Photos from the Save the Girls Opening

Afterwards

Two months out. I feel no pain. I feel nothing. Physically no harm. I find the words difficult to describe my emotions.

My five week hiatus from work has proved detrimental to my confidence and finances. Now I'm forced to return, or liquidate my belongings and go completely transient.

The lack of nipples is not agreeing with me. On some occasions I argue, the trouble and pain of nipples would be for for men (or more specifically for one man), is it worth the extra surgery to make things right. Just to feel like he has a whole person. will i feel whole enough to justify the efforts?

Why bother apply fake numb nipples?

Would it make me less self conscious?

tank tops, sheet corners, 9 dollar bras, hands cupped over my "breasts", lights off always. The surgeon's binders of photos lied, the healing process prolongs my sanity. everywhere. lined up in pairs, staring at me, taunting me.

Even from a long distance. those strip club girls are haunting me as my boyfriend enjoys his weekend away bachelor party, who's itinerary i can only imagine involves his beautiful face nose diving head first into nipple latent cleavage.

I see nothing but healthy young breasts all around me. their tight little shirts youthful, carefree, real.

I am drowning in the reality of what has happened. and unable to grasp the necessity for my actions.

unsuccessfully googling breast cancer support groups. . .

Numb

When I was sixteen I had surgery on my kidney. It left a 6 inch incision scar. And took away most of the feeling I had in my left hip area. Still numb. Occasionally still gets a dart of tingle. Nerves are a strange thing. Responsible for feelings. Without them you just don't have any.

In undergrad, during 2D design class right before a final I sliced the top of my right index finger. Ran to campus ER. Stitched it back on, but it shriveled up and fell off anyway. Its pretty much grown back in. But 10 years later, still numb.

And now. Sometimes I lean into things and can't go any further. Don't know why. Then look down and realize I'm pressed against it. But didn't know because there is no feeling.

Mentally, there's been too many emotional lobotomies to even mention.

Lose of sensory perception. . . its starting to worry me. I know I should be feeling something, yet I feel nothing but a memory of what things are supposed to feel like.

today

i'm really just wanting my old boobs back. did we keep them? I'm sure there is a receipt somewhere. I can return these?

As I plan this exhibition, Save the Girls, I hear more stories, discover other "survivors", hear the stories from friends of survivors, and learn more about what it means to be a "cancer survivor". I am not comfortable with that term. And am considering taking it off the press release. I am not a cancer survivor. Some doctors said they found cells that would some day be cancer. So we got rid of them. I never saw cancer. I never felt cancer. What a stupid disease. The suffering seems to come from the cure. But I am a poser. I didn't even get to the cancer part. People say things to me like "3 time cancer survivor" and I'm in disbelief. What? it comes back? How? Why? I thought we got it all. And I wonder if my "getting it all" is the same as those other women who thought they "got it all" not once, not twice, but sometimes three times. Each time, I imagine in most cases there was a radiation/chemo treatment. Something I can't even bring myself to read about, much less comprehend. I've started browsing posts from those who've lived through the process. My mouse automatically click's back as soon as i read the first lines... "the red liquid flows through the iv and into my veins."

By what graces of what god that avoided these situations for me I'm not familiar with.

Who do i thank. What shall i do with this new found longevity?

For the sake of resolving all potential problems I had an iud implanted. I do not recommend this. It hurt. And I've experienced some pain in the past 4 months, this 3 minutes in the gyno was the worst of it all. However, because of the pathology reports I am no longer allowed to take oral or any hormonal birth control. So the "inhumane" paraguard was my only choice. Two days later the pain subsided, but I dread my next "cycle", things are supposed to be more intense with the implant. The price women pay for sex is outrageous.

While i was there I had my doctor do a complete blood test. After a call today from the nurse, I can now proclaim, I have a clean std bill of health. The word is still out on on cervical cancer but I've never had problems with that before. What do they say? "No news is good news."

Post #2 remarks

Its hard to make any rational judgments at this point. If you research post plastic surgery depression there are many stages to go through mentally and physically. I'm trying to stay off my photo albums on facebook. Before photos are a difficult experience at this point. It wasn't that long ago when things were so different.

Here I am with two damned drains again. The complications with fluids forced the surgeon to extend the scars further than anticipated. Each side is about 12 inches. From well past the nipple center line all the way to just centered under the armpit. The lines are thick and red. Rationally I remember from the first surgery, that after the glue is worn off these red lines are faint pinker flat scars. But right now I don't care much for rational thoughts and all i know is what i see. A tattoo design is so fuzzy in my head at the moment but I am certain its in the future more clearly and will cover all evidence.

The only current pain is from the drain sites. The worst of it all actually was my throat after the air tubes and a canker soar that was left on my inner lip from the breathing aids. My range of motion was barely compromised. Over all a much easier surgery than round one.

But "they" don't look even. In the haze after the anesthesia, I remember Maria relaying Gurlie's concern with the left side's tissue and the extensive reconstruction. Parts of the tissue are hard. I'm trying to massage regularly. They feel fake. Like plastic. I was sort of was getting to like the extreme cleavage of the expanders. The implants are softer and lower. Are these terms of reality or just terms of the current stage of recovery. Only time will tell. I'm terribly impatient.

Surgery number 2

Tuesday i went in for my second surgery. No party bus to the center this time. Just me and BW on highway 270 at 8:30 in the morning. He's relatively quiet as usual. I'm starving. And thirsty. When I got dressed in the morning, I said, "I want to look ridiculous" Big sunglasses. A button up long white linen dress. Underneath was very short hot pants, so it basically looked like i forgot my pants. Platform yellow high heels. I mean how seriously can you take these things.

We sat in the waiting room for a while. BW grabbed a newspaper. He read through the vaguely world related articles. My attention was caught only by the obituary for Patrick Swayze. Died at 57. After closing the paper. We look up and see the Today's show on the flat screen, covering the same sad swayze story we'd just read about in the paper.

It didn't take long for them to call me in. I had about 45 minutes before the surgery. BW could have came back with me, had i mentioned that he was supposed to. I like to not tell him things, and then later get annoyed that he didn't just already know what to do. It keeps things interesting. He says awkwardly, "You'll be just fine." sort of pats me on the shoulders.

"Oh god." I should tell him to stay for a while but really, man, just go to work, i got this covered. No mom, no dad, just me in the center with the nurses, and then the anesthesiologist, the surgeon. They wheeled me into the OR. Helped me hop tables. I look up and see two large lamp strobe lights with some red message on the center of them about not covering with plastic. Then they injected the IV and I was out.

I wake up seemlying seconds later. Maria is there. A nurse. Its bright. I'm in and i'm out. Faces flash in front of me. They go away for seemlying seconds and return later. I heard 2:30 from someone over yonder. But it wasn't until about 5 that we left the center. I remembered the nurse boasting "look at my patient!" I was aiming for outrageous. I think I was successful.





For whatever reason I deparately wanted some bread from Viviano's.

Back from KC headed to florida

When I finally get back Lee Summit, I call colleen and suzie over at Gurlie's office. They insist I go back to mo bap to have another doctor look at drain and fluid build up. I'm horrified. Imagining having to go through the drain insertion ordeal all over again, I drive down highway 70 blinded by hysterical outbreaks of tears.

