We're Preggers!!

Bottling up this excitement for the past 2 months was almost unbearable.  At some point I thought about climbing on the roof to scream it to the world: We're Going To Have a Baby!

We told our parents on Christmas Eve. We wrapped up some baby things for my dad to open.  After he opened them all and laid them on the couch he said, "What's all this for?" I was so nervous I couldn't answer. Cham finally said, "You're going to be a grandad Bill."  And so my dad started crying... it was the sweetest thing.  My dad went on to ask Jaydyn, who is almost 5 years old, "Is Emmalea going to have a baby?" Her response, "YES IN HER BELLY!" We died laughing.  We hadn't even told her yet.  We were going to wait until we thought we could better explain the process by reading her a "I'm going to be a big sister" book.  Isn't that how most people do it?

Since then, Jaydyn has said some pretty funny things about being a big sister:
Me- "Jaydyn, what are you going to teach the baby?"
Jaydyn- "How to trick-or-treat!"

Me- "The baby will grow in my belly until its time to be born"
Jaydyn- "Do you have to buy him somewhere?"

Me- "When you're a big sister you have to help us with the baby"
Jaydyn- "I'll wake up at night when he cries and I'll feed him for you"

Me- "Babies can't walk until they get older"
Jaydyn- "The only things babies can do is cry and poop!"

Growing up, I was the girliest of the girls. I always carried a baby doll and diaper bag everywhere I went. My dad even bought me a stroller to put her in so when we were out, I wouldn't lose her.  At some point I upgraded to a double stroller and had baby strapped in the front and Mr. Kitty (my cat) strapped in the back, dressed in his dress, bonnet and all.  It's okay, all boys like dressing up, right? 

Cham and I had discussed children long before we were married.  I think every married couple tries to plan when it would be best to have children because of their finances, size of house, "bucket lists", and many other reasons.  We had decided that we wanted to start trying after we "tied the knot", as we believed like most, it would take a year or so and we didn't want to prolong the process because of my medical history.

I had genetic testing for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes.  In April 2008, I was diagnosed with the BRCA2 gene.  I believe you take obstacles as they come and this was just 1 in the course of my life.  I had been doing a lot of research related to the gene and the appropriate medical treatment I would need.  After lots of long talks with my father and what I wanted for my future, I knew what had to be done.  I just wish my mom was given this opportunity.  She's the only thing that came to mind everytime I thought of diagnosis.

With the BRCA2 gene, your breast cancer risk is astronomically high and you also have increased risk for ovarian cancer, pancreatic caner, and many other health related issues.  Breast MRI's, Ultrasounds, Mammograms, Needle Biopsy's; you name it, I've had it, but this just goes along with the diagnosis.  They also recommend a complete hysterectomy, by age 30, so my husband and I, both being health care providers, we knew how important it would be to start our own family for the benefit of my health.

My surgery:

In June 2008,  3 days before my 23rd birthday, I underwent a prophylactic double mastectomy at Vanderbilt University Hospital.  Making the decision was easy, I wanted to see my children grow up, graduate from preschool, graduate from high school, and college; all of the things my mom wasn't able to do.  Anyone that knows me would say that I'm an emotional person, I cry every time I watch Oprah and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, I even cried when I got my first cavity because I was afraid how much it would hurt.  I cry when I see people get their feelings hurt or when I see a homeless person.  My dad always taught me that it was okay to show your emotions.  Death and dying was something that I was faced with working in our local ER.  It was something I had grown to accept, but I didn't want that person to be me.  I never once cried before or after my surgery (complete miracle within itself).  I wasn't scared... I was a solider going to war.

We (my father & 6 of my closest friends) arrived in Nashville the day before my surgery.  We ate at a delicious Italian restaurant downtown and decided to head on over to Tootsies! If you've never been to Tootsies, your missing a good time.  It where all of the coutry music singers got their start and its more like a hole in the wall than a fancy upscale bar.  It was actually my dads idea, he loves bluegrass music and he's always up for a good time.  If I remember correctly, we danced in the back room.  The next morning we all met in the surgery waiting room for me to get called back.  It was probably the longest 30 minutes of my life, but I had such great company I couldn't complain. They took me to a hospital room where I was to change into a gown, take off all undergarments, and pull my hair back.  The nurse said only 2 people could come back with me. After getting back to my room, I was a little down because I wanted all of us to be together so after sweet talking the nurse everyone was allowed to come back. We all held hands and prayed for God's healing hands and for him to give strength to the surgical team.  Residents, Surgeons, Anesthesiologist, CRNA, Nurses, everyone you can imagine stopped by to explain what was going to happen during my procedure. 

After surgery I woke up and felt as if someone had given me illegal drugs.  I stayed in recovery a while longer because I couldn't keep my O2 saturation high enough.  Every time I would fall asleep, it would drop.  Every time I opened my eyes, someone was yelling my name for me to wake up.  I finally got to see everyone when they moved me to my private recovery room.  During my spells of groggyness, I remember waking and telling everyone that I would be sad because the next time I came to, they would all be gone as they had to head back to JC for work the next day.  The strangest feeling is to not be able to move your body. I couldn't move anything.  All of my guests had to leave town after my surgery so my dad stayed with me in my hospital room.  Of course he was going to stay.  He's been by my side from day 1.  They moved me to a 24 Observation room that was about 4''x6'', barely large enough to get a stretcher in there.  As a matter of fact, they asked me to move over to another bed that would fit.  Those silly nurses thought I was going to be able to move myself... I had no control of my body.  When I tried to move all I felt was immense pain.  The food was okay for hospital food but I am a picky eater, meaning I dont like mystery meat served on lunch trays, so they allowed me to eat mashed potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while I stayed.   My favorite part of the whole stay... mashed potatoes!  All I know is that my pain pump and I became best friends over the next several days.

