The drive home after surgery turns into the Tour de Toilet. We stop at nearly every convenience store between Rochester and Red Wing in order for me to pee. This I attribute to the saline IV they gave me. I was flushing out excess fluid. I check my surgical drain at every stop, and it’s filling fast with a bloody soup from my surgical site. It’s a weird little device, this surgical drain. It’s a transparent soft plastic reservoir, the size of a tennis ball, connected to a long plastic tube exiting from my rib cage. The way the drain ball rests in my lap, my deviant mind can’t help but compare its resemblance to a scrotum. I take the drain ball in my hand and say to Brian: “Hey Baby, wanna touch my sack?” And with that, we conjure up scrotum jokes the rest of the drive home. The Karlstad’s keep it classy!
Once we arrive home, Brian drains my sack, and helps me get ready for bed. I’m instructed to sleep on my back in an upright position. A reclining chair (think Lazy Boy) is the gold standard sleeping configuration during mastectomy recovery. But, we do not own a recliner, nor do we have the space to keep one. Small house problems. We instead purchased a set of “bed wedges” to prop me into the ideal sleeping position. I prefer the bed wedges, because they are portable. I can use them on the couch, I can use them on the bed, I can travel with them. I can easily store them away when not in use. And, they are a fraction of the cost of a new recliner.
I nestle onto my bed wedges, put on my sleep mask, and try to drift off. I watch the minutes tick by under my eyelids. Sleep is eluding me. The longer I lay here, the more uncomfortable I get. I climb out of bed several times to reconfigure my bed wedges, trying to find a more comfortable position. I try to do this as stealthily as possible, as not to wake Brian. Nothing is working. My back hurts and my breathing is labored. I feel like there is a python constricting my chest, preparing me for its next meal. At about 2am, I finally give up and go downstairs. I lay upright on the couch, still no luck. I get up, grab my iPad and go out to the kitchen to do some writing. Brian eventually comes downstairs looking for me. He finds me standing at the kitchen counter, typing away in the dark…my face illuminated by my iPad screen. “Babe, what are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed?” I respond: “I can’t fall asleep. There’s no point in fighting it. I might as well do something somewhat productive. Don’t worry, Babe. I will sleep once my body allows it.” With that, Brian goes back to bed, and I continue on with my all-night rager. I never did fall asleep…not a single wink.
I am a waste of space the next day. My brain is fried from the missed sleep session. My back pain went away, but my chest is still feeling constricted. They put a compression bra on me after surgery, which explains the tightness around my chest…but this seems like too much. It shouldn’t be hard to take in air. I have a hunch that this bra might be too small for me. I remember that they send us home with a secondary compression bra, so I check the packaging for size. The bra they put me in has a band size of 30”. I wear a 36”. No fucking wonder I feel suffocated, this bra is 6” too small for my rib cage! I send Brian to Walmart to pick up a pack of properly fitting sports bras, which made a world of difference!
The surgical assistant calls to check on me. I tell her about my sleepless night and the python around my chest. She apologizes for the ill fitted bra, saying: “You are a small person, so we just assumed our smallest bra would work best for you. We should have asked in advance.” She also expresses her concern for my sleepless night: “Did you take one of the Oxycodone tablets we sent you home with? This is what they are for. Don’t be afraid to use them.” No, I did not take an Oxycodone. Truth be told, I’d rather avoid them all together. I am aware of the addictive nature of narcotics, and being the offspring of parents who struggled with addiction, don’t want to trigger the gene. I like to think I have a high tolerance for pain. I can tough it out.
Night 2 comes around: I’m lucky to get 1 hour of sleep.
Night 3 comes around: : I’m lucky to get 2 hours.
Night 4: I think long and hard and decide it’s worth the risk of taking an Oxycodone tablet before bed, just to see if it will help me sleep. 3 sleepless nights in a row is enough. I need to break this spell. I tell Brian my Oxycodone sleep plan, so he can keep tabs on me. I take the tablet and eventually drift into sleep…and I sleep for a full 6 hours! Holy shit, this drug actually works! So, a nightly Oxy becomes part of my sleep routine for the next 5 nights. I quit taking them once they lost their effectiveness. I switched to Tylenol PM on night 6, which does the trick just as well.