When I get to the hospital, there's some waiting involved. Its late in the day though so I get pushed through the system. End back up on the gurney waiting still for the doctor to come look at me. He finally comes in. Looks at the drain. Leaves the curtained room. Returns two seconds later with a syringe. Unscrews the drain from the tube.

"wait a second. That thing unscrews!"

Then he injects 5 cc's of saline into the tube, and sucks back out 5 cc's. The tube was clogged. He screws the tube back into the bulb, and BAM. Like 25 cc's fill the Pratt. Incredible. Problem more or less fixed in a matter of 3 minutes.

Given permission to detach the drain for a few hours at a time, my trip to florida did not seem so ruined by this medical apparatus. He sent me home with a box full of saline syringes and red caps to close off the tube whilst i frolicked on the beach.


PS Florida was awesome, and i'm not going to tell you about it.

Pinch in the Plans

August opened as a month filled with travel. My first trip was to help JT with two very large murals in Lee's Submit. We headed out of town 4 hours later than planned. And arrived in Lee's Summit well past midnight. U-turn after u-turn finally lead us to JT's cousin's place. A lovely home with fresh tomatoes growing in the back yard, basil, all sorts of other plants and herbs, a well mannered french bulldog named Deja. After 5 hours in the car with JT I needed a stiff drink then headed directly there after to bed.

In the morning, I woke up to a puddle of liquid under my drain site. However the drain was empty, and an embarrassing stain was left on the sheets of my hosts bed linens. I soaked up as much as possible with a towel, took a shower and cleaned up. I was super emotional about it. Whining and moaning in embarrassment. JT told me to shut up and said I was over reacting. He's such a harsh bed partner in the mornings. Knowing it wasn't my fault didn't help, I still got flash backs to bed wetting at slumber parties. I devised a plan. To solve the problem. Which involved turning over the laundry. Another awkward action in need of explanation.

When I finally go up, we raided the kitchen for eggs, coffee, headed to the garden to find a ripe tomato and a sprig of basil. After morning omelets. JT and I headed out to the mural site. I spend the day, taping the wall off, climbing the ladder, filling in the white of the character, and drinking beer out of Styrofoam gas station coffee cups. That evening I came home and in the shower discovered my left "breast" was completely full of water. The drain still very empty, if not totally dry. I massaged the mound of flesh causing the liquid to seep out the drain site. Running in a single drip all the way down to my knees. This was not painful exactly, and I wanted to get the fluid out of me. So after some time in the shower, I get out lay on the bed on my side and continue to collect a towel full of liquid.

This is not good. Something has to be wrong. And I'm in Lee's Summit for two more days. . .

The Past Few Weeks

Things been crazy in the life of Jenn. This process hasn't exactly been smooth sailing. And my inability to chill out and say no has prolonged the process. The second surgery is still scheduled for Tuesday Sept 15th. This one, I can't wait for. I'm going to try and catch up over a few posts.

A turn for the drainy.

I left my office around 9:15 to make it to my appointment with Ramone. He specializes in Lymphatic Massage Basically he was going to massage my implants to get the liquid within the cellular structures to start moving around and out of my healing skin tissue. Everyone was particularly tickled with the statement, I have breast massage appointment with Romane. When I told my grandparents about it, my grandfathers ears perked up, "How do I get Ramone's job?" He says. My grandparents have been particularly enchanted with my after doctors visits. Grandma took a photo of my new tits. Straight up cut off my head in the photo. Seriously.

I head to the appointment with out a care in the world. Looking forward to him working my back as well, because sleeping has been a beast to say the least. And then jetting back to the office to tackle a long day of work. I walked in and was greeted by Andrea as usual, and Suzie. They asked how things were doing. "umm well," I say. "this one is saggy," I point to my left side, "and this one is a little squishy."

This causes a chain reaction. Colleen rounds the corner. She wants to take a look before I meet with Romane. We quickly head back to the examining room. I flash her and Suzie. I'm not sure if she really said "oh shit." I can't remember if I inserted that from her reaction, or if she really cursed. But either way. "oh shit." Bad sign right. The drains all came out last friday. I had a wonderful drain free weekend. Although I didn't get to cash in on my drains out deadline promise with myself and bw, but still it was nice. Colleen says I need to get a drain put back in. And Suzie rushes off to arrange this surprise surgery at Missouri Baptist.

I meet with Ramone anyway for a 30 minute swedish (maybe?) massage. That was wonderful. Relaxed and de-stressed. Its 11:45. Suzie comes back in and says Missouri Baptist can get me in at 12:30. And that I shouldn't eat or drink anything because she doesn't know if they have to put me under or not.

So I head over to mobap.

I've never visited this particular hospital before. It seems strange that its so close to St. John's. I arrive at the patient registration center before they had received the fax from Suzie about the procedure. So it took some calling around for them to figure out what the hell to do with me. After some insurance paper work and waiting, they called me AND this other very old couple up to follow the nurse to the operating waiting area. This was awkward because, I'm a very fast walker, always seem to be headed somewhere in a hurry. And the old couple, well, was much slower. Combined with the fact that to the outside world there really seems to be absolutely nothing wrong with me. So the nurse is in between me and the couple. I have not a clue where I'm headed. And she actually at one moment asked my name again to ensure that I was in fact really supposed to be following her.

We finally round a turn, go through a door way and I'm almost literally dumped into a small curtained room with a bed, some medical machine, a trash can, one of those hospital tables on wheels, and other various stuff attached to the walls. I'm like, "Great, I can lay down," still very relaxed from my massage. I took this photo right before I fell asleep. Its about 12:15.



So I wake up a bit later, check my iphone. Its nearly freakin' 3pm. No one has as much as glanced in my direction. I stumble over to the bathroom, barefoot. Which now, thinking back, super gross! After doing my business, I come out and ask the nurses what the dealio is. They explain that the guy before me has some complications. And that I'd have about 45 minutes longer to wait. So much for going back to work today. I head back to my little room. Ease drop on a few conversations. The guy across the hall is in for a liver biopsy. But his symptom is diarrhea. He doesn't understand what the two have to do with eachother. I feel you man. Nothing worse than being strung through a series of medical tests. Doctors, just in there, rooting around for some clues.

Finally the nurse comes in and gives me some blankets and one of those hospital gowns I love so much. A bit later the doctor came in to tell me something. Then finally, they wheel me into the room.



Its looks very much like a operating room but its actually an xray table. The large box on an arm was the xray, the flat screens display the chest xray. There is also an ultra sound machine, with more screens not in the photo. The nurses take painstaking effects to cover everything in plastic. Which is funny, because as I lay there watching them, I look up and notice blood splattered all over the arm machine. I don't think that's legal... or sterol.

The expanders have two cylinders where the injections happen. One is metal the other is very thick plastic. So when you see the xray of my chest, you see my rib cage, my heart beating, my broken collar bone from age 11, and then these two sets of circles within circles that look just like nipples. Pretty funny. I told this to the nurses as they covered me with blue paper. Then they took scissors can cut a hole out over my left breast.

After several local anesthetic shots, I really couldn't feel anything too painful. But still the sensation of a tube being inserted into your body was quite intense. At one point during the surgery, a nurse popped in and said her goodbyes, chatted for a minute about her vacation to all the other nurses. "Really?" I thought, "I'm like awake, and right here. Get the hell outta here nurse, have a nice damn weekend."

