“I had the WEIRDEST dream last night.”

Don’t you hate when a friend or family member utters those words?

It is usually followed by twenty minutes of "and then(s)" rambling which seems to make perfect sense to them, but not a bit to anyone else.

So.

I had the weirdest dream last night. 

Try to keep up…

A friend’s house, (maybe Aunt Jamie’s?), a demon, or demons, haunting the place. I walked from room to room with a cross my Uncle Harry carved for me several years ago when I lived in Dover, Delaware. It’s about the size of my hand with a little wooden pedestal. I went into each room and confronted the invisible enemy, attempted to banish it in the name of Jesus. 

Except, er, the cross broke in my hand. And a couple times I looked down and it wasn’t even a cross at all, but something else, something close; but not quite the real thing. Inside I thought, well, maybe the demon won’t notice the cross is broke. But of course it did, and much thundering and fear ensued.

In the way of dreams, jump to an outdoor, good old southern Baptist, knee slappin, Hallelujah revival. It wasn’t in Ohio, but down in the coal scented fog hills of Kentucky, where my dad’s family originated. My grandpa/preacher-kinda-guy officiated. He preached but I didn’t hear the words. Things were chaotic, and there wasn’t even a tent! Just a bunch of people milling about on the grass, with a few fold-up chairs here and there; one of which I occupied.

And in a totally original, totally unexpected gesture, the Grandpa/preacher guy asked for money.

I scrounged around in my purse looking for my wallet.  (Why, even in dreams, is the thing you need most always located at the BOTTOM of the purse?)

As he continued speaking, a black woman came up to me. In the dream, she smiled. I knew her. We were friends.

“Go over and introduce yourself to X (can’t remember the name) she wants to meet you.” My dream friend said as though she not only knew me, but knew X, and wanted us to meet.

X, a very tall black woman dressed in a white tank top and white pants, smiled at me. But, I didn’t have time to meet and greet, too busy (AHA!) pulling money out of my wallet. There was a ten, five, and three ones. I thought about just giving the $3, then caught the impulse.

In life, whenever I catch myself being greedy, I try to not only give what I was going to “negotiate” with my conscience, but also everything I wanted to hold back. I’m a little proud of that tho, and have guilt because of it….hahaha. So I dropped it all in the plate.

X eventually walked over to me. Her white shoes a contrast against the green grass, her black skin glistening against the white clothes, red lipstick against white teeth.

I don’t know if we spoke because the dream changed.

I drove Robert’s old blue Ford through a dreamscape of Plain City. There was an accident or something when I drove into town. Police lights flashed and a cop motioned me on.

I pulled off the side of the road by the railroad tracks. I gave a woman from my past, one I didn’t know well, a ride. We went to a storage unit, and all I really remember is it was contaminated. Like an old shed filled with half full paint cans, thinner, and buckets of dirty oil.

I didn’t belong there.

I left.

This morning when I woke up, it wasn’t Plain City’s dreamscape I remembered right away.

It was the demon(s). In the final bit of the dream, I flashed back. Saw myself with the broken cross in hand, standing before a closet with sliding doors, the right side open.

Men’s dress shirts danced and floated with the demon’s anger.

But I couldn’t banish it.

It wouldn’t leave.

Doesn’t take a dream interpreter to see the parallel with my real life does it?

---------------------------------Moving On ---------------------------------------

Surgery (mastectomy) on the 27^th.

Hope it’s not my last day on the planet.

If so, everything will be all right.

You’ll see.

Met with the plastic surgeon yesterday. He asked to see my belly, asked to see my boobs, asked to see my butt….I think he was mackin on me…ha.

I’m all over the place. Earlier this week I went to a breast cancer survivor group. It seemed like women in their late 50’s, early 60’s. A lot of them didn’t bother with reconstruction.  One even showed me her scar.  I thought, hmm, not too bad, not too bad at all.

And when I left I thought reconstruction wasn’t worth the pain.

But then I met the plastic surgeon (PS), and HELLO implants. I’m going to get reconstruction at the time of surgery. Looks like decent sized “C” cups. We’ll see. Boobs aren’t a big thing with me; certainly not worth dying over.  And it increases recovery by two WHOLE WEEKS!!  But one surgery, one recovery!

The PS pushed me really hard to get them…said he’s done it for years and never ever met a woman my age who regretted reconstruction, but many who did regret NOT doing it.  I can’t do the FLAP surgeries because there’s not enough fat.  hahahaha….I don’t expect that to be a problem this time next year tho.

Ok. I made a decision. (It happens!)  Based on the new study which came out at the beginning of September, I’ve decided to just go with a Sentinel Node Biopsy (SNB). Usually the surgeon goes in, takes out the Sentinel(s), looks at them, if there is cancer, they scoop out the axillary as well. This is primarily diagnostic in my case because we already know I’m taking chemo, and if there is cancer in the Sentinels, radiation as well because this cancer is aggressive.

For women with axillary dissection, at about 10 years out, half of them have lymphedema.  This is a photo of “moderate to severe” lymphedema.  Almost as freaky as the demon ain’t it?

So this study Z0011 came out in September. It was done with women having lumpectomies. They took half the group and did just a SNB, and half and did the standard axillary. Some of the women required radiation if the Sentinel’s had cancer, some didn’t. After 6.3 years they discovered no significant difference between the two groups for recurrence and/or survival.

Essentially, women who undergo axillary dissection are way more likely to have lymphedema. Their quality of life is significantly, negatively, impacted with it, and imo, aren’t really better off at all.

Of course the elephant in the room is…what if it’s already spread to other places in my body? Knowing 15 of 20 axillaries are cancer-free, or malignant would help me to know more, maybe. They aren’t giving me anymore scans unless I have symptoms.  But I can live with a little mystery to keep the use of my right arm. 

So here is hoping the cancer hasn’t slipped into other parts of my body. That will not be good. Not good at all.

Please God, don’t let it be in my lymph nodes. Because if it is, I will have to take radiation and it will totally mess up my new boob job.

Now you have to wonder, how many prayers do you think God gets a day about boob jobs?