Hi friends! Again, thumb typing while on pain meds, so pardon my spelling and stuff.

Just wanted to let you know what happened during Day 3 (with surgery being Day 1).

Today, I was able to get out of bed much easier, take a shower, brush my teeth. And of course, when possible, I could type.

I still haven’t looked down. Even when the nurse was getting me into the shower, I closed my eyes during the whole thing. I wouldn’t get dressed in front of the mirror, either. I guess I’m just not ready.

The most painful part, I think, are these damn drains. They are thick plastic tubings that are snakes under my skin, around my breasts, and out some holes in my side. Nope, can’t look at those either.

For the most part, I am in and out of sleep. When I’m awake, I’m fully awake — talking, laughing. But when that pain kicks in, all I can so is fall asleep and hope for the best. I know the pain is temporary, but it does hurt like , well, like a mastectomy.

Now that I’m here, I’m really thankful for the “marathon” piece of this journey. Even as a plus sized woman, my muscles were strong and helped me to move around earlier than most people. And, though it hurts to breathe with each rising and falling of my chest, I know that my lungs were strong going into this surgery.

So I’m back at home – both relieved and a bit anxious. We’ve already locked the door in my bedroom to avoid the dog and kids jumping into the bed. It’s a funny feeling, really: being home yet being in forced and protective isolation.

Regrets? None. This was the right thing to do. And yet, this is one of the most selfless acts in my life. Sure, I did it for me. But, truthfully, I did it for Jorge and the kids. I had a choice here, and I know that is a privilege others do not have. It seemed selfish to want to ignore the risks; selfless to gift this reduced risk to my family.

I don’t know what I look like under this compression bra, stitch protection, and drains. I do know that I made a choice to save my life. My life has a whole new meaning, one of thanks, gratitude, recognition of privilege, and love.

I had a mastectomy. Elective. My choices from here on in are in relation to this journey. It’s been scary, fun, joyous, and painful. It’s been educational, curious, and very personal.

Thank you for allowing me the room to share this Marathon b4 Mastectomy. And while I recover, I’ll be checking out future 1/2 marathons to run!

Who’s with me???

Peace, love, and finally at Zen,

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9 Responses to BACK HOME

  1. Marshall says:

    Great to hear — and you’re lookin’ good, kid! Just got back from a run, I’m in training for the 1/2 Marathon After the Mastectomy!

  2. Shannon says:

    We are all with you!

  3. sally says:

    so glad you’re home. and it sounds like the recovery is going as well as can be expected. i must admit i was shocked to learn that you were up and out of bed so early on! you go girl!
    love you and am sending lots of healing thoughts your way.
    xoxoxoxo. . .

  4. Anne says:

    Guess what? I’m gonna run the next time. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna do it.

  5. Carolyn Dowd Fitzpatrick says:

    I’m in. We are all in.

  6. Sheila says:

    So glad you are home! I absolutely agree with everything you said, in particular that you had a choice and many others do not have that privilege. It is great that despite the pain and discomfort, you once again remind us of good choices and appreciating them. But that is you and what I love about following this journey. And of course, enjoy the meds…..

  7. Tina says:

    You look beautiful! I’m looking forward to running with you again in Marathon AFTER Mastectomy. You are so strong, Liza! Sleep well tonight!

  8. Sarah says:

    Hi Liza,
    I’ve been following your blog ever since my cousin Meredith ( suggested it to me. I just have to say, it’s been an inspiration to follow you on your journey, and no doubt you have given me fuel for my own half-marathon adventure. Following a sudden, shocking diagnosis of type 1 diabetes six months ago (I’m 27, a weird age for type 1), I have undertaken to run a half next summer to raise money for the Canadian Diabetes Association. The experience of going so public about my new life with diabetes, but also the empowering silver lining that running provides, has all been so meaningful and fascinating. So, when you say, “who’s with me” for your next race, I hope to be counted among those who will run, be it in person or in spirit, alongside you.
    Congratulations on a brave and successful surgery! Warm wishes,

  9. Mary Duncklee says:

    So glad ( and amazed) to hear that you are home.

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