At another point, "Can't get enough of you baby." by Barry White starts playing on the radio. I can't control myself and start laughing and crying at the same time. Startled by my actions, the nurses and doctor ask what is wrong. So i'm forced to explain that this song always makes me think of BW and then cry a little. No clue why. Hormones I blame.

I finally get tied back up, cleaned off and rolled back into the waiting bed area. I tell the nurse I haven't eaten in about 8 hours, and she brings me two tiny tubs of peanut butter, some saltines, and a half sized sprite. I devour every last crumb. Then spill my sprite all over the place. Ahh! I try to clean it up with my hospital gown, its hard to bend over, makes me dizzy. I give up and give the nurses a heads up about the spill and then ask how to get back to the parking lot.

I leave the building and glance up at the sky. Dark clouds, "shit, its going to rain."

I have no clue where my car is. So I wonder around the parking garage hitting my alarm button. Hoping to catch the "beep beep" of my horn. Finally there she is. And as soon as I pull out of the parking lot, yep, down pour. Its 4 o'clock. I have to go back to the office. I have to take 270. In the rain. During rush hour. It takes me about an hour.

So there it is 5pm, back to work soaking wet with a new shiny drain stuffed in my panties.

The expander implants.

I promised to post these photos. Will ad more narrative later, but these are things they are injecting with cc's.

60 cc's

Two weeks after surgery, I went back to Gurley's office. This visit was specifically to fill my tissue expanders with 60 more cc's on each side. This photo is pretty graphic. I thought about not posting it. But really I don't care. This is how it happened. This is what it looked like. Deal with it people. This is reality.

Colleen got everything ready for the injection. There was quite a bit of loose skin, and this was going to help fill out the lower "droplet". The expanders (which I promise to photograph on friday) have a hard plastic one way valve at the top center. Some how, with a device that looks very much like a physics pendulum, but was basically a free hanging magnet, Dr. Gurley found the exact point of entry, she then presses down on the device leaving a plus sign. The cross sections pointing to the exact point the 3 inch needled was to be inserted. She does this for each "breast" and then covers the area in iodine, staining the skin the dark orange you see in the photo.

This syringe is large. (just double checked the spelling of syringe, and have to include this definition: A syringe is a simple piston pump consisting of a plunger that fits tightly in a tube.) So its nightmare, horror film, cereal killer huge, right. I'm pretty much phased by nothing at this point so through out the process I was trying to take this photo. Dr. Gurley was a great sport about the photography, she even waited to completely inflate while my I gave my mother a quick tutorial on taking photos with iphones.

I just bought a bra at lunch today, it was a 36C. I'm scheduled for another injection. But really, i'm straight on the 36C. I might just stay here. But I think I can go backwards on the final decision, so we might as well see what another 60 cc's does to my wardrobe.

In this photo, the scars look crazy. But after that week, I started to work at getting the glue off. Yes they glued me shut. As it started to peel off, the red lines turned into faint pink lines. Its only one month out, and when they do surgery number two the craftsmanship will be more end result conscious. I'm starting to think the scarring is going to be minimal to almost nothing.

Jackson Pratt Drains

Its been called to my attention that these drains had a name: Jackson Pratt

A detailed account of this drain process is in order and long over due. The week after surgery I started with six. The rubber tubes are inserted during surgery while everything is open. You can see the tubes snaking under your skin. I've been told that the section of the drain within your body is similar to those garden hoses with holes all along them so that water can sprinkle over a long stretch of your yard. Exactly like that, only opposite. The bulbs create a suction. And the fluid that builds up in your body after surgery is slow sucked through the holes, down the tube, out of your body, down the 2 foot length of the tube and into compressed air tight bulbs. At their exit points, the tubes are sewn to your skin with black thread.

So i started with three on each side, six total. On each side 1, 2, 3 was labeled in permanent marker. For the doctors, the amount and color of the fluid draining is very important. I did my best to document accurately. I even set up an excel spreadsheet so I wouldn't mess up the sum totals. Every morning, lunch, and evening before bed they must be striped, drained and measured. Stripping: starting from the very tender entry point you squeeze the tube all the way down to the bulb, this takes all the fluid in the tube to the bulb. The bulb has a valve closing thingy, once it looks like all the fluid is out of the tube, normally if you did a good job, the tube will be flat from the suction. Then you open the valve, air fills the bulb up so its now an flatted bulb. Then you empty its contents into a small mL/cc measuring cup. Hold the cup up to eye level so you can read the cc number and record it on a form. Also take notice of the color. I had a system 0 being clear and 10 being blood red. It was a more or less subjective observation based mainly on the amount of drugs I was on that day and my particular mood at the time.

In the surgery center, the nurses took care of this process, while staying with my grandmother, my mom did most of the work for the first two days. I remember the first time we drained the left number 2. The pain was indescribable, fluid getting sucked out from the depths of your wounded body. I had to take a oxy and val and sit on the sofa in a haze of pain for at least 40 minutes. In prelude, next time, I took the pain pills and then 30 minutes later I was drugged enough to withstand the draining. Grandma tried to help on the third day, but by that time I was ready to do it myself. And had it down to a very quick system.

The saturday after my Tuesday surgery, I decided to escape family care and pack up and go back to the city. So I made plans to have all my friends meet me at my dad's pool first. Makes perfect sense right. RG picked me up, she didn't have a swim suit so we stopped by the Walmart on Manchester in west county. Did you know that rich people have WAY nicer Walmarts than us middle income city people. We had a shopping spree. I got some booty shorts to double as a swim suite bottom, and a tank top, and a very adorable fluffy skirt (perfect for hiding the drains), I also scored the cutest short sleeve pink cardigan. I spent like 50 dollars. Crazy huh?

RG and I then headed over to my Dad's new bachelor pad. MU and Jeff were already there with a cooler of beer and some mendota sparkling lime water for me. JT showed up shortly after, BW following not too far behind him. In an attempt to "hide" these six drains, I simply gathered them all together in the middle and tucked them under my booty shorts. This created the illusion of me having a giant cock bulge. I can only imagine what the other pool goer's thought, if i even gave a what. But it was pretty hilarious. At least we all thought so. Jenn gets rid of ridiculously big boobs and replaces with giant balls and monster cock. The laughter was a tad painful, but worth it.

As the days passed, the drains came out two at time. Number 1's at first, then a week later they took out number 3. I still have two left. I'm getting creative with wearing baggy skirts and shirts to hide them. sometimes i spread them apart and put one in each pocket, other times i swing them low and center under a skirt.

The final still pumping out about 30 - 50 cc's a day, each! A new antibiotic will hopefully end this flow. But I'm ready for this stage to be over.

Not to mention they are dangerous man leg hair grabbers in bed...

Dr. Gurley's Office

As a non cometic altering citizen my pervious notions of plastic surgeons where based off hit tv shows like Dr. 90210 and Extreme Makeover. Who's that guy on that bev hill show, with the hair... and the muscles, and the wife with the big fake boobs. They keep having kids. He does ty quan doe or something. And has the worst hair. Full circle there.

Gurley's spot is located off highway 40, you exit at timber manner court drivelanelakeway. Follow the outer road through a few stop lights and turn, err veer right, and follow the amusement park of parking lots to the last building. Over the past couple of visits, I've been watching the landscaping crew manicure the parking lot, dividers and mediums. Its developing quite nicely and rivals what i imagine Disney Land is rocking these days. Minus the mouse shaped box wood bushes.

