Lori Budd. After hearing her tale, told not with sadness, but with a liveliness that I took away with me. I recall vividly how vivacious she was, despite what she'd been through. And I remember her saying, "I told Dr. Perkins that if I'm dying I want to know, and so far, he hasn't told me that, so I'm just living the best I can."
  She left an impression on me. You wouldn't have known at the time that there was anything wrong with her at all. She was working, caring for her family and running a mile a minute through life. It seemed like nothing could stop her. I was impressed with her attitude and grateful to have been paired up with her.
  I remember telling my husband about her and what a great attitude she'd had, facing cancer with no fear, facing recurrences as if it was nothing. Her spirit and vitality couldn't be stopped.
  About 8 years younger than me. A strong professional woman like me. A woman caring for a family, like me. A woman keeping her life together through it all, like me.
  Our painting, titled "We Never Walk Alone," was a hit. It hangs in the hallway at Perkins' office.
  I pray Lori held that thought through it all.
  Damn, that obit hit me hard.

 
  

How the heck do they do that?

   My husband and I went as scheduled to the surgery center at 6:20 a.m. This time was far easier; no compression stockings, no IV, not much of anything really. Dr. Askren gave us two nipple tabs to place where we thought they should be. He'd already told us most people are off the mark. But oh, no, not my hubby. He placed them (from memory, he said!). Askren got out his tape measure, marked me up and was amazed. Andy had placed the tabs exactly right! (And I thought he had early Alzheimer's!) That's some memory. A nurse told us one patient pulled out red nipple tassles and put them on. When the doctor came in, he got quite a laugh. I wish I'd thought of that, but then I would have had to find those tassles!
   You're awake during this surgery, but Dr. Askren said they would cover my face, so I wouldn't be able to steal his secrets! I don't want to know how he does it, but the end result is amazing!
   The surgery took about 40 minutes. He numbed me first, but I could feel tugging and pulling as he worked to create the nipples. A lot of snipping as the nurse cut the thread as he stitched and stitched.
   Then, it was up and out of there. Dr. Askren warned that the nipples would look huge, and they do, but they'd shrink down to normal size. He cuts a small piece of the top of a syringe and places it over the nipple to protect from bumping. Now, who would have thought of that?
   It's all so amazing; you have to wonder who came up with this methodology. There's some pain after, but nothing worth complaining about. And I can't walk too fast or I feel it.
   I'm bandaged up to protect it all, but when I first took the bandages off and looked in the mirror, my only thought was: How the heck did he get my skin to stretch and work itself into that? It actually might have been interesting to watch, because it's far too hard to believe. It's a miracle of sorts. I guess Dr. Askren is right: It's an art.
   Now, we wait again for the swelling and nipples to heal. Next stop: My first tattoo!