The surgical staff has me on a pain management program. Every 3 hours I rotate between acetaminophen and ibuprofen. I’m eating up so much of that shit, I’m imagining my liver and kidneys shriveling up like prunes. I take myself off of the pain management regimen after a few days. My pain is manageable without the aid of pain relievers. I have a theory about pain: pain is the bodies way of communicating to the brain that something is broken, the signal to take it easy. If you are injured, but feel no pain, you can hurt yourself even further because your brain is not receptive to your injury. You cannot heal if you cannot feel. I prefer to face my pain head-on, so I can fix the issue rather than just mask it.
My first week post-op pretty much consists of me adjusting to uselessness. My physical restrictions are hard-core. No lifting/pulling/pushing anything over 10 pounds. No lifting or repetitive motions of my right arm. No exercise, no excessive walking…I’m not even allowed to do housework! No driving, no riding motorcycles. They insist that I take 6 weeks medical leave from work, which I think is ridiculous considering I’m a Desk Jockey. I soon come to understand why the 6 week recovery is standard. One reason is the high volume of follow-up appointments with multiple departments. It would be nearly impossible to juggle shift work with the volume of doctor’s appointments on my schedule. This is more than just a cut-n-done surgery. This is cancer. I still have hurdles to jump and potential subsequent treatments to contend with. I still have a reconstructive surgery on the horizon. Yes, my mastectomy is complete, but my journey is far from over.

Incoming text from Mayo Clinic, February 28th, 8:05pm: “Erin, go to Eisenberg Admissions (Charlotte Building entry) @ 6am tomorrow.”
This is how they roll for major surgeries, they let you know the night before what time to arrive the next day. 6am…yikes! That’s fine, at least it’s only a 40 minute drive. It’s not like I need to look pretty. I can just shower and go.
This is it, it’s happening. My cancerous breast is finally being amputated. I disrobe and look at myself in my bathroom mirror. I look at my breasts and contemplate. They have been a part of me since they started budding at age 12. They have served me well. They fed my newborn son as nature intended. In spite of pregnancy and breastfeeding, they have retained their youthful appearance. This is likely due to giving birth at age 20 and only having 1 child…my body bounced back easily. They have always been perfect size (in my opinion). They compliment my petite yet athletic frame. They never got in the way. I could wear anything, or I could wear nothing. My breasts didn’t require the support of a bra because they always stayed put. The only reason I ever wore a bra was to keep my nipples from being noticeable through my shirts while in public. The only notable flaw now is Lumpty Dumpty, which has been noticeable to the touch for months now. It’s grown to the point where there is a slight change to the visual profile of my breast. I’m still baffled by its existence. Aside from Crohn’s Disease, I’m perfectly healthy. And, you would never know that I even have Crohn’s unless I were to tell you. My weight is healthy, my muscle mass is healthy, my skin is healthy, my teeth are healthy, my hair is healthy….I LOOK healthy, yet I have Crohn’s Disease and now CANCER! It’s fucked up, man! As I grapple with my asshole body, I tell myself to take a long hard look…commit this to memory, because my body will never be the same after this moment. Farewell Old Friend!
It’s the next morning: Show Time! My alarm chirps at 4am, the same time I wake for work. As such, I treat it like a typical work day: methodically and hurriedly preparing myself for the day. Hit the road, navigate through commuter traffic, trying not to be late. I prefer to treat the morning like business as usual…it lowers my anxiety.