I always check the building doctor directory for the floor button to push in the elevator. I know now its 3, but now it's habit, and I've been showing up with different people each visit so I like to take them through the discovery process I went through on my first, second, third visit.

Enter through sexy frosted glass door, allow man person who drove you to appointment to grab the curved steal rod that opens the heavy glass threshold. Andrea is at the front desk. She has a really fantastic attitude. I'd totally hire her. She juggles looking important and busy with being social and
not overly invasive but skillfully copacetic to whatever situation you have behind your eyes.

Visit one, I drove myself. My mom met me out there to talk one on one with DrJG. Visit two I came on my own. This was a pre-operation meeting with one of DrJG's nurses? assistants? I'm not sure what their titles are. So far I've met Suzie, and Colleen. Suzie's quote of the situation is "Dr. Gurley just makes the most beautiful nipples!" Can you imagine having a job where this is a statement you not only state several times a day, but also have absolute faith in the factorial purity of the declaration.

Colleen met with me to lay out the deal. She arrived with a Rubermaid container similar to the ones I organize my art supplies in sometimes, only hers was filled with drains, tubes, measurement cups, and pain pumps. She threw a lot of cards on the table. Like the drains. And the pain pump. And the fact that i'd have to actually look at my "breasts." Of all the things she explained to me about what would happen post operation, the single phrase that physcologically changed by fear approaching the situation was the fact that she continued to refer to the post-op scars being "My breasts." At the time, in my mind, my breasts were the ones i was carrying. These new these they were going to build certainly didn't belong to me. Or so i thought. The concept of having breasts made a big dent in the pre-surgery terror meter.

If you google mastectomy you find a lot of photos of lesbian women rocking their flat chested scars and pot bellies. Ok there is one specific one in my mind that came up too often, i think she had a salamander over her nipple. Her left breast was untouched. Her shirt was plaid.

My monday may 29th visit, i asked bw to drive me. We went to the office, then near my dad's west county apartment'd'viva. We drank a couple of New Castles at Harpo's. Which is across the street from Peach Hill, my dad's bachelor pad. Dave was on some sort of business conference call. So we had a few minutes to kill. I like it when I stick to a schedule, but occasionally the schedule allows you to stop and sit out side and enjoy a tasty beer with a good friend. After 3 NC's (combined) we cashed out and my dad rolled up in his SUV of the month. He dropped off a few bags of Vivianos': bread, salami, olive antipasto, cole slaw with red peppers. We do a grab and run and head over to Wildwood. I had intended to shoot a few more photos after lunch with the grandparents with this really heavy shot gun they had in the basement. Turns out my gpa paid like 65 dollars for it. Pound for pound, thats a damn good deal. But I forgot the flash card for the camera. Was totally bummed. BW and I headed back to the city, stopping at the bird mall to fix my refurbished ipod. This took a really long time. I am quite in awe of the patience exhibited by BW during this Apple store visit. I think if he hadn't have been there, i would have just left and fixed noting. Although it was quite fun for at least 30 minutes making a SIMs JT. We really got close to his exact description. I attempted to do some other people i know, but it occurred to me, that there is no one who's descriptive features I'm more familiar with than JT's. We get a lot of face to face time.

16114 Port of Nantucket

The county is the strange place. Everyone religiously takes care of their lawn. There are plenty of lawn novelties, but instead of sunflower wind mills and pink flamingos, you see more boxwood bushes and white birdbath fountains. If you leave your car unlocked, someone will actually come by and armor-all the dash board for you.

My grandparents, Jack and Joe, have been living out in wildwood for nearly ten years. Since they fled from Galaxy Lane, a lovely ranch style north county home on a sort of half circle cul-de-sac I used to ride my tricycle around and around. They also had a crab apple tree. The neighbors kids and I would pull off the apples and pelt each other with them, leaving large red welts on our exposed skin.

Tuesday night was spent in the surgery center. Then around 9 am I headed to my grandparents for what I thought might be two to three weeks. Wednesday I made an appointment with my Grandmother's hair dresser to have my hair washed and blowed dried. My family was extremely helpful caring and supportive. I've never seen people so focused on food in my life. While we eat breakfast (me a protein shake), they talk about what is going to be for lunch. Lunch is at about 11:30. While they make lunch, my grandpa likes to snack on a baloney sandwich, then the homemade chicken soup is finally ready. This was amazing by the way, my grandpa can really made some soup. Then while enjoying the soup we talk about what might be for dinner, pulled pork sandwiches? Stuffed grouper? chicken catatori? And after every meal I was offered cheesecake. I drank alot of iced tea and water. I said no, no, and no. Stuck strictly to my protein, mangos, berries, and veggies. I also found it generally less painful to be sitting up rather or moving around than vegged out on a sofa or bed. Thank goodness for facebook, my macbook, and free wifi.

My mother spent the first night there, then was back and forth from wild wood to pleasantville to take care of Bob.

JT took my car to fenton at night, since he wasn't allowed to spend the night. And came back later in the after noons, where we went to the pool, ate dinner, and watched a Tropic Thunder, Dan in Real Life (really enjoyed that one), something else with that kid who was McLovin in that other movie. I passed out for large portions of most of these. Because valium and oxy are some serious shit. I got off those narcotics asap. The valium however... man... They make EVERYTHING allllriiggght.

Even still, it was hard for me to get to sleep at night. My cognitive theory books where a bit too challenging for my state of mind. And "Youth and Revolt" fell between the bed and the wall on the first night. Plus the words were very fuzzy. So instead, the moments before loosing consciousness I spent texting BW. (Thank god i stopped him from reading those out loud last night. God only knows what I was typing at 3 in the morning with val and darv.)

Recovery Room: a walk in the park.

It turned out, that the surgical recovery center was outfitted with Jim Trotters, fantastical St. Louis monument photography. I believe my room was called "A walk in the park". The photograph in my line of site, was taken on mars. But on mars they built a park. That park was very similar to forest park here in St. Louis. I didn't know that Jim Trotter had a space ship. I hope he made a safe trip back into the earth's atmosphere.

This photo was taken by my father. I think he took about 30 photos. "say cheese" didn't offer the candid response he was looking to accurately depict the situation. I'm not sure exactly what we where smiling about, but I know it was super exciting. Double thumbs up!

I'm in and out of consciousness. Over the next I don't know how many hours.

Things I remember.
My dad went to Kolh's. I told him to go to target. But it turned out ok.

Someone brought me some Edamame (i just spelled that right on the first try! shit yeah magazine) There were also fortune cookies. Mine said "the more you give, the more you will receive." I didn't know confucisous was so into oral sex.

JT slept on the recliner. The recliner was made of wood and hardness. While they where manufacturing this recliner, they called in a focus group. When 10 out of 10 people where extremely uncomfortable. The chair then received high points and was propelled in to production. I personally watched him change positions, upwards of 3 million times over the course of the 8 hour night.

The buttons that are supposed to help you raise and lower your head on the bed. Are strategically placed in the exact spot you will never be able to reach on your own.

I had some yogurt, also a fruit cup.

Jeff, MU, JT, mom and Dave where in and out.

JC was in and out.

We watched the Big Labowski with my mom. She asked what the plot was about. We really couldn't give her an answer.

