If you heard me say, “I’m excited for surgery,” you’d probably stop mid-sentence and question everything you thought you knew about me.

Maybe even check for a pulse.

Because the old me?

Wanted nothing to do with hospitals, IVs, or anything remotely surgical. Heck, I think I may have even self-cured my needle phobia (kidding).

But Shannon 2.0 has entered the chat. And she is… surprising even me!

My next surgery is set for May 7th. And this time, I’m not anxious. I’m ready. Not because surgery is suddenly fun. Let’s not get carried away.

But because I’m over the in-between. This version of me – the one stuck between fills and surgery. The one that doesn’t quite feel like myself yet.

Yeah… I’m ready to move past her.

This may not be the end game. But it’s a step forward. And right now, that’s enough. I’ll think about surgery number three much later.

Now that I’m about seven weeks out from the initial surgery, I have a little more perspective.

This process is intense in ways I didn’t fully expect. It’s not something to take lightly. But always the flip side and what has become my true north – two percent. That number still grounds me.

There isn’t a straight path to healing, really for anyone as our stories are all so different. But honestly, isn’t that just life? No one is on the same journey. There are bumps, detours, moments you didn’t plan for. You just figure out how to navigate them.

Case in point… my new relationship with ruffle shirts.

And why do I suddenly need a wardrobe full of ruffles when I haven’t worn one since I was probably three?

Well… I looked.

Yep. I finally did something I had been avoiding. It only took me 44 days.

I had one of those moments where I just stopped and thought…Why am I not looking? It felt silly to wait until May 7th. Silly to keep asking my husband to be my eyes and tell me what was going on. So I did it.

And it’s not pretty. In my mind, I resemble a little Frankenstein. And these temporary placeholders? I’ve been calling them my shrinky dinks – which every time I say that it honestly makes me laugh – I have to find the humor in all things – so please laugh with me!

But I also know this isn’t the end result (thank heavens!!!).

This is just part of the process.

And while it’s still a little scary… And definitely not something that will ever be photo documented… It’s me. It’s real. And I’m okay. Or at least… getting there. I still go back and forth on that. But that’s part of it too.

I wouldn’t call it brave. It just took a minute for my denial to catch up with my reality.

But I trust my surgeon. I trust his process. And I’m ready to see what Shannon 3.0 looks like!

So… ruffles and I.

In my attempt to find clothes that camouflages those shrinky dinks, I found myself in a boutique that was… not exactly my usual style.

Think ruffles. Bows. Bright prints. Very “I could blend right into a sorority house at my son’s southern college.” (Roll Tide.)

However, I did find one fancy black top. Because black hides everything. Ladies, we all know this. So, I headed into the dressing room with an armful of options.

Some wins.

Some immediate no’s.

Some “we’ll think about it.”

The entire time in my head I thought to myself… I am not meant to wear resort wear in Central PA.

But I was saving that black top for last. Still lace. Still frills. But because it was black, it was going to be a win. I felt it.

What I did not plan for…

Was getting stuck in it. Completely stuck.

Arms not cooperating because my range of motion is limited, a fact I disregarded entering that dressing room (again a touch of denial). That fabric not budging and after several failed attempts, I had to call in reinforcements.

To undress me.

Like a toddler.

Like that three-year-old who last wore ruffles.

Thank goodness for my husband. Who, to his credit, did not laugh. At least not out loud.

Because the situation? Very laughable.

And oh my goodness, imagine if he wasn’t there and I would’ve had to traumatically scar some young sales associate by asking her to undress me?!  

Ironically, I haven’t even worn any of the cute tops yet. They were purchased for my first post-surgery work trip. Which didn’t happen.

Because just when I thought I was making real progress – I was driving, I had stopped all meds, I was back cooking and grilling. Sure, I still had my 10lbs limitations and I was still sleeping in my cocoon, but I was feeling ‘normal’.

Boom. Curveball.

After my last pre-surgery procedure, I took about three steps forward… And then got knocked about three weeks back.

Back to pain meds and muscle relaxers on full rotation. And yes, the stronger ones I really don’t like. But I hate the pain more. Back to my recliner and my mobile working desktop.

So the cute tops still have tags. And the soft pajamas – still very much in rotation. Work trip postponed.

Humbling has a funny way of showing up right when you think you’re gaining momentum.

I also had something called a manual lymphatic drainage massage because I was holding onto an uncomfortable amount of swelling. None of those words were in my pre-surgery vocabulary.

And you would think… ahhh, massage time. Relaxing. Peaceful. Spa vibes. It has “massage” in the name after all.

But – Nope.

I can’t lay on my side or my stomach, so this was definitely not a massage in the traditional sense. But what it was… was surprisingly effective.

It was a very gentle and rhythmic movement. Paired with deep breathing to stimulate my lymphatic system – who knew that the largest part of the lymphatic system runs through your abdomen?  It was also a ‘talking’ massage – so all in all, not a spa day!

But somehow… It worked. I left with less swelling. And a new understanding. Not everything in this process is going to look the way I expect it to, sometimes the things that seem the most unfamiliar… are exactly what I need.

That day, I learned to trust the process.

A theme that shows up for me often. Not a bad thing, just proof that as much as I want to be in control – I am firmly not.

Then when you’re forced to slow down again, your mind starts to wander.

I found myself wondering… Has this entire process surprised me because I live in a little bit of denial? Or is it because no one can truly prepare you for what it feels like to lose a part of yourself and navigate the physical and emotional aftermath?

My brain then went somewhere else entirely. AI. Because of course it did.

I lean into AI now pretty heavily at work, so the wonders of this new technology we live in are fascinating to me. We live in a world now where you can type in a question and get an answer in seconds.

Complex math problem? Solved. No long division. No showing your work. Just…the answer. So naturally I started expecting my body to work like that too. Skip to the end. Get to the result. Move on. Honestly, don’t we all just want to skip to the end?

But healing doesn’t work like AI. There’s no shortcut. No skipping steps. No jumping ahead much to my chagrin. Of course, we all know this. But…I’m stubborn and have big dreams.

So, I’m over here… Showing all my work, something I was never good at – how both of my children are math whizzes is an astounding fact.

And to make it even more humbling? Some parts of this process feel almost… archaic.

There are literally things sewn into my chest muscle. So, when I move, my body is like: “Hey. Hi. This doesn’t belong here.” Then my nerves respond accordingly, like always – loudly.

I’m literally on my own last nerve.

And then there’s the skin stretching. When is skin stretching ever something we’re excited about? If you thought that was a real question – the answer is never, ever. 

But in this case, it’s necessary. It’s part of the process.

And the pain? Unfortunately, normal as told to me by my doctor’s office – conveniently after the fact, and in all fairness, kudos to them for keeping that nugget silent or I may not have gone back in for my last procedure.

So, there’s no skipping ahead. And at this point, there’s really no stopping either.

I’m too far in, so I’ll just keep going!

And trust that on May 7th…Shannon 3.0 is ready to make her debut.

Even with the setbacks, I know I’m still in a good place. I’m surrounded by people who love and support me. My kids are watching me navigate this in real time, seeing that hard things aren’t optional. They’re just part of life, which has been one of my life lessons from the beginning – I can do hard things.

And while it’s easy to throw a question into Chat and get an answer instantly… Sometimes you just have to sit down and do the long division.