Brian and I arrive at Mayo at about 5:45am. Parking is a breeze…Graham Parking Ramp is a ghost town this time of morning. We find our way to Eisenberg Admissions and check in. My name is called almost immediately…the nurse explaining that the preliminaries should be fast, as I am the first breast surgery of the morning. Preliminaries ended up taking a couple of hours. I don’t mind…it’s not like I have other plans for the day. I put on my hospital gown, fully nude underneath except for hospital socks. I let Brian take one last look at my body before tying my robe closed. “Feast your eyes, Luva! It was good while it lasted!”. One of the nurses comes in to inform me that it’s time to head to pre-op, and they roll me away on a gurney. The nurse brings me into a room barely large enough to fit the gurney. Essentially, it’s a closet. An anesthesiologist enters the closet and goes over protocol before attempting to administer my IV…which she immediately has issues with. I probably should have warned her that I’m a notoriously “hard stick”, something I’ve learned over the past 7 years of Remicade infusions. But, I decided to hold that information, as I didn’t want to make her nervous before she even began. I trust that she will eventually get a vein, assuming she had done this countless times before. Well, 3 unsuccessful jabs later, she calls her superior in to take a stab at me. He was unsuccessful, too. OK, now I’m getting nervous. If they can’t administer general anesthesia, how the hell can they operate? They tell me: “Don’t worry, we will make this work. We always make it work.” And, I trust them…I have no choice at this point.
Eventually I come out of the closet and I’m wheeled to the operating room, and it is a sight to behold! As the doors swing open, the first thing my eyes land upon is the Robot which will be assisting my surgery. The brandname ‘da Vinci’ printed boldly on its fascia. I consider this a good omen, as Leonardo da Vinci is my favorite Artist and scientific mind of all time. The Robot is large and in charge…it commands attention. I am in awe of the thing. I want so badly to remain conscious during my surgery just to watch this thing in action! The remainder of the room was bright white and sterile. I am soon surrounded by about a dozen humanoids, dressed in matching robes, gloves, and masks. They all looked exactly the same, only distinguishable by their voices as they speak to me. It had a real Alien Abduction vibe to it. As they rolled me onto the operating table, it hit me that this was my last chance to take a piss, so I sat up and said: “Hey, I really gotta pee!” My surgeon chuckles, gently pushes me back down and says: “Don’t worry…I will put a catheter in you as soon as you are sleep.” WHEW! With that, an Anesthesiologist came around with a gas mask, warns me of the weird smell, and gives me breathing instructions. I ask him if they are still going to give me anesthesia intravenously. He says “No, Dear. We couldn’t catch a suitable vein. So, we are giving you the same stuff we give our pediatric patients. We will take good care of you. Now, breathe deeply for me.” And, quickly I fade off. The surgery takes about 5 hours.
Next thing I remember, I’m awake and in a recovery room. I am LOOPY as shit! My surgeon is not in the room, as she had other things to attend to. But her surgical assistant and a few other personnel are with me, talking to me with serious tones…trying to evaluate my alertness. I’m having a hard time with it, as I’m still feeling the effects of the anesthesia. I manage to put a sentence together: “I’m feeling a bit discombobulated, here. That was some good shit you gave me, huh?” The laughter softened the seriousness in the room, thankfully.
Brian soon enters the room, followed by my Dad. Words, words, words…flying all over the room. Too many words for my half-gassed brain to absorb, so I let Brian do the listening and ask the questions. They give Brian a crash course in caring for my surgical drain and other home-care instructions. Eventually I stabilize enough to be sent home. I’m SO glad I don’t have to spend the night at this place! Brian helps me get dressed, and off we go! We swing by the pharmacy before leaving the hospital, to pick up a battery of crap they want me to take: pain killers, antibiotics for the drain, some weird nipple cream (my mastectomy was nipple sparing…the cream is to promote blood circulation).
I am in a good mood on the way back to Red Wing. I’m feeling no pain (just say yes to drugs!), and I’m relieved that the mastectomy is finally done after nearly 3 months of waiting. I’m at peace…the cancer is gone. I killed it before it killed me!

Shit is getting real.
I left work at Noon today, and I won’t be back until until April 11th.
Pre-surgical appointment this afternoon, and my mastectomy in the morning.
I’m not going to lie: I started tearing up as soon as I left the building, and cried my whole drive home. I’d love nothing more than to stay at work with my co-weirdos than face this shit.
BUT, I have to kill it before it kills me.

