monochromatic orbs

tayla
Aug 5
9 min read

Let's play 'caption this picture!' Best caption wins. I'll venmo the winner $10. Or I won't, because it's my game and I can do what I want.

Hellooooo to my fan! Get ready with me while I update you on my life! Except I’m not getting ready. I’m lying in bed trying to count the hours until the next pill and never learning my lesson to write that shit down. More on that later. But kudos to me on not taking them all at once, right?

A lot of people (1) were saying that describing my experience with being diagnosed and going through the process was interesting and somewhat informative. And I’ve learned a lot, too. So here’s a little summary of what’s been going on if you’re curious. And if you're not, buzz off. Side note: I’ve realized that I don’t like to say the word breast or boob. So I’ll do everything in my power not to. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Or maybe I’m just immature. For visualization purposes: picture me wrapping my arms over my body, fully concealing myself, open jaw, as if to say, “How dare you!?” Anyway, we’ll work around it. You’ll know what I’m talking about.

So after the lady called me and said they found cancer I spent a few days staring into space and just thinking. But there were too many unknowns and nobody likes a thinker. My Reddit friends told me the best thing to do is wait. There’s a lot of waiting. And waiting is the hardest part. First, I had an MRI of my chest 😉. See? If you’ve never had an MRI of your chest area, I’d be happy to describe it for you. I was called in by a guy. The first and only man that I’ve ever encountered on this journey. And that’s fine, just a point I wanted to make. Something I noticed. I sat down in the changing room, he said a lot of words, and then handed me A LOT of fabric. I looked at him and asked him what I should do with it. ‘Why are there three pieces? Am I changing? This is a lot of clothes. I’m sorry. I don’t know anything you said.’ That’s been happening a lot. He understood and explained how I needed 2 garments on top. Like a cute blouse that ties on the sides. Kinda scandalous. But the cute top is 4 sizes too big. And the front piece is the color you get when you mix all the paints together, assuming it will be a rainbow sensation, and the back portion is a soft white, justttt thick enough that you can’t call it transparent, with pants that drag 8 inches behind you on freshly waxed floors. His name was Yuri. I almost asked him if he knew about Yuri Bukhenik from the Karen Read Trial. Thinking back, I wish I did. I’m not a great conversationalist. I’ll go with my gut next time.

So we go into a 20° room reminiscent of The Backstreet Boys Larger than Life music video, where a woman greets me and tells me to take off the front part of my two-piece blouse.. Inappropriate, but okay. And we’re doing this MRI for our upper torso area, right? Which means I need to crawl up onto this futuristic-looking table and expose myself for observation. Like Walt Disney in his final moments, or the Avatar community creeping into their pods. But this isn’t on your back. No no no. Prone, baby. Then you put your head into what looks like a massage pillow and reach your arms above your head and make yourself as comfortable as possible for the next 30 minutes. I forgot to mention how they put in ear plugs so you can’t hear the banging, and then proceed to give you enormous headphones, and then ask you what kind of music you want to listen to. You’re so awkward and you feel pressure to say the right thing, which feels like it should be country, right? You’re transported into a dream-size donut hole and if you’re lucky, they’ll ask you questions through the thumping and knocking noises. But it’s like, sweetie, you put ear plugs and headphones on me. I can’t hear you. Plus, what are you asking me? If I’m comfortable. Yeah, I feel fantastic. At one point I wondered if all of them would have left me there in an emergency situation. Another lesson learned. Pro tip: ask for the emergency action plan. 30 minutes is a long time to have your face squished into a massage pillow. I asked the woman if I looked crazy. She said ya.

MRI came back fine. There was no cancer anywhere else. Just the old tried and true. Next was genetic testing to see what this body is made of.. besides Caramellos and chicken patties. This was important because if it came back that I carried the BRCA gene, the recommendation and choice in surgery could be completely changed. I don’t have the gene. Can’t blame Tom and/or Marlene for this one. But a lot of people do. And the difference between having it and not is astronomical. Life-changing. For family too. Now that I have the C, my mom and sister can get tested for free, just in case. Puts a pit in my stomach.

Meeting with the surgeon was a big deal. She needed to get the cancer out, while also trying to make me look okay. The doctors recommended a lumpectomy. They would cut out the tumor and surrounding tissue to (try to) make sure they got all of it. With a lumpectomy I would need radiation and medication. The other option, which really wasn’t an option anymore because I don’t carry the gene, was a full mastectomy, where they take out both; everything. There’s still a small chance you would need radiation with a mastectomy, but most likely not. Anyway, I chose the lumpectomy, but they would be doing both sides for symmetry. Not trying to look like I’m constantly carrying a gallon of milk in one hand. Not if we can prevent it. She explained risks and expectations. A 6 hour surgery. A chance they won’t get it all. Waiting 1 to 2 weeks for pathology. Going back under if they don’t get it all. There’s also a risk that the cancer is too close to the central, circular part to keep it (I don’t like that word, either). So I could have been waking up to a monochromatic orb, although it has since been 4 days and I would find it very bizarre if no one has notified me, yet. I like to laugh about things so I don't fill my head with fear. But these things are scary. All of it is.