The next morning, my plastic surgeon came to check on her handycraft. I was standing up, with my arms above my head, trying to pull the knots of of my tangled mane. There was some surprise in her on face at my standing upon her arrival, I knew i was supposed to be laying down, I knew i was supposed to be not brushing my hair. And I was alone for the first time in quite a while, since for some reason my party of seven had dispersed. MU and Jeff and were probably making out somewhere in an unoccupied patient room. Dave and JT were probably outside smoking. My dad probably gave JT another business card. Mom was somewhere in a grey Chevy Malibu.

Ironically, this over night stay in "The Walk In the Park" was just that. Thanks to my friends Jeff and MU, even though those bitches won't give me back my keys right now and are suspect for hair product thief. Their timely arrival on the morning of the surgery, high spirits, energy and support helped to save not only save my sanity, but also save my sanity. I would had been a anxious nervous wreck. I am now in debt a legion of hj's.

I also couldn't have made it through this day/week with out JT. He woke up historically early and stayed close enough to me for the longest periods of time over the course of the day after, night after and days of recovery at gpeeps. JT is the only the person I need to see everyday. He's my ET.

My father jumped through hoops and took lashes to the back side with my drugged out dissatisfaction. But all his efforts were executed perfectly and are appreciated. Sometimes you know, men do the right things, go figure. And as stated above, we have this priceless photo to enjoy.

My mom was there to love me. I love you too mom.

BW. I didn't want to shatter your innocence by having you too close to the situation, but your availability at the right moments was crucial.

Everybody who came to the party, or gave me a face book "notification", email, text message, cards, flowers, etc. Thank you, I was living for that feedback all week.

Its been one week exactly. I'm already considering popping into work for a few hours, but maybe tomorrow. But tomorrow I'm also going to DELUX meeting, and the Art D member meeting. . .

Whoa.

Breath.

Awakening

In my mind there was two seconds from the time they inserted the iv and the moment i woke up mutilated, immobile, tubes and wires stemming from every wound. I was padded with cotton and this antithesis of sexy tank top bra that Velcro's at the shoulders. So I didn't have that dreaded "oh my god" my tits are gone feeling. Because actually there still are some bumps there.

MU, Jeff, JT, and my Dad where there. I know i was being a bitch. The bed was poorly designed. The buttons where ill placed, and someone made the mistake of giving me a little red button that allowed me to call upon an unsuspecting nurse at my whim. I couldn't do anything on my own. And the drugs make it very difficult to speak clearly. So people say "what?" and you mumble "hand me that please." then they say "what" again. And then you have to be like "god damnit whore give me some fucking water" Ok not really but after the third time, thats pretty much what my tone insinuated.

Behind the Center Doors

I wish i could remember more of the nurses names, but I can't. So I'm going continue to refer to them by description only. The Filipino nurse who called me into the back was the first to spend time with me. Take my blood pressure and all that pre-press bullshit. She set me up on the gurney.

A few things I didn't know they did during surgery:



Those blue things go on your legs. They alternate compression to circulate your blood while you're in the OR. The paper blanket with little gay blue bears on it connects to a hose (the hose previously mentioned in an earlier post I didn't want to imagine its purpose) The blanket fills up with warm air to keep your body temperature slightly higher than usual. Its sort of like a swimming pool raft.

My dad finally came back to stay with me before the hooked up the iv and knocked me out. And yep he had his camera. Starting to realize how very similar we are. In the moments before surgery I told him the story of how i got involved with art in St. Louis. I hadn't really realized how very far removed I've been from my family since my escape to college. This is perhaps the first time they've actually met me. As the me I am now, as a rebellious adult. Rather than a rebellious teenager. I'd like to think I've refined the process just a bit over that last 12 years.

D Day

I woke up around 5am. An hour before MU and Jeff were scheduled to show up and drag me out of bed.
As the day approached I had envisioned Jeff hog tying me, throwing me over his shoulder and dragging me kicking and screaming into the car. But when the witching hour arrived, there wasn't much fight left in me. Fortunately, I have these three friends, who whenever we are together, no matter what we are doing, we are partying. Laughing, screaming, yelling, making obscene jokes, laughing, did i mention making obscene jokes. The middle finger gets flashed a lot. We all find this hilarious. And as if we are going to roll out of town on the road trip of the century MU, Jeff, JT, and I pile in Jeff's car. My car gets loaded with some of the items I had thought to pack. To be picked up later on mission "get jenn to wildwood"

JT and I crash in the back seat, repeatedly singing, T.I.'s "Steady chasing the paper, Oh oh oh oh, just live your life", instead of logical conversation. We make it around the block. I forgot my insurance card. We roll back around one more time, "oh oh oh oh , just live your life...." I jump out and grab my wallet. BW is still pulling away. I press my hand to the glass of the back window, much like those scenes on life time movies, when the girl next door moves away forever from her grade school crush. This is quite possibly the end of all that business, i think, maybe, who knows confusion ensues, but is over shadowed by more important situations. And maybe I'll talk KM into "feelin it" so he can be happy."

The ride there is laced with sexual innuendoes, more laughter. Its quite a drive, mostly because of the 40 shut down. But even still, to us deep city kids, Creve Coeur is straight up out of town. We are little early, so we stop at Starbucks. Of course, I can't have anything. But Jeff and MU needed a little pick me up to make it through the rest the day after I went in, there was still much to be done.

Funny thing about cancer. Is that stereotypically, its for old people. So the waiting room is quiet. Very quiet. Very somber and grave. Until we get there. Still laughing, still joking, still singing that blasted T.I. song (boy are we annoying with that shit). But how can one freak out when they are having a little pre-operation party in the waiting room. Giggling, I approach the counter. Sign here, sign there, pay this, pay that. My father shows up in a suit and tie. With his business leather binder filled with organized information. He joins the party. Probably a little confused as to why we are all having so much fun.

It didn't take long before a tiny Filipino nurse came to the waiting room with a clip board, and my name rolled off her tongue. "Jenn Carter."

"Oh wait, everyone just went outside. I can i go say bye?" I say, as i look at her and then look outside where Jeff and JT went to smoke. They should really quite that shit.

I walk outside, hug JT, tell him I love him, hug Jeff, tell him i want to sleep with him (this is our code for I love you in our little way) I got back in hug MU, hug my father. The three party people have to get going to work and mission stage two. So now its just me. And Dave is left in the waiting room until he's called back.

One of the first things the nurse asks is, "Is this your family?"

MU matter of factly explains, "We're her BFF's"

"Did she really just say that?" JT smirks.

Yeah, so um, they are like my family, labels aren't important. I slip through the swinging door, and everyone but my father heads out the front doors.

Nurse turns to me and says "Is he in a band?"

"Ha, no." I shake my head because this is common misconception. "He should be though, huh, but he's an artist. Similar, but without the band."

JT BW AND JC go to the pool.

I had been trying to go the pool for the past three days. For starters, its hot as bloody hell outside. And for more obviously reasons: I wanted to get wet and bask in the sun one last time. My new fitness center is in the first level of an overpriced apartment complex. There is a quaint but absolutely sufficient outdoor pool. If you go in through the front you can pretty much bring in whoever you want through the back gate.

