Late night psychoanalysis

I'm working all night tonight. Just watched a documentary on doctors that followed med students through their schooling and into their established fields over the course of 21 years. There were lots of sick people and lots of surgery scenes. Not Hollywood surgery scenes, but real open people stuff. I think it was helpful for me to see the people talking to the doctors before surgery. I can imagine myself there and being calm as I wait to be put under. At this point, the going under and the waking with pain are what bother me most.
Tonight it is snowing-the first snow of the season. It's early. There's probably an inch or so now, but the way it's coming down, I won't be surprised if there's several more inches by the time I drive home. I can't help but find myself pondering all the what ifs in life. Everything seems to be a crap shoot. I don't seem to have control over anything. I wonder sometimes if that's why I've elected to have this surgery. This is something I can control. This is preventative. But it will only prevent one thing - granted it's the thing my mother and my grandmother died of-still it's only eliminating one possible route my eventual demise will take. I suppose that's enough. It must be since I'm making this decision.
I have the support of most of my friends. Some have questioned me-even grilled me-before giving it to me. My boyfriend is scared for me, but he assures me he's behind me all the way. I guess tonight I'm rather numb to it. It's all far to complicated of an action to break down and explain.
I'm likening this to getting tattoos. I go in, have something in mind, start on the permanent alteration of my body. I've never regretted a tattoo even though I've had many. I've changed some and morphed some, and I think I'll have that option if the new boobs aren't what I thought I'd get. Though I'll never be able to undo this. I won't have any feeling. But I won't have cancer there either. Maybe I'll get to live longer and be happier. Maybe. Life is a risk. It's all a big risk. I guess I've decided risking my body image and my sensation in my chest and nipples is worth the possibility that I don't get breast cancer. Does this have anything to do with my mom's recent passing? You bet. Perhaps this surgery could be some symbolic way of removing her from my life. I get it. Somehow that seems like a good enough reason to do it as well. I mean, I'll never be whole again anyway. What does that even mean-to be whole?
If you haven't already guessed, I'm struggling a bit with everything. The reality of things is sinking in, and I'm tired and emotionally drained. I'm scared. But that's never stopped this stubborn bitch before.