Here's a tip for anyone having an upper body surgery: do your sit-ups! You need your abdominal muscles and leg muscles (especially quads) to get yourself out of bed or off the couch. Even if you are 85 years old and have never done a sit-up or a squat in your life, talk to your doctor and find out how to do some exercises that will help you be a little more independent after your surgery. If you are reading this, you are already online, so look up some moderate, beginner exercises.

After my mastectomies, I was very grateful to my stomach and leg muscles for being able to propel me out of bed without a lot of dragging and pushing from others. It really helps to not have to wait for someone to help you go to the bathroom. These are things that your surgeon will never tell you. But I am!

I always cry when I get a shock. I cry if it's a good shock, like the time Alex told me that Daria was pregnant, or when I get a bad shock like the other night when I saw myself in the mirror for the first time since the surgery. I had been scrupulously avoiding mirrors but the bathroom mirror wasn't turned to the wall as usual. Fortunately, I didn't have my glasses on and my 20/400 vision doesn't allow for sharp details. What I saw in the mirror didn't register at first. You know, when you see something awful you go "What Is That?"? Then, I screamed and started to cry and sob and wail. Instead of luscious, creamy mounds I saw a concave chest with ugly, livid purple and brown slashes. There were nebulous bumps here and there as an added feature. It's not as if I didn't know that my breasts were missing - of course I did! But, to actually see it in the mirror was shocking. Poor David was trying to comfort me and hugged me which made me cry harder because there was nothing now between his chest and mine - just air! Oh, gosh, I felt so bad. I looked like an alien, a monster! I briefly considered that, if I took all my Imipramine and all of the Oxycodone pills I could probably die without feeling anything. I'd just go to sleep and all would be over. But then I realized I'm not made that way. I could never, ever do that to Olivia and David and my sister and brother and friends. Besides, I want my tombstone to say something other than "Here Lies Jane - She Died of Vanity"! Before I was all cried out I remembered that this was by far not the worst I've ever felt. Until age 38, I had undiagnosed clinical depression. It peaked at around age nineteen and then again at 32 or so. Those times were so scary. It was frightening how unrelentingly bad I felt. Most of the time, I lived in a dark empty hole. Figuratively, of course. Voices in my head kept me awake at night sometimes. Often, there was no pleasure in lots of normal things that people enjoy and no confidence in myself. Thank goodness for modern psychiatric chemistry. For almost twenty years now the depression has been at bay and life has been good.

I will get over myself and feel better about my appearance - sometime soon. Maybe, next year, I might be able to get some reconstructive surgery. Or maybe not. My life is precious and I am so glad that, even though I have had cancer, I will go on living for a long, long time!