Aug 30, 2012 - Day # 22 - Solo Shower
So in 22 days, I've been out of this house 4 times. Once for church, once when I snuck out, then for appts. In 22 days, I've put on real clothes once (Jeans and a blouse). PJs have been my every day. How in the world do I go back to real clothes? (Particularly knowing they will no longer fit. That's an unsettling feeling.)
Seven hours later.... I just showered BY MYSELF!!! (sort of) I was supervised and maybe missed some spots but still. There is hope!
Aug 30, 2012 - Day # 22 - How this all came about (June 2012)
Day #22: Yesterday, marks three weeks since the double mastectomy. I've had 21 days to contemplate each individual day of this experience. The day after the mastectomy which set my mental course (post # day 0 part 2), the first shower (did i even post about that?), the miserable little drain suckers (that's in about every post), but it wasn't until yesterday in the waiting room and then last night laying in bed that I stepped back and looked at it all in one big album, instead of individual snapshots.
What have I done??? Did I really make this radical controversial decision to have two breasts I had worked so hard to grow (smile) removed? Did I just allow two surgeons I had met once before decide what the physical future of my new "breasts" would become? These impostors I'm now supposed to know and love. Am I now a woman who has had a mastectomy? Equally as shocking, am I now a woman who has implants? The big picture feels life changing -at least temporarily at this very moment. It affects my marriage, my faith, my personal medical course, my topsy turvy emotions of today. It certainly, hopefully only for the short-term affects my view of self. It even affects me view of you. Somehow, I'm supposed to return to work and the rest of the world and function as though I am who I was when I left August 3rd. Some people at work don't even know this happened. I have to admit I am changed. And I'm going to need time to transition. Time to settle out. Time to fit this new chest and all that comes with it back into the world. (Maybe there was some hidden rationale in my surgeon demanding I be on house arrest these last three weeks.)
How did I even get here???
Back in June, on a Thursday, I was sitting in clinic waiting to see a patient. The Attending Physician I work with had just returned from a national oncology conference and was giving us the low down on some of the hot topics of discussion of the past week. Now let me step back it's interesting to note I'm only in clinic two days a week. The rest of my week I'm in another building with another life. So had this physician returned on a Monday, I would have missed this discussion in it's entirety and be none the wiser for some time to come. So the timing of these events this is lost on me. He was telling us about all the new pediatric oncology research that focused on exposure to radiation therapy and long term outcomes. We've always known radiation therapy is a yin and a yang, particularly when used in children. It's a terrific modality for curing certain tumors, but it carries its own potentially negative risks while propagating the positive curative ones. Historically, Hodgkin's lymphoma patients received very large doses of radiation to the chest region, where primary tumor most likely lived. And we've always known these large doses, while needed for tumor kill, can lead to secondary risks later in life. For female teenagers, breast cancer is one of these risks. We've known this for years. What we didn't know was the magnitude of that risk.
Back to the meeting highlights, the Attending Physician began quoting off the new statics on the radiation data. Well, let's just say my ears perked up when I heard numbers that were much higher than previously published. (I had been treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma when I was 16 so this was not only professionally relevant but personally relevant.) I simultaneously, while he conversed, went online to the meeting abstracts to pull the data myself. And there it read females treated with 20gy radiation doses are at least equivalent in risk for breast cancer as women who carry the brca gene for breast cancer. As I continued to read, and mentally calculating my own dose of 40+ gy being double that number, light bulbs start going off in my head like that on the red carpet. Percentages ranging from 30% up to 90% as you advance in age. What?!?!?!?!? We had thought it like 10-30%. That was a risk I had known and even prepared for. Roll the dice, it may happen, but more likely not. I've done cancer once, surely not twice. But 90%???? Are you kidding me? That's a whole other ballgame. That not a statistic, that's a prediction! That's.............awful!