The results of my additional testing came back, so off to Rochester I go to meet my Surgeon! Brian is by my side, as there will be a LOT of information thrown at me. That extra brain & set of ears is pretty critical at times like this, as anxiety can impede information retention. My surgeon is a young, peppy, petite little thing…with a large personality, open sense of humor, and really cool jewelry! I like this chick already! My surgeon was accompanied by 2 other people: a male resident and a female nurse. She dives right into the nitty gritty, which I appreciate. She shows me the imaging from my MRI, and informs me that the MRI and biopsy show zero signs of cancer in my left breast or my lymph nodes. As far as she can tell, the cancer is still contained to my right breast….no direct signs of metastasization. She is very confidant that she will be able to get rid of my cancer with surgery alone, and that subsequent chemotherapy will probably not be needed. But, this may change once the tumor is removed. A full pathology will be conducted on the tumor once it’s removed. The tumor itself will tell the whole story. So, I’m not out of the woods yet…but, nevertheless, this is excellent news!
Next on the agenda: finalize my treatment plan, once and for all! My initial plan was discussed first: Double Mastectomy w/ Reconstruction. I told the Surgeon that with all of the new information provided to me, that I don’t think this option makes sense anymore. Why remove a healthy breast when if I don’t have too? My other breast is totally healthy, and my chances of developing cancer in that breast is next to nothing…so, what benefit do I gain from removing it? My Surgeon wholeheartedly agreed. I then asked if a Lumpectomy would be a suitable option, considering the cancer is contained. I like the idea of a Lumpectomy, because it has the quickest post-surgical recovery time. She explained that because my tumor is quite large in comparison to my breast size, that if she were to remove just the tumor and spare the breast, there would barely be a breast remaining. Also, radiation of the breast is required after a Lumpectomy, which would deteriorate my remaining breast tissue even more. The remaining breast would also be difficult to reconstruct. With these factors considered, a Unilateral Mastectomy w/ Reconstruction makes the most sense. Might as well get rid of the whole thing considering there won’t be anything left anyway. Ok, Unilateral Mastectomy it is. Let’s do this shit!
The Surgeon explained that there are two different surgical approaches: 1) standard open mastectomy (scalpels, cauterization, Frankenstein stitches). 2) a new clinical trial that Mayo is helping to pioneer: Robotic mastectomy. The technology for robotic-assisted surgery has been around for approximately 30 years, and is standard procedure for a number of routine procedures. But, it is not FDA approved for Breast Cancer surgery…hence the reason it’s still in the trial phases. My Surgeon reassured me that she has performed Robotic Mastectomies multiple times, all with great success. The list of Pros: it’s minimally invasive. The incision is only a few centimeters long. The skin is spared, the nipple is spared, the nerves and muscles are spared. There is minimum blood loss. And, the recovery time is faster than an Open mastectomy. The Cons: not everyone qualifies for the trial, and access to the Robotic trial is on a lottery system. Lucky for me, I meet all of the physical qualifications for Robotic surgery…so, it’s just a matter of odds. I decided that I was all in for the clinch trial. The prospect of being a part of a cutting edge Robotic technique is too exciting to pass up! The Surgeon submitted my enrollment request to the powers that be, and we crossed our fingers. Low and behold, I was selected!
With that, I signed some formalities while the Surgeon sought out a date for my surgery. She landed on February 21st. It was explained to me that they require a full 6 weeks for recovery with physical restrictions..including employment. I protested, explaining that my job isn’t physical in the least, and that I have the option to work from home. I prefer to go back to work ASAP. The Surgeon held firm on the 6 weeks. She said going back to my normal routine too soon could result in me forgetting my restrictions, which could cause harm and delay recovery. She has seen it happen far too many times. I drop the argument, I know she is right.