We all woke up fairly early. Enjoyed some freezer pops. For some reason JT boiled a couple of eggs and pulled out some left over salsa and chips from the party the night before. JR woke up and I was reminded of his burlesque performance just a few hours earlier. For a moment there in my morning haze I had forgotten about it. JT and I polished off the rest of the beer in the fridge. I finished the bottle of wine in the the condiment door rack. JT kept magically coming up with PBR's. (they were in the cooler) And we rocked out to some whitesnake, journey, def lepard, a few other awesomely bad 80's hair bands as we got ready for the pool. BW graciously decided to join us. You never know with him, he's always got to run off and do something less fun than our typical J-days. But, turns out his trunks were in his car. We all three piled in my wagon and headed to the pool. Rocking out to the new Cage album. JT and I pretty much have all the words memorized. So BW was assaulted with our singing as we made the trek to union and lindell. Cage makes me drive fast.

"Are we in some kind of hurry?" BW exclaims in the calmest possible voice.

"Yep. its hot as fuck" JT and JC say in unison. Then go back to screaming "Its like god opened the sky and handed you directly to meeeeeee, i know it sounds crazy but so is life, i'm sinking...."

We enjoy the water, the hot bitches, the happy inner-tubed children as long as we can handle it. Since it was about 2 by this point and no one had really eaten. We decide to get out dry off and go to Guidos, a fantastic spanish italian spot on the shaw in the hill. In no position to be frugal as I assumed over the next couple of weeks I'd probably not be spending much money, we order calamari, caprese salad, vodka tonics, and that that expensive italian beer JT likes to drink. BW got a couple of Heinekens, and more carbohydrates than JT and I had consumed in the last month. We are the only people in the place, so are allowed to wild out as we saw fit.

"You know you have to spend the entire day with us, don't you." We both say to BW.

"Huh?" as if he didn't know.

"Yep." another unison JT JC response.

BW sighs.... But submits to our day of fun.

One hundred dollars later, and a twenty dollar tip, I sign my name, and declare that having to bf's is fucking expensive. A joke that is funny because its true.

We head to the apartment. Where JT takes his mid J-day nap. And BW and I decide to go take care of a few things in his new shit hole apartment. (ok actually its really really nice, my jealously is through the roof, and I can't move in to the extra units, one because JT won't move to cherokee, and two because then i'd feel way on the stalker side.)

Big skip in the details here.....

Fast forward to us hearing his neighbors rocking out on drums and guitars. BW's neighbors are the two hottest lesbian chicks. Period. In all the world. LS is an amazing painter (with work in LAIC) and her partner stephanie rocks it on the drums, but also the guitar. They switch on and off. Just moved in from Chicago. Knowing I wasn't going to be able to hang with them and forge our new lifelong friendship for a few months, I immediately pounded on the door. They offered us wine and a little bit of green party favors. And we hang out long enough to convince them to rock it out again for a few. "We haven't played in month's, we're just warming up." LS modestly says. Shut up bitch you know you kick ass. Damn.

Some how we convince them to come back to my place because i've got a friend stopping by and they were out of cigarettes. So we caravan to QT, BW grabs some keystone (asshole) and we show up at my place to find my friend SV whining on the deck with JT. I spend some time feeling up SV's rack, she pisses off the chicks, which was actually quite hilarious, and as 11:59 approaches (my expiration date) I put down my last beer for a month. Say bye to the ladies, and pull BW to bed, leaving JT alone to see if he couldn't tap SV's ass. (he didn't by the way, she's impossible to penetrate).

The last Harrah.

Grammar disclaimer: I'm on valium and davarset. So this is a bit difficult.

I'm writing this post operation since the last week has been a crazy whirl wind of activity and emotion. The morning started with me waking up extremely angry at BW. I Told him to get the fuck out of my house, then had a panic attack on the back deck, then laid down in the shower for ten minutes. Then regaining my sanity sightly I burst into JT's room. "Get up!" I scream, "We're going to breakfast." He moans and turns back over. "Get up we are going to Rooster they have over 20 types of bloody marys." Boy do I know how to get that dude out of bed. So after some stumbling and grumbling we both drag ourselves out to my car and headed to Locust street where i had planned to meet several of my college Lacrosse team mates.

Knowing you're going to be down and out for several months is a great incentive to do all those things you say you'll do but don't always follow through with. So when a few of my colleges buds showed up to the Large and In Charge and we said we should go the the park and throw around, damn it we were going to the park. And when I found out Julie Whitman was in town and that we should all go to breakfast, damn it, we were getting up and going to breakfast. Even if it was at 9 in the morning and I was having a party in a couple of hours.

So Rooster on Locust is a cool spot, there are cocks everywhere. Right up my alley. Unfortunately, I was terribly hungover. And after a bloody that i loaded up with tobasco and rooster sauce, I threw up at the table. I was really subtle about it and no one noticed. JT even yelled at me for stealing his napkin. So breakfast was not so good, but it was good to see some old friends. Next headed to the store to haphazardly throw some food and beer into the cart at a puling attempt to feed the party goers. Cantaloupe, watermelon, chips and salsa, colt forty five (because it works every time), a thirty pack of highlife (because its the champaign of beers), and a pinky swear not to buy any hard liquor, and a giant bag of ice.

After we got back the crazy J's, jt and jc started the party. A couple of hours later some people showed up. Aliah and Eddie Holman, my gansta "boss" coworker and her recently obtained husband (the luckiest man on the planet in my own opinion) show up with a big brown bag of wing stop. Followed by the Weavers. And then Emily, a beloved ex co-worker now with child who husband just made it into the FBI. She'll be leaving town soon. After the early arrivals, I sort of lost track. The main high light of the evening was JR's lap dance in stripped man panties. I don't have any photos of that. And didn't remember until i was reminded in the morning while enjoying a mid-morning freezer pop.

I tried to burn my bras. But bras of these days are made out of synthetic materials. So they don't really burn. They just sort of melt. Which doesn't really have the same feminist impact. I just ended up ruining my favorite popcorn bowl.

There's many more photos of the party. Most of them involve boobs. Go fucking figure huh. They aren't on my camera. We'll post those later, when I get back home.

Xrays and Blood work

Woke up this morning at the regular time. Sat half way up and squinted towards the alarm clock. A floating red blur gradually sharpened into fuzzy numbers. 6:57. boo. I drag myself out of bed. Say "bye." And head down Kingshighway, the only road I ever drive all the way from Page to Gravois, back and fourth over and over.

This habitual journey switches my brain into auto pilot. I got home, got dressed, brushed my teeth, let the the dog out on the back porch, yelled box a hundred times, until balla scurried into my room jumped on bed, shut the door to my bedroom, and headed down the stairs to my car. Just like every morning I pulled out of my parking spot, turned left on to klemm, right on magnolia, right on tower grove, veer right on to vandevender. I see my boss on the way in at the high way left turn lane. Sometimes I stop here to get on the high way. But since she was there, and i was headed straight to work, I thought I'd use this opportunity to see which direction was faster. I get stuck at quite a few lights and behind a few left hand turners. But still get there right as AH is dropped her heeled foot to the cracked and littered asphalt. Pretty much a tie. I head to the elevator, hit 3, say hi t to the receptionist, to stacy, to Ah, sit down, start my computer, eat a granola bar, check my email, open this blog to proof read last nights entry, and then look up at the calender.

Xrays and blood work, eight thirty. Oh. yeah. woops. Call my favorite surgery scheduling nurse, Jackie, "Hey, Jackie, Jenn Carter, here, so i totally flaked on the appointment, can you fit me in?"