I quietly try to gather my wits and think rationally about this data. I formulate an email to a breast oncologist I work with in my other job. (reminder, this life altering conversation happened on a Thursday when I happened to be present, I started working with a breast oncologist as of six months ago in my brand new job, I have access to brand spanking new medical literature..."I'm here God, it's me Margaret"?)
"Breast Oncologist, have you seen the new breast data that was just released for Hodgkins patients? What do you think about me doing yearly mammograms in addition to the yearly breast MRIs I'm already getting? I had lymphoma and was treated with more than 40 gy doses of radiation to the chest as a teenager."
"Sally, yes, I saw the data. I didn't realize you were a lymphoma survivor. I think you need to see a breast surgeon......" And at that very second I mentally checked out. Stopped reading. Had tears pool at the bottom of my eyelids.
Excuse me? What in the world did he just say??? A breast surgeon? What do you mean a breast SURGEON? Didn't you mean to say "yes, please schedule a mammogram at your earliest convenience."? Why in the world are you mentioning a breast surgeon?
Ok check back in, compose yourself. Wipe the fluid from your eyeball and retype the email.
"Breast oncologist, did you mean to write the word surgeon in your email? I'm a little confused. Did you mean to say oncologist?"
"Sally, I think it would be wise for you to meet with the chief of breast surgery to discuss mastectomy options. Let me talk to her today about your case and I will get the appointment set up for you as soon as possible."
Hyperventilate. Mind racing. Punch in the stomach. Oh my gosh, please don't let me throw up right here in my laptop in front of everyone. Hold it together. Pull up your boot straps. Got-to-get-some-air-now. Walk out of the room to the bathroom and ball your eyes out. And then it also hits me while standing in that bathroom....Ron!
Let me insert here that all of this unfolded in a matter of about 3 minutes from the time my attending walked in all excited about the conference he just attended to me being set up in an appt with a surgeon. How does that even happen?
Email Ron frantically. Email my sister frantically. Wait for response from oncologist. Pull up data on brca gene. What in the world a prophylactic mastectomy? Women actually do that????? I really don't think I had any idea that women were finding out about brca gene results and scheduling mastectomies. Why do they do that? And why would I do that? That is radical. That is crazy. That is taking matters into your own hands. Do I not trust God's plan for my life? If I'm destined to have breast cancer, we just deal with it when it comes. I'm not someone to run from trouble. I like to roll the dice and trust God in the decisions in life. I've got this. Mastectomy, no way. (This, another free flowing train of thought spanning about 45 seconds).
Keep reading the article, Sally..unlike brca gene patients "hodgkins survivors, having already reached the maximum doses of radiation, will have limited treatment options for secondary breast cancer..." Let me re-read that. Again. One more time.
Frantically email Ron a second time. Desperately watch the clock. I've GOT to get home! This room is closing in on me. I'm of no use to these patients today. Devastated. Confused. Frightened. Surprised. Blow to the stomach. (Little did I know that Ron was having the the exact same experience sitting at his work desk as he later told me).
So it was no longer IF I was going to get Breast cancer, but more likely WHEN. And when that were to happen, my treatment options would be limited to no radiation.
Long story made semi short. Two weeks later, I'm sitting in an exam room with two surgeons discussing my mastectomy plans. Two weeks! Who gets an appointment with the chiefs of breast surgery and plastic surgery in two weeks? God does, with a little of "it's all who you know" thrown in for balance. By the end of the appointment I had a surgery date scheduled for August 7. The delay only because one of the surgeons was headed away on vacation for two weeks. Those four weeks would become very challenging for me with me subconsciously processing the what was to come. The radical procedure was going to happen! I chose the crazy option!