During my surgery I had expanders (& drains which were removed July 2) placed under my pectoral muscles which were expanded with Saline every 10-14 days.  I was to return to Vandy to have this procedure done.  I began to get used to the drive to Nashville and back espicially when I got to stop at the outlets.  Sometimes they would put 200cc of saline in each expander at a time, sometimes more or less depending on my level of pain. The expanders had a port on them (which was of course, underneath of my skin).  The plastic surgeon would take a magnet and located the center of the port.  He would access the port, like you would a chemo patient, and insert the needle.  At the other end of the needle was a tube connected to a large syringe and bag of saline.  It kind of looked like a super soaker gun! He would draw the syringe "water gun" back until it was full of saline and depress the syringe, as if to soak 3 people at once, except it would go through the tubing into my expander. Talk about being in pain.  The first few times were a breeze.  I can't remember the capacity of the expanders but after the procedure I could barely lift my arms. It was the weirdest feeling, like an elephant sitting on my chest.  With every deep breath, there was a sharp pain that quickly followed.  It's nothing that can be exaplined.  The surgeon said I would have 4x more pain than his "normal patients" who were in their 40's, 50's, 60's who had double mastectomy's because of my muscle's elasticity. 

I stayed in the hospital from June 23, 2008- June 26, 2008.  The only picture I have from this whole experience was on my birthday.  The ladies from the kitchen baked me a birthday cake and delivered it to my room accompanied with the birthday song.  I cried when they started singing "Happy Birthday to you.." It was truly an amazing experience and it was at this point that I realized I was lucky to be alive because some are not as lucky.

The 4 hours trip home ended up taking 6 hours because my dad was driving so slow.  Any bump on the road would cause unimaginable pain.  I had pillows on each side, under me, 2 in front, and 1 behind.  They had also given me an extra dose of Percocet for the ride.  This was probably the worst part for me.  I knew that if the pain got to be unbearable, there was no turning back to Vandy, we were going home.  I think I slept the next couple of days. I'm not really sure what went on.  People brought cakes, pies, dinner, everything you could think of.  I was took sick to eat but my dad was in heaven!  I also couldn't dress myself nor could I shower, brush my hair, put make-up on, or do anything that required me to lift my arms whatsoever. Feeding myself was also a challenge.  You can imagine it just being me and my dad, I had to have some female help with dressing myself.  My dad did dry my hair for me several times and tried to style it the way I liked it.  Although he has lots of experience with pony tails when I was younger, I can't say the hair-do was a huge succsess  After about 2 weeks I was able to shower somewhat and get by without much help. Of course my dad was always checking on me and worrying, the things parents do.   

After having expansion from July- November, I had another surgery, the Reconstruction of my breasts.  This time I was more anxious because I knew what to expect. I knew how much pain I would be in after the surgery.  Of course the surgery went well and the expanders were removed to insert silicone implants and VOILA! I'm all better. Well not really, it took lots of recovery and working as an Emergency Room Nurse wasn't easy either.  I couldn't lift, push, or pull more than 10 pounds so you can imagine all of the things I couldn't do when I arrived back at work.

Working in a hospital, you understand the monotony of other health care professionals and their jobs.  Traumas, deaths, amputations, miscarriages, and negative news is something that is just expected.  I can truly say that when I worked in the hospital, I never worked with a person who enjoyed their job, or ever acted like they did.  So, you can imagine, as I arrived at Vanderbilt, I expected the same thing from the nurses and other hospital staff.  Boy was I wrong!  I had never been treated with so much respect.  It was like Disney World, almost like you were in some sort of fairy tale or euphoria.  Everyone had a smile on their face and looked like they enjoyed every minute of their job.  This is how it should be.  From the moment I entered the hospital, I had written down every single persons name that I had come in contact with while at Vanderbilt for my surgery.  The man who parked our car, the women who showed us where to check-in, the lady who brought me extra pillows, my 2 surgeons, their many residents, my OR nurses, CRNA's, floor nurses, dietary staff who delivered my mashed potatoes, student nurses, LPN's, CNA's, check-in desk staff, surgery waiting room staff, even the sweet lady who rolled me out the door in my wheelchair.  I wrote each of them a thank you note about how they had in some way changed my life.  Their compassion touched me in a way that nothing else every has.  I then wrote the CEO of VUMC a letter naming everyone individually based on their department and how I appreciated each of them, no matter how small or large their job.  You wouldn't believe the response letters I received in return.  Enough joy to last me a lifetime. 


Moral of the story: Genetic testing saved my life and it can save your's too! I highly recommend genetic testing for the BRCA genes if you have a fmaily history of breast cancer.

It's been an amazing 3 years. I married the most wonderful man on this planet and we are expecting our first child!  We are so blessed and we have so much support. We thank you for being there for us and sharing this amazing journey!