Moving on in the timeline.. 2 weeks later was my surgery date. Seemed like it was happening so quickly, but also like I was waiting forever. The big day arrived. And I know you’re all wondering: Tayla.. What about your lashes??? Worry not, my friends. The anesthesiologist assured me they would be covered with gauze, then tape. Praise be.

I had my mom take a picture before they wheeled me in. Then I told her to text friends and family: ‘last pic.’ She did not do the latter. The pic is cute, though.

The nerve blocker was horrendous. I’m not sure what I imagined it would be, but that was not it. I think I assumed I would already be asleep for it, but I’m sure the doctors know what they’re doing. They make the big bucks, right? And seriously, I really am so thankful they know what they are doing and I'm on the path I am right now.

And then it’s like magic when you wake up. But at the same time, horrifyingly scary. Like someone could have thrown me over their shoulder and taken me to Epstein’s Island and I would have absolutely no idea. But alas, I woke up to ginger ale and graham crackers and a cozy blanket made from a combination of sand paper and your living room rug.

*I also know I used alas incorrectly and have no desire to go to that island, nor do I condone anything associated with it. I just liked the way it sounded and decided to keep it.

They called my mom to come get me and I did my very best work to prove I was ready for discharge. Discharge.. meaning I can go home. I just wanted to be back in my own bed. No dizziness whatsoever, I told them. But I had to go to the bathroom before they would let me leave. I got this. I’m not sure if the nurse noticed me falling asleep on the short trip to the loo, or if she wanted to get out of there, too, but she just smiled and kept it moving. Thanks girl. I made it back without a fall and just in time for mom and dad to enter. Yes, dad. He usually doesn’t attend these events, but I was happy to have the extra support. He whipped the curtain open and yelled, ‘let’s get the hell outta here!’ I have an IV in and I’m falling asleep on the nurse’s shoulder, but sure dad, let’s bounce. The nurse gave me all the post-op instructions: rest.. a lot. Don’t shower.. easy. Move around when you can… like when you get up to go to the bathroom or grab a snack.. love it. The nurse put me in the wheelchair to roll out and dad was so excited to ask me to go on his mile-long walk with the dog the next day. Gotta be up and moving, he said. He’s asked me every day since if I’m ready. Not yet.

I came home and could not stop falling asleep. Surgery and anesthesia and trauma will do that to you. And then. I wake up to Tom screaming outside my door. He can’t find his cell phone. Wants to know if I can call it. Insert any face you picture me making here. Spoiler alert: I don’t have it. Oh, and I’ll need to check his emails later when I have a minute.

But overall it hasn’t been horrible. I’m really tired and I’m sore. Feels like someone is sitting on my upper torso and like someone dropped a cement block on it at the same time. But it’s bearable. I took the oxy they gave me. 5mg. But we all know I’m a 10mg. girl. So I had to take 2 each time. And don’t worry, I’m not on the streets looking for any. It’s that nerve block that’ll get ya. We need a crisis for that. I was googling “muscle twitches throughout my entire body after surgery” at 2 am to see if electric-like shocks were the norm, or if this was the end. Nerve blockers are the new opioids. You just watch.

Good news is I’m not alone. I have a wound-vac. A machine that’s attached to the bandages covering my incisions that sucks all the air out. It keeps it clean and helps it heal apparently. It’s held down with tape that looks like Press’n Seal, but something tells me this stuff will be a little trickier to get off. I have to carry the machine around with me for 2 weeks. Christos thought it was an LED lamp they use when you get your nails done. It’s kind of like an oxygen tank. Without the Oxygen. Or the nose tubes. Or the fun scooter.

But it does beep when something is wrong. And you can pretend you’re out of oxygen if it starts beeping. Something to do.

So that’s it I think. Now more waiting. Then radiation. Doc says it targets any remaining cancer that got left out. Radiation will lower the chances of the cancer returning or spreading to any other areas.

I’m staying positive, per usual. My tailbone hurts from laying down, but that’s okay! I want to rip off every bandage and piece of plastic because I’m incredibly uncomfortable, but at least I’m healing, right? I can’t take a shower by myself and rely on everyone else’s schedule to help, but it gives my family a chance to really get to know me and see what they’ve been missing! I’m a side/stomach sleeper so sleeping on my back has been brutal, but I know I’m minimizing wrinkles and I have more time to think if I’m not sleeping! I can’t lift my arms, but big deal. I always wanted to know how a T-Rex felt. I can’t reach my cabinets, anyway. I keep forgetting I have this damn alien attached to me and get caught on everything, but at least something wants to be close to me.

Also, could be way worse. I'm grateful.

Thanks to everyone who reached out and said nice things.

Special shoutout to mom for getting all of my favorite things and Ashley for washing my hair.

And everyone who didn’t talk to me. I appreciate you, too.

(And I hope you know I'm not being snarky. I truly mean it in the most positive way.)