I should insert here, I'm a unique case. I got massive amounts of radiation as a teenager. Dose is everything. Timing and age of exposure is everything. Not every radiation patient has these risks. There is a lot of data that has to be sorted through for any given patient. I am NOT advocating mastectomy for radiation patients. I'm not even advocating mastectomy for hodgkin's patients. I'm advocating that you research the data. Determine your risk. I'd bet for most women, mastectomy is a bit drastic for your statics. For me, it became a very reasonable option that dropped my risk from up to 90% with limited treatment options down to about 5%. Less than that of the average reader reading this post. Then, I'm advocating support for women who choose this crazy life saving option. This is a radical life changing choice, and women need support in that. No judgment. No gossip about the "did you hear". No questions about implants and a boob job. Don't ever ask "how big are you going!" Support! Encouragement. Belief that this hard choice is able to be done successfully. Cheers of "you can do this" should be shouted through your telephone, your open front door, across the restaurant table as she sits there telling you her incredible dilemma and support that she can be open about this extremely personal journey. Understand that this is an awful decision to have to make and that this surgery is not knee surgery. She needs Love. She needs to know what she feels is justified, even if on some levels it seems trivial.
What she (now me) is feeling is something i never previously understood. Fear of the what ifs. Guilt for her thoughts of vanity. Shock that this is happening. Concern over her spouse and what he may think. Disappointment over reconstruction options. Guilt for feeling that disappointment. Shame that having no boobs affects her like it does. Shame that this journey impacts her like it does when she didn't even have breast cancer like some women have to struggle through both BC and mastectomy. Confusion as to why this affects her so drastically. Worry that God may have wanted her to choose differently. Frustration over the physical limitations now present. Anger at her lack of control. And the list goes on. Trust me, it's best to just sum it up and say "She feels a lot!"
Anyway, back to the original point of all if this. In order to process the big picture, I have to understand how those first few weeks played out. How timing is everything. How God chose a Thursday for this discussion to take place. (Reminder, this was brand new literature your average person would not know about for quite some time to come. I work in oncology.) How God, not even six months before crossed my path with that of a breast oncologist that I work on several projects with. That God would grant Ron and I wisdom to recognize His role in placing me at the right place at the right time and his offering this option to us. That Ron would make his decision that I should go through with mastectomy before I would and that they would match up. Maybe God had a specific plan not only to save me from a tremendously difficult journey with breast cancer, but to change me, challenge me, grow me. Was Sally going to let fear of a drastic surgical procedure guide her? Was Sally going to trust that God had big plans for her or even someone else by choosing the hard road? Who was Sally going to put her faith in?
I'm changed. I'm challenged. I'm broken. I'm restored. I'm accepting my new breasts.. as strange as that sounds. But most importantly, I'm allowing this journey to be whatever vessel God chooses in growing His kingdom. I may kick and scream along the way, but I'm still moving forward. I take steps back. I doubt things, but I'm committed for the long haul. Come what may.
Now, pray that these next few weeks are smooth. I have a great bit to accomplish in a short amount of time. Pray for my transition back into life. Monday, I start removing some of my restrictions. In two weeks, back to the surgeon to assess everything. Will the skin survive, is my mobility and strength back, have the impostors settled in their new home. Is the swelling and pain gone. Can I handle going back to work? Can I drive? Can I shower in my own without falling apart emotionally in the process?
A lot happened in three short weeks. More than I could ever have imagined. I hope to be a better person on the other side of this. I hope you found a new understanding of preventative mastectomies. And maybe you saw a glimpse of God's provision in the awful (and incredibly amazing.)
What have I done??? Did I really make this radical controversial decision to have two breasts I had worked so hard to grow (smile) removed? Did I just allow two surgeons I had met once before decide what the physical future of my new "breasts" would become? These impostors I'm now supposed to know and love. Am I now a woman who has had a mastectomy? Equally as shocking, am I now a woman who has implants? The big picture feels life changing -at least temporarily at this very moment. It affects my marriage, my faith, my personal medical course, my topsy turvy emotions of today. It certainly, hopefully only for the short-term affects my view of self. It even affects me view of you. Somehow, I'm supposed to return to work and the rest of the world and function as though I am who I was when I left August 3rd. Some people at work don't even know this happened. I have to admit I am changed. And I'm going to need time to transition. Time to settle out. Time to fit this new chest and all that comes with it back into the world. (Maybe there was some hidden rationale in my surgeon demanding I be on house arrest these last three weeks.)
