It’s no surprise that I’ve expedited my timeline. I do zero or 100% – rarely anything in-between.

I wish I had more patience sometimes, but in this situation, there is no going backwards. So, I figure I may as well run toward the finish line.

And when I really sit with the “no going backwards” part… it’s still a thing. The hardest part is behind me, and my body has healed well. But it’s not like I can suddenly say: “Just kidding, I’d like my real ones back.” That option no longer exists.

In a way, that’s still the emotion I quietly grapple with sometimes. That I did it. I made a massive decision and placed all my trust in my medical team. And honestly? In myself too.

Tomorrow is surgery number two.

And normally for any medical procedure, I am anxious to the point where it’s disruptive to my life. But with this one? I’m calm. You could even say excited.

Thankfully this surgery doesn’t involve drains. Ugh. Still the worst. But honestly, the true winners of “most miserable” have been these expanders sewn into my chest muscles. So I think part of my excitement comes from knowing they’re finally getting evicted.  I still have random parts of my past surgeries – like my wisdom teeth and screws that were in my knees – but zero chance I’m asking to keep these expanders.  And as I speak this thought out loud – I should probably clean house and throw away the old wisdom teeth and knee screws – this is not a sentence I ever imagined saying – who am I?   

I’m hoping after tomorrow I’ll start feeling a little more normal. Or at least settle into whatever my new normal is supposed to be.

Now this new normal does come with permanent changes. Very little sensation. A deep numbness that’s simply the nature of removing tissue and cutting nerves. And yes, it’s strange. I’ll bump into things and not even realize it happened. Maybe eventually my brain will adjust. Maybe this version of my body will stop feeling unfamiliar.

But then I go back to that number. Two percent. And suddenly the trade feels very clear.

Is forever numbness worth dramatically lowering my cancer risk? Absolutely. Without hesitation.

This new normal also apparently comes with a very committed relationship with SPF. Because after avoiding breast cancer, I’m certainly not inviting skin cancer to join the party.

And realistically? There still may be one more surgery depending on how this one goes. Not ideal. But honestly, I think I’d be okay with it.

Especially since I’ve entered a whole new orbit of out-of-pocket maximums, meaning apparently 2026 is now the year of “let’s handle every medical thing imaginable while it’s free.”

Always find the silver linings! And yes, I’m absolutely open to suggestions on what else I should get checked off the medical to-do list before December 31st.

Because I’m just wired to find those silver linings – I have a few more that I’ve flipped positive…

Like learning adaptability. I still haven’t slept on my side, and as a lifelong side sleeper, that has been rough. But humans can adapt to almost anything. But I have another countdown and what’s another 3 months of back sleeping?

Or scars. I know some people see scars and feel sadness. But honestly? Mine feel a little like warrior stripes. Proof that I fought for myself. And won.

Oof – here is one that keeps popping up – asking for help! I’m still learning that fiercely independent people are allowed to lean on others too. My tribe has shown up for me in ways I’ll never forget. And accepting help gracefully is its own kind of strength.

And… tattoos. I already know there will eventually be two new tattoos down the road. Medical tattooing is fascinating – it’s a blend of art and medicine and the power to create confidence. Have you ever seen a 3-D chalk artist that draws a set of steps so real it feels like you can actually walk down them?  Well – I’m sure I’ll write more about that in 6-9 months!  But not steps…not chalk…but…nipples.  Yep, if I didn’t overshare that previously, they are gone as well – part of that tricky breast tissue!  But I’m also considering three little birds somewhere as a nod to my surgical song. The same song that will be playing again tomorrow as I drift off to sleep.

And I’ve given this a lot of thought; I’ve created a business merchandise idea for Hopkins.

“Boobs… by Hopkins.”

Tell me that’s not a guaranteed gift shop bestseller. Even if I’m the only customer.  Every time I say it out loud – I make myself laugh.  I definitely need to tell them this one tomorrow – someone remind my husband to share that stand-up bit as I’m coming out of anesthesia.

But as I mentally prepare for tomorrow, I know a few things for sure…

This time, I’ll walk into that operating room smiling.

Because I’m no longer at the beginning of this chapter.

And I’m not stuck in the middle anymore either.

The end is finally starting to come into view.

And I know my Momma would be so proud of me. I’m proud of me too. Because proactive is a choice. And it’s one I would make again and again.

I’ll keep journaling this journey through these blogs. But to every single person who has followed along, reached out, checked in, prayed, laughed, cried, or supported me in any way…

Thank you.

More than you know.