One year ago today, I walked down a white hall.

One year ago today, I walked down a white hall.
A sterile place.
In weird socks with treads on the bottom and no underwear underneath my gown
I laid down on a cool bed while I willingly let people strap me down.
The anesthesiologist made small talk about his kids going to NYU.
This might have been the last I remember.
Then I went to sleep.

One year ago today, I woke up with my breasts attached to my body.
The second time I woke up that day, I did not.

When I woke up, the room was hot
Too hot
Like “the air conditioner was broken in the dead of summer” hot.
No one could tell me where my phone was
Where my room was
And I couldn’t breathe
It was too hot
I cried. Looked around for someone familiar
But it was all blurry
And I was sweating
And no one would get me my goddamn phone.
I was in the hot recovery room for what seemed like hours.
It may only have been 1
It could have been 24.

They were out of rooms. All that was left was a private room
Which was so expensive.
But they waived the charge
Ah my first bit of luck.
Ah my husband was there.
But still, my phone was NOWHERE!
I wanted my phone.
So I could text my parents
Or send in payroll
Or look at Facebook
Or do anything to take my mind of the fact that I willingly had an amputation.

My breasts had been removed
The interior scraped out until no flesh remained but the outside skin
The nipples discarded like they weren’t the life source that they were for my kids
Like the ends of a cucumber that you toss in the trash.
Implants immediately put in.
Sewn up with two askew lines facing each other like angry eyebrows.
I was bound tightly.
There was a catheter in my body.
I couldn’t breathe
It was cooler.
It smelled. Like a hospital
And my body oozing out the stuff that’s supposed to stay on the inside.

The doctors were hot.
That helped.
I did not look hot.
That did not help.

It hurt. My chest was tight.
I couldn’t breathe
I didn’t think I’d ever breathe again.
I watched tv.
I made my husband stay with me.

Then my body refused to come back to normal.
What was supposed to be a one night stay turned into two
three
four
I couldn’t pee on my own,
WTF body
Get it together
The catheter stayed.
I wouldn’t go until I peed
I cried sitting in the bathroom.
I had to call a nurse every time I had to go.
Which felt like every 20 minutes
But nothing came out.
I cried.
My husband had to go home
To be with our kids.
I was alone.

Then the anxiety attack.
One morning, doing a crossword one second
Breathless the next
A hospital masseuse came by and rubbed my back
Xanax taken
I thought I was dying.
I’ve had panic attacks before.
But this one was scarier
And I was alone.
My friend came and sat by my side.

Finally, I peed.
Finally, I went home.
I couldn’t pick up my kids
I couldn’t wash my hair on my own
There were two drains out the sides of my body with red filling it by the moment

I was numb. And angry.
Missing vital work events
Feeling exhausted
Wanting to workout and knowing I couldn’t
But I had done it
The thing that I had opted for and had nightmares about for days.

And I kept waking up.
And one day it was a year later.

Not so suddenly, I’m stronger than I was before.
Physically, I can do push ups.
I can stretch out completely
I can lie on my stomach
I can rough house with my kids
I can hold my kids
Mentally, I can do somersaults
I can scale mountains, see the view and take it for what it’s worth
Then leave it and move on.
I drink a lot more than I ever did.
I hope that doesn’t give me more cancer.

Today I woke up and it was one year after my double mastectomy.
And I was ok.