Drugs and medical apparatuses

6 drains that get emptied, measured and recorded 3 times a day.
pain pump (3 days)
Ibuprofen
Valium (fuck yeah)
Dramamine
Peri Colace (so you can poop on all these drugs)
Darvaocet N100
Percocet (oxycodone)
Amoxicillin Clavulanate (antibacterial)
Mupirocin (Ointment)

Ten Minutes Ago at Home: a tiny slice of j3

“Yeah that could be,” Jeremy says as he paces through the hallway.
“well.” He pivots and races back through to the kitchen.
“yeah” stands still in front of the tv and scratches his head
“your right.”
Pause while other is talking....
“But by far no arrests have been made.”
another long pause with lots of pacing.
“ok “
Word from the speaker.
“Alright thanks dana.”

Click on the phone.

With out missing a beat “well dana tells me that they got a call from some black guy, wrong number. Dana was thinking maybe they got the number from my laptop. I don’t know what would a bunch of seventeen to twenty two year old guys do with a computer that only had half a cord.” Pondering on that for a moment, then continues, “The enterprising criminal would have tried to extract some information.” And making one more pass to the hallway and back. “Who knows maybe they are sitting on it.”

“Yeah sure,” I say as I look up, its hard to type he’s talking so damned fast, I wonder if should ask him to repeat the last line, so i could be sure get it right. But I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that i was typing his words.

“If you're a pawn shop owner and some kids bring you a lap top and they give them a certain amount. Have you ever been to a pawn shop? I wonder if they do sell lap tops at these places? The motivation is to acquire something valuable for no work.” Jeremy then enters the bathroom.

Beautiful, calm, silence falls over the apartment.
I can hear the birds outside and my own thoughts in my head again.

15 days.

Nearly two weeks. I feel like I'm in limbo. "Purgatory is the condition or process of purification in which the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for heaven." (wikipedia)

I've gotten most all of the craziness out of my system. And for the first time feel like maybe I do have someone to support me. And actually realizing that maybe I don't have one single person, but instead have everyone.

What are those things called at airports that are basically a flat escalator. You can either walk and go super human fast, or stand still waiting for the belt to carry to closer to your destination. My belt goes on forever like an infinity pool. Atmospheric perspective blur and fade the distance. Currently in my head, the reality of it all doesn't exist. As I move slowly towards the scheduled day, I can no longer feel anything about it. Playing a psychological game with myself, I try to focus on the negatives of these stupid breasts. I start to hate them. I resent their implications. Not just for being filled with inevitable cancer, but for being the source of attention for so many years and getting me in all sorts of trouble. Part of me wants them gone now, as soon as possible.

more morbidity

WORDS aren't working for me today.

21 days

I woke up this morning sure it was Wednesday the third, not tuesday the second.
SO it is as if I gained a day. Thank god.

I have this vivid image of my breasts sliced off and laying in a trash can. I keep thinking about their upcoming fate. I'm not sure what the standards of medical disposal are. But in my head they are whole and tossed like wobbling frisbee-orbs into a thick black trash bag a few feet away from my body. I see them they land on top a holocaust scene of discarded appendages.

I wonder if they would freeze them for me. Or put them in a doggie bag for me to take home like my family used to do with the fried chicken from Romines. I could buy a small casket for them and hold a memorial service. Bury them and place a head stone that reads "Here lies Jenn's Breasts, more to come, but not just yet."

I morn their death already.

sorry for the morbid post, i just can't get that image outta my insane head.

My right nipple

is screaming making me painfully aware of its upcoming demise.

on top of every

As if i needed another project to tackle before i go under. My divorce finalized last September. But we were very lackadaisical about the paper work and the house we share a mortgage on. G insisted that he could handle the payments both before i moved out and the following months. He just recently lost his job, got another job, got fired again, and got a dwi. This has thrown a wrench in that wheel.

All i wanted to do was get the washer and dryer in the basement that my father bought us when we bought the house. He also brought the fridge.... which is irrelevant, just sayin'. With the surgery scheduled I have now entered preparation mode. As in get my life in order, get things straighted out so that everything will be easier to accomplish. Obtaining the w/d was a part of this plan. Knowing i could never get jt to carry my stuff to the laundry matte, I figured it was slightly easier to persuade him to carry stuff to the basement. Hence the text message to g informing him i'd be taking them. This comment initiated a day long argument. Ending with G threatening to move out and not pay the mortgage anymore. Leaving me with no choice but to get the house ready to sell. Oh yeah and he's not going to help at all. Great guy.

In the next 26 days.

June 23rd 7:30 AM

27 days. . .

And now I have to sell the house because greg is a piece of shit. says i need to think about his feelings. i can't even handle this today. I'm going to get my washer and dryer. . .

Dr. Judith 's brochure

This is the brochure from the dr. gurley office. the photos on the right are the reconstruction process. The other bitch was jsut getting bigger titties for no good reason. The first photo a month or two after the first surgery. I've been told that photo is super scary and they now have better looking temporary implants. Photo two is after the 9 month healing progress. They take skin from your hip and just make new nipples out of it. Freaking incredulous!

Jackie

called back. and is checking on availability.

F.

maybe jackie will drop the ball. and i'll be off the hook. you know these medical professionals. so unreliable...

Scheduling

I'm sitting here at my office desk with the St. Louis Cancer & Breast Institute, partner in caring, business card in front of my keyboard. I am trying to figure out how to schedule a surgery that is going to render me useless for two weeks and boobless for three months, nipple'less for 6. If I do it in early July, I will be ok by the time I have to start really pushing and working on the next flax show, sort of, either way I need to find a partner to help out with that show this month. (Holla at me if you can or will or want to). I'd like it to be after 4th of July because I don't want to miss that. And the next issue of delux is going to come out in August. Actually i should probably do it in June, and miss the 4th, if we are talking in the magazine best interest. . . grr. there is no time for this.

So I'm thinking all of this when I call ask for Jackie. "Hello, this Jenn Carter I need to talk to Jackie."

"Jackie?" says the line, "Is on the phone, is there anyone else you can talk to?"

No, i just need Jackie. That's the only name i got. She's going to get Dr. Gurley and Dr. Schuh on the same day for me.

"Wait, Jackie just got off the phone."

"Ok, thanks"

transfer... straight to voice mail.

wtf.

Left a message with lots of pausing inbetween my words.
"Jackie, its jenn carter, i need to schedule this .... thing.... etc"

I tried ok. Now its in Jackies court.

to jackie from jenn "not it."

back and forth up and down

I'm on a constant cycle of fuck it - schedule it- fuck it etc. over and over.

I find myself sitting staring into space friday night. I keep reading these posts, spell checking, and revisiting my cycle of thoughts. is there a difference been writing about your feelings and writing about your thoughts? because at first i had written "feelings", and thought whoa that sounds pretty lame and gay. But if I tell you what in is my head, "thoughts", thats seems much cooler. when i was writing head I typo'd and wrote "heart", instead of thoughts. I think i just answered my own questions. feelings = heart = gay, thoughts = head = cool. ok proceed.

Re-reading these blogs, puts me in a pit of despair. Tears are constantly streaming down my face as I try to focus on reality and my present company. I spent the last two nights at the lake with my roommate and his parents. JT's parents are fabulous people. They built a home together. They built a life together. And in my eyes are literally the height of personal and spiritual success. Just good honest hard working fun loving caring individuals. They make me realize what i want out of a relationship and then in turn depress the living crap out me because I can't have it. They make me wonder where the hell JT went so horribly wrong as a functioning adult.

