Wednesday, January 30, 2013

The Final 24 Hours of My Face

My face! My face! My beautiful face!

Cancer, shmancer; all I care about is what a freak I'm going to look like for the next week. I am vanity's bitch, for sure.

For those who haven't memorized the details of my life (and why not, may I ask?), tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. Eastern time I'm having Mohs surgery, during which at least one dime-sized layer of skin will be removed from my nose. My excellent surgeon will continue to remove layers until my cancer is completely eradicated. It could take two hours, it could take five hours.

I'm preparing. I just picked up a new library book (The Tell, recommended by Book Club Girl) and have a stack of magazines to read, and I also grabbed some healing videos for after (including Buck, recommended by Bride Boy — and I meant to name three other movies he recommended, Adam, City Island, and Win-Win, all of which I thoroughly enjoyed. Check 'em out!), and I will ask, nay, demand to know when I can have wine again (I'm hoping so hard that I can have at least a small glass tomorrow night) . . . and what else can I do. I'm ready for the siege.

(My face! My face!)

In two weeks (on Valentine's Day) I will have reconstructive surgery, in which a piece of my cheek packs its bags and relocates, forever, to my nose. I'm not even thinking about this one yet — one horror show at a time.

Please send healing thoughts, wishes, vibes, and prayers my way. I will take all that I can get.

I know that I'm being ridiculous. I know what a minor setback this is in the overall scheme of things.

I don't care. I'm a big freaking baby and a drama queen, and they are cutting open my face!!!!!!!

Time to go breathe into a paper bag. And lament the fact that it doesn't contain a bottle, ha ha.

(Will it be over the top if I suggest that my children kiss Mummy's face goodbye before they leave for school? Let me know what you think.)

xoxo
Lady C, big chicken

8 comments:

  1. Oh, Lady C! All will be well, I promise! I'm sure it's a frightening prospect. I had to have a deviated septum fixed (along with my sinuses drilled, adenoids removed, etc) and I was terrified that my nose would look horribly different! It turned out fine. The things they can do with reconstruction these days are remarkable. I'm sure this isn't very helpful right now, but I'm sending you warm thoughts and calming vibes! All will be well!

    But, since you cannot have wine, I would say that you absolutely deserve brie.

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    1. You are SO right, my friend! Brie and all the things!!!!

      Thank you for your well wishes, dear one. You are a perfect peach.

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  2. Oh I wish I was there with you to hold your hand and then bring you many glasses of wine (it's MEDICINAL!!!!). I am developing a big old zit on my cheek in solidarity. Hugs!

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    1. Oh, I wish you were too, dear'st! Perhaps you could tell me the plot of "No Way Out" to distract me. (It doesn't matter that you haven't seen it, I don't remember a thing.) I will keep you posted (and light a candle for your impaired cheek).

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  3. Honeybunch, my mother had her original surgery done by Dr. Mohs himself, back in the 60s. She had at least 40 procedures over the years and, after my father stopped driving, would drive herself from Sebastopol to Mill Valley, have the surgery, and drive home. Later, she would tell me she had done this and I would clutch my hair. Not only is it superior to the alternative, the plastic surgery techniques are remarkable. Her early ones were invisible after healing. And that was more than 50 years ago.

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    1. I LOVE that your mother was a patient of Dr. Mohs -- I told my surgeon that and she was agog, simply agog. Thank you so much for this lovely image of independence and invisibility, which I shall hold in my head as I go under the knife...in 65 minutes, oh boy!!!

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  4. sweetpea, everything will be fine. i know this because i am older than you and i can predict the future. i can also predict the past, but people seem less impressed by this. just think of that little piece of cheek and the exciting life he is going to lead now. he will be perched on your nose looking out over the world and all it's wonder. your not just eradicating cancer, your providing part of you body to move up in the world. xxxxx

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    1. Bevy, I'm 50 (I'm almost 50 AND A HALF), are you sure you're older than me? But I am impressed by both your prediction abilities, hully gee! Thank you for the pep talk for my cheek bit -- I hadn't even thought of his glamorous new life. It's all been hidden under hair up till now. But he'd best keep mum, I don't want Mr. Hip clamoring for the same treatment. A bit of hip on my forehead, that's just crazy talk.

      Thanks for the reassuring peek at future me!

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