How did I even get here???
Back in June, on a Thursday, I was sitting in clinic waiting to see a patient. The Attending Physician I work with had just returned from a national oncology conference and was giving us the low down on some of the hot topics of discussion of the past week. Now let me step back it's interesting to note I'm only in clinic two days a week. The rest of my week I'm in another building with another life. So had this physician returned on a Monday, I would have missed this discussion in it's entirety and be none the wiser for some time to come. So the timing of these events this is lost on me. He was telling us about all the new pediatric oncology research that focused on exposure to radiation therapy and long term outcomes. We've always known radiation therapy is a yin and a yang, particularly when used in children. It's a terrific modality for curing certain tumors, but it carries its own potentially negative risks while propagating the positive curative ones. Historically, Hodgkin's lymphoma patients received very large doses of radiation to the chest region, where primary tumor most likely lived. And we've always known these large doses, while needed for tumor kill, can lead to secondary risks later in life. For female teenagers, breast cancer is one of these risks. We've known this for years. What we didn't know was the magnitude of that risk.
Back to the meeting highlights, the Attending Physician began quoting off the new statics on the radiation data. Well, let's just say my ears perked up when I heard numbers that were much higher than previously published. (I had been treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma when I was 16 so this was not only professionally relevant but personally relevant.) I simultaneously, while he conversed, went online to the meeting abstracts to pull the data myself. And there it read females treated with 20gy radiation doses are at least equivalent in risk for breast cancer as women who carry the brca gene for breast cancer. As I continued to read, and mentally calculating my own dose of 40+ gy being double that number, light bulbs start going off in my head like that on the red carpet. Percentages ranging from 30% up to 90% as you advance in age. What?!?!?!?!? We had thought it like 10-30%. That was a risk I had known and even prepared for. Roll the dice, it may happen, but more likely not. I've done cancer once, surely not twice. But 90%???? Are you kidding me? That's a whole other ballgame. That not a statistic, that's a prediction! That's.............awful!
I quietly try to gather my wits and think rationally about this data. I formulate an email to a breast oncologist I work with in my other job. (reminder, this life altering conversation happened on a Thursday when I happened to be present, I started working with a breast oncologist as of six months ago in my brand new job, I have access to brand spanking new medical literature..."I'm here God, it's me Margaret"?)
"Breast Oncologist, have you seen the new breast data that was just released for Hodgkins patients? What do you think about me doing yearly mammograms in addition to the yearly breast MRIs I'm already getting? I had lymphoma and was treated with more than 40 gy doses of radiation to the chest as a teenager."
"Sally, yes, I saw the data. I didn't realize you were a lymphoma survivor. I think you need to see a breast surgeon......" And at that very second I mentally checked out. Stopped reading. Had tears pool at the bottom of my eyelids.
Excuse me? What in the world did he just say??? A breast surgeon? What do you mean a breast SURGEON? Didn't you mean to say "yes, please schedule a mammogram at your earliest convenience."? Why in the world are you mentioning a breast surgeon?
Ok check back in, compose yourself. Wipe the fluid from your eyeball and retype the email.
"Breast oncologist, did you mean to write the word surgeon in your email? I'm a little confused. Did you mean to say oncologist?"
"Sally, I think it would be wise for you to meet with the chief of breast surgery to discuss mastectomy options. Let me talk to her today about your case and I will get the appointment set up for you as soon as possible."
Hyperventilate. Mind racing. Punch in the stomach. Oh my gosh, please don't let me throw up right here in my laptop in front of everyone. Hold it together. Pull up your boot straps. Got-to-get-some-air-now. Walk out of the room to the bathroom and ball your eyes out. And then it also hits me while standing in that bathroom....Ron!