Since the onset of this blog, I felt it necessary to put the link out there and let everyone know what is going on. I don't want to be responsible for explaining myself. I'm not really sure how i'm going to deal with the comments from people who don't know whats up. Like Alberto the moron mexican janitor at work who can barely remember my name but always makes comments about the painfully obvious. Because of this I've spoken with many people in my life very bluntly and honestly about the situation. I've gotten emails and comments sending good energy in my direction. To those people I am truly grateful. Your responses mean a lot to me so please continue, please follow along, please leave comments. I'm a "strong ass bitch" in the words of BW, but i'm not that strong and I can't do this alone. And for a minute there and sometimes still, I feel desperately and despairingly alone.

My ex husband just sent me a text message that said "i hope you die soon" wow. so far in life, that tops the charts for the worst thing ever said to me list. I'm completely in awe. Yes i was sort of short and bitchy on the phone but . wow. yeah. wow.

Last night after a fifth of vodka split between me and jt after a day in the sun, JT passed out and I got into my contact list and started calling and texting in a desperate outreach operation. I talked to my grandma for a long time. I said a about a million things you should never tell you grandmother. We decided that the week after surgery i would stay with her. Waffles and corn flakes, italian sausage, vodka tonics, penne with meat balls. I can live with that.

Tonight

I can't. I won't. This is over.

Decision time

The plastic surgery office was decorated like a spa. Purple pillows, frosted glass with inset bamboo, orchids and artwork, there was even a fancy coffee maker installed in the wall. Every one there was overly nice. A few people came in for massages. And the lady in the waiting room with me needed to stop getting work done on her face. Or perhaps she needed to have not at all. I had to drive out there from down town. I took 70. And it was scary. I'm the worst driver. really. I've driven to both coasts and still nothing, terrible, terrified.

My mother is pushy and keeps talking over me and for me. And refuses to fucking google the situation so she has some god damned background information. Maybe I should buy her a book.

i dont know how to start the explanation.

There are three surgeries.

First. They hack off both boobs. (i have to do both because otherwise one will be fake and one will real. And this will not look right. plus there is a chance that cancer will develop on the right side. and either way they have to reduce it. because they don't even make implants as big as mine.) A temporary implants are inserted. Flat at first. I have to spend the night in the hospital. 3 months will pass and they will gradually fill them up to stretch the skin. 3 entire fucking months right in the middle of the summer. When its hot as fuck and there is no way to hide anything.

second they put in the implants. 3 more months of healing.

then she slaps on some nipples.

when its done they will look amazing. never sag.





but they will have no feeling.
at all.
ever.





i don't think i can go through with this.

Plastic

Today, later, this afternoon I have an consultation with a plastic surgeon. Things are moving too fast. I want to get through the summer before I get sliced up and and laid out. Fall sleeves, sweaters and hoodies seem more appropriate for this sort of thing.

I invited my mother. This whole thing seems to be bothering her more than me. Plus I'm a terrible listener.

Starting to think about the positives of having smaller fake breasts....
here's what i got so far...
jump ropes
trampolining
pogo sticks
jogging
cuter cheaper bras
tube tops
spaghetti straps

I'm also designing a tattoo to cover the scars.
Its still fuzzy in head. But something about a peacock feather, cascading flowers, a metal plated bra thing (xena-esk maybe) with rivets. I want to be urban, modern, graphic, but feminine, I want to look like a warrior. I need help designing. big time. but its one of the only things thats really making it ok in my head.

When it comes down to it, i realized that to the outside world things are going to seem fucked up. But for me its always been the time infront of the mirror alone where I gather most of my self worth. Loosing that confidence and being faced with a horror show is not something I can mentally deal with. It must be transformed into artwork. And I must use this opportunity to transform the rest of my body to match. I'm hitting the gym every day at lunch. Starting a little slower than i'd like but things are tender and moving my arm and bouncing are sort of painful. I'd like to loose 20 lbs before the surgery. I'm drinking these juices called Naked. They are delicious! And there seems to be an endless variety. Also considering those meal replacement shake things. . .

mirror

today for the first time i realized if i hold my arm above my head in the mirror naked you can a see the lines they removed. they look like inverted tree branches running the length of my outer breast, stretching wider towards the nipple. I'm starting to realize that i'm already damaged and forward towards complete transformation is where i'm going.

some times people say "that chick, she's drive or die." ride or die? its some gansta influenced statement I'm too white to comprehend. But whatever it is. yeah. do or die. live or let live. all or nothing. its all i know.

an object in motion remains in motion.

Wow'd out The painting

wow'd out

Something has happened to my ora. I had a ridiculous weekend. Something is extremely maternal is associated with being the only female in a group of talented but hopelessly tragic group of men. I don't know how i got so far away from where i was two years ago. but I am somewhere very near living in a commune of male artists. And all i want to do is help them, feed them, make art with them, help them succeed, feed them. This weekend was very near nirvana. A complete and total surrender to every visceral primal nature urge.

Maybe its the pain pills. or the vodka.

But weekend aside. I had a coworker very clearly state he was interested today. I think i'm radiating some sort of sexually intense vibe. I can't control it. I want to ride it long and hard. Experience every single opportunity of pleasure with my natural breasts. Before I am forced to augment them. I have a bitter confusion towards women who willingly alter there natural self. I can't conceive undergoing such extremely for the sake of vanity. Here I am faced with life or closer to death. And even still. I ponder if its worth the price. my visit to the plastic surgeon website didn't calm my tribulations.

Honestly i started this blog project smugly, with the hope that this ordeal wouldn't last long.
thinking i could abandon this blog. leave the "story" uncompleted, truncated, abbreviated.

But in the back of mind I had a feeling that things weren't going to end up ok easily.
Nothing has ever been easy. Nothing should ever be easy.
But somethings you have got to wonder if there isn't an easier way to end up somewhere.

Last night I looked over my blog I started over two years ago. For a while there, I did a good job photographing and documenting, so if I scroll through quickly it illiteracy appears as if my life was flashing before my eyes. Such an exercise cases oneself to evaluate. What started as trivial entries about nothing turned into critiques of events and artists. Which turned to my postings of my own art. Then postings of art events i've been to. then events i've conceived and curated. Mixed in with all the people I've grown close to over the past two years. This segment of my life is a snowball. And in the center is the nothing i had before everything. Married stale bored and angry being point A. Me now being point B, full time job taking up too much of my time, Delux's creative director, Flax Gallery director, artist, freelance designer, and just generally being jenn carter.

I can honestly say that my breast size has nothing to with any of this a to b improvement process.

But then there has been the 15 or so years of development that lead me to be. And nothing has impacted my general experience and interaction with the world more than having very large breasts. Even so, Reduction rarely crossed my mind. And I had settled into wearing two bras and lots of hooks. Given up tube tops and string bikini's, strapless dresses and spaghetti strap tank tops. because thats just the way things are. That's just the way i was. And for all my issues with self image, when i come down to it there is a certain amount of confidence, 3 d cups full actually, that lie with in my "rack". And as my illustrious ex husband, Greg Carter, puts it, "Jenn can't loose her breasts, they are all she has."