Next up: a perfunctory physical exam. Undress from the waist up, put on the prison-issue blues (Blue is the New Black, baby!), and pop a squat on the exam table. The Surgeon asked if the Resident could participate in the exam with her. I respond: “Of course! He has to learn somehow.” So, I lay back, put my arms above my head, and let Surgeon and the Resident go to town. One person per breast, massaging as if they were kneading dough. I immediately recognized the pseudo-pornographic parallel to the situation, and a wide grin spreads across my face. I can’t help myself, my inner devil is screaming to come out and play! I say: “Yeah baby, that’s it! That’s how Mama likes it!”, followed up with: “Sorry guys, this whole scenario is just too good! Brian, you should record this. I’ll post it to my Only Fans”. Everyone in the room busted out laughing! I quickly explain that I don’t actually have an Only Fans account, and that I’m just messing around. Humor is my coping mechanism. Good times, baby…good times!
We left Mayo that day feeling confidant and excited about the Robotic trial. Cancer sucks ass…but, if participating in this trial will lead to advancements in treatments for others in the future, at least my cancer can actually serve a purpose.
A few few days later Rochester Mayo’s phone number pops up on my caller ID. I’m at work, in-office…so I jump from my desk, run to the break-room and answer. “Hello, this is Erin!”. “Hi Erin, this is Megan…Dr. Piltin’s nurse. We have an issue.” My Surgeon (Dr. Piltin) had a family emergency she need to fly home for, leaving her unavailable for my surgery. I would either need to come in the next day for surgery, or postpone the surgery for the week after the initial scheduled date. Well, I had yet to submit my FMLA paperwork or submit my Short Term Disability claim…so, surgery tomorrow was not an option. So, the week after my initial surgery date will have to do. With that, my surgery was rescheduled for February 29th…Leap Day. Hopefully Leap Day will be a good luck charm!

A funny thing happened: Red Wing Mayo performed a needle biopsy of a suspicious auxiliary lymph node back in November (as chronicled in Chapter 4: She’s a Squirter!)….but, they missed the mark. Rochester Mayo found that Red Wing failed to collect any tissue from that biopsy, so another biopsy was required before they could proceed in evaluating my course of treatment. So, back to Rochester I went.
The nurse calls me back. She is almost militant in her tone, giving me rapid-fire instructions on protocol. She gives me a gown, a plastic bag for all of my personal belongings (purse and cell phone included), and a key for my locker. I follow instructions like a good little soldier, and head out to the secondary waiting room. It is filled with about 25 other women wearing matching blue gowns. Some are sitting in a row, watching the same TV program: The Price is Right. Some are engaged in a card game. Some are working on a jigsaw puzzle. Chitter chatter, chitter chatter. It’s reminiscent of a prison recreation area. A real Orange is the New Black vibe…only, in this case, Blue is the New Black. I was tempted to ask one of the other patients: “What are you in for?”, assuming I’m not the only one who recognizes the prison parallel, here. But, this is the Mayo Breast Clinic, so I already know the answer. Plus, no one wants to be here, so I’ll just keep my trap shut…keep myself from getting jumped. Another nurse calls me back for my biopsy fairly quickly…within 5 minutes. Another patient jumps up and yells: “Hey, I’ve been waiting for an hour! Why does she get called back before me! She just got here!”…in regards to me, of course. Am I about to witness a prison riot? Hell yeah!
The biopsy itself was easy breezy. I was expecting aggressive jabs, pain, and a blood-soaked crescendo like I had experienced in Red Wing. But, this biopsy: I was so comfortable, I could have slept through the whole thing! There were 3 nurses and a Doctor in the operating room, all of which had easy demeanors, quick to spark conversation with me. They propped me into position with pillows and gave me a warm blanket…so cozy! My arm was slung over my head while they cranked away at my armpit for a while, collecting several samples from multiple nodes. They numbed me up so effectively, the only thing I felt was pressure. We chatted about our personal lives, our jobs, our extra-occupational activities. It felt more like I was at a grill-out than a doctor’s appointment, I was chillin’ like a villon!
They cut me loose after about 45 minutes. I collected my personal belongings, got dressed and bailed myself out of there! I jumped in my F-150, and hit the Caribou Coffee drive-thru, and hit HWY 52 in a caffeinated frenzy! Homeward bound, baby!

“All good things come to those who wait”. Yeah, maybe if you’re waiting for ketchup.
It seems like medicine runs on its own time zone: one which begins in suspended animation, and suddenly hits warp speed. My cancer care was transferred over to Rochester a couple of months ago. These past couple of months have been moving at a snails pace. Rochester had to reevaluate Red Wing’s biopsies, which took time. This reevaluation resulted in more screenings (another biopsy and a breast MRI). These things needed to be done in order to gather enough information to determine the best treatment plan for my particular flavor of cancer. In my mind, this reevaluation was a giant waste of time considering I had already decided that my initial plan of action is a Double Mastectomy with Reconstruction. Get rid of both tits to decrease the chances of this ever coming back. BUT, Rochester has its own way of doing things. Mayo Clinic in Rochester is ranked the best hospital in the world for a reason, so I put my trust in their process, and in their professional opinion.
About a month ago, I had my first face-to-face consultation with my Oncologist in Rochester. 7:45am, an early one. Brian was by my side. I entered that exam room confidant that it was going to be a quick visit, as I already knew how I was going to proceed. A nurse came into the room beforehand. As she was giving me her preliminary schpeel, my mind wandered towards the lunch menu at Victoria’s (a local Italian joint walking distance from Mayo). The nurse was an older gal, giving off a grandmotherly appeal. Her vocal cadence was soft and soothing, almost a lullaby quality to it. I told Brian after the fact: “I would love for her to come over and read to me at night. I’d be out like a light!”. We agreed that her approach was appropriate for her line of work: easing people into a very scary chapter in their lives.
Next entered the Oncologist. A jovial, charismatic character…about my age. He entered the exam room, greeting us bombasicly: “Well, Mr & Mrs. Karlstad, I presume!”, shaking our hands hardily. What a cool guy! He began by rattling off things I already knew, a recap of Red Wing’s findings. Soon he was explaining new information they had discovered, information that may very well prompt me to change my predetermined plan of action. The Oncologist informed me that a Double Mastectomy may not be the best choice for me. I started to feel overwhelmed at this point, and a bit frustrated by the prospect of change. I thought I had this all figured out, I was already secure in my decision. Great! How much longer will this shit be drawn out now?. My Oncologistwent on to explain that although my cancer is invasive, it appears to be quite treatable, with a low chance of reoccurrence. He threw a bunch of diagnostic jargon at me, which was all Greek to me. The only terminology I recognized (thanks to consuming too much television) was “er/pr-positive her2-negative”, which he proclaimed is best kind of breast cancer to get. Wow, I have the best breast cancer! Where do I claim my gold medal? And, because my genetic testing clears me of any genetic risks, removing my healthy breast may be unnecessary. Although, in order to know this for sure, they need to bring me in for another lymph node biopsy and a breast MRI. I also needed to consult with the Plastic Surgery team to for a preliminary overview of every reconstruction option available…luckily, this was available via Zoom, enabling me to do it from home.
At this point, the Oncologist threw me a curve ball: my Mirena IUD needs to be removed immediately. (IUD: Intrauterine Device, a form of birth control.). He informed me that the hormone being released from my IUD is feeding my cancer. FEEDING MY CANCER! Holy shit! I’ve been using a Mirena IUD for about 17 years. Now I’m questioning whether my IUD is the cause of my cancer. I have no scientific basis for this assumption, but considering I have no genetic markers for cancer, and my age & lifestyle isn’t conducive to cancer…what is causing it? Hearing this IUD correlation is making my wheels turn.
Next up: a physical examination of my breasts and upper body. He needed to get a literal feel for what he was dealing with, I suppose. He asked me: “What sort of exercises do you do?”, which I assumed was a lead in to the 10 pounds I’ve gained since the Covid era. I replied with a chuckle: “No…I’ve been slacking on physical activity lately.” He said: “Well, you must have a physical job, then? What do you do for a living?” I again replied with a chuckle: “No…I am a desk jockey. Tethered to computer monitors all day.” He responded: “You have to be doing something, considering you are quite muscular. Really, you have impressive musculature for a woman as small as yourself.” I lit up with that, responding: “Well, I throw an 800 pound Harley-Davidson around like nobody’s business, and I come from sturdy stock. So, what do you say, Doc…you wanna arm wrestle, or what? Lets go!” The Oncologist was taken aback by my arm wrestling challenge and said: “Oh, I didn’t mean anything bad by my comment. Being naturally muscular is a good thing! Being in good shape will help in your recovery.” Brian interjected: “Oh, trust me, you didn’t offend her. She took that as a compliment. You just made her day!” The three of us got a hardy chuckle out of that whole interaction!
With that over with, it was time to schedule my additional biopsy, MRI, and Breast Reconstruction Zoob meeting (Zoom + Boob = Zoob). The biopsy was scheduled for the following week. The Zoob meeting was scheduled for that very afternoon at 3pm. The MRI was scheduled for that very evening at 7:45pm. Seriously? We’re stuck in Rochester through the evening! It will be midnight by the time we get home! I had my iPad with me, so I could have logged onto my Zoob meeting from anywhere with a WiFi connection…meaning we could have stayed in Rochester. But, we opted to drive back to Red Wing, log into my Zoob meeting from home, and chill out until it was time for my 7:45pm MRI. The Zoob meeting was quick and unremarkable. A rehash of a bunch of information I had previously gathered online. BORING! Now, drive back to Rochester after dark…that was weird! We pulled into our regular parking ramp, which is typically so jam packed, it takes 5 minutes just to find a spot to park. This late in the evening, the ramp was virtually empty! Oh…it was so nice not having to fuck around with parking! We hustled through the subway system to get to the Gonda building (Mayo is a very large complex of buildings connected by an underground subway system. Gonda is one of the main buildings). As we made our way, I was taken aback by how empty the place was. It was eerily quiet, almost haunting. In this state of peace & quiet, I was able to really absorb the abundance of Mayo’s turn of the 20th century grandiosity. The marble walls, marble inlay floors, grand staircases, bronze sculpture, art installations. It felt like I was on a self guided tour of a museum rather than a late night MRI. Another bonus of a late night appointment: the nurse calls you back immediately upon check in! No exaggeration, I didn’t even have time to take my jacket off and sit by the time the nurse called me back to Radiology. A breast MRI is a weird thing. You lay face-down on a raised platform with 3 holes in it: one for your face, and 1 for each breast to dangle through, like a couple of free-swinging udders. I started singing “Mr. Boob Dangles!” (a spontaneous parody of Mr. Bojangles). The MRI only took 15 minutes. In total, my entire appointment lasted about 30 minutes. We were walking back to the parking ramp by 8:15pm. I have never had an appointment go that quickly. These late night appointments aren’t so bad after all!

Cheers to a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2024 to all!
My New Year Resolution: destroy what is trying to destroy me.
If all goes as planned, my cancer will be a distant memory by the time 2025 rolls around. 💪💪

Quick update: Rochester Mayo finally reached out to me. I have a phone consultation on January 2nd, which is the precursor to scheduling my double mastectomy. My proverbial Viking Ship will set sail after the turn of the New Year, and I’m battle ready!

As to be expected, current health status was a topic of conversation at the extended Karlstad Family Christmas Corral. I’m an open book when it comes to my health, made evident by the existence of this blog. While discussing my upcoming surgery, my cousin-in-law, Kelly, inquired about the breast reconstruction I will be receiving post-mastectomy. There are 2 methods to choose from. 1: a flap procedure, where your own fat/muscle from the abdomen is used to rebuild the breasts. 2: implants. Which method I qualify for will be later determined by the plastic surgeon at Mayo. Considering my age, I will likely qualify for the flap method…assuming I have enough excess tissue in my abdomen to rebuild with. With that, Kelly schemed a novel idea: crowd source fat donations for my new tits! Instead of a GoFundMe, a GoFatMe! I don’t need your money, I need your fat! Your donations won’t be tax deductible, but the fat deduction is a decent consolation. In an ideal scenario, the more fat donations I receive, the bigger my new tits will be! If all goes well, I’ll need a wheelbarrow to cart my charity chesticles around.