Let me insert here that all of this unfolded in a matter of about 3 minutes from the time my attending walked in all excited about the conference he just attended to me being set up in an appt with a surgeon. How does that even happen?
Email Ron frantically. Email my sister frantically. Wait for response from oncologist. Pull up data on brca gene. What in the world a prophylactic mastectomy? Women actually do that????? I really don't think I had any idea that women were finding out about brca gene results and scheduling mastectomies. Why do they do that? And why would I do that? That is radical. That is crazy. That is taking matters into your own hands. Do I not trust God's plan for my life? If I'm destined to have breast cancer, we just deal with it when it comes. I'm not someone to run from trouble. I like to roll the dice and trust God in the decisions in life. I've got this. Mastectomy, no way. (This, another free flowing train of thought spanning about 45 seconds).
Keep reading the article, Sally..unlike brca gene patients "hodgkins survivors, having already reached the maximum doses of radiation, will have limited treatment options for secondary breast cancer..." Let me re-read that. Again. One more time.
Frantically email Ron a second time. Desperately watch the clock. I've GOT to get home! This room is closing in on me. I'm of no use to these patients today. Devastated. Confused. Frightened. Surprised. Blow to the stomach. (Little did I know that Ron was having the the exact same experience sitting at his work desk as he later told me).
So it was no longer IF I was going to get Breast cancer, but more likely WHEN. And when that were to happen, my treatment options would be limited to no radiation.
Long story made semi short. Two weeks later, I'm sitting in an exam room with two surgeons discussing my mastectomy plans. Two weeks! Who gets an appointment with the chiefs of breast surgery and plastic surgery in two weeks? God does, with a little of "it's all who you know" thrown in for balance. By the end of the appointment I had a surgery date scheduled for August 7. The delay only because one of the surgeons was headed away on vacation for two weeks. Those four weeks would become very challenging for me with me subconsciously processing the what was to come. The radical procedure was going to happen! I chose the crazy option!
I should insert here, I'm a unique case. I got massive amounts of radiation as a teenager. Dose is everything. Timing and age of exposure is everything. Not every radiation patient has these risks. There is a lot of data that has to be sorted through for any given patient. I am NOT advocating mastectomy for radiation patients. I'm not even advocating mastectomy for hodgkin's patients. I'm advocating that you research the data. Determine your risk. I'd bet for most women, mastectomy is a bit drastic for your statics. For me, it became a very reasonable option that dropped my risk from up to 90% with limited treatment options down to about 5%. Less than that of the average reader reading this post. Then, I'm advocating support for women who choose this crazy life saving option. This is a radical life changing choice, and women need support in that. No judgment. No gossip about the "did you hear". No questions about implants and a boob job. Don't ever ask "how big are you going!" Support! Encouragement. Belief that this hard choice is able to be done successfully. Cheers of "you can do this" should be shouted through your telephone, your open front door, across the restaurant table as she sits there telling you her incredible dilemma and support that she can be open about this extremely personal journey. Understand that this is an awful decision to have to make and that this surgery is not knee surgery. She needs Love. She needs to know what she feels is justified, even if on some levels it seems trivial.
What she (now me) is feeling is something i never previously understood. Fear of the what ifs. Guilt for her thoughts of vanity. Shock that this is happening. Concern over her spouse and what he may think. Disappointment over reconstruction options. Guilt for feeling that disappointment. Shame that having no boobs affects her like it does. Shame that this journey impacts her like it does when she didn't even have breast cancer like some women have to struggle through both BC and mastectomy. Confusion as to why this affects her so drastically. Worry that God may have wanted her to choose differently. Frustration over the physical limitations now present. Anger at her lack of control. And the list goes on. Trust me, it's best to just sum it up and say "She feels a lot!"
Anyway, back to the original point of all if this. In order to process the big picture, I have to understand how those first few weeks played out. How timing is everything. How God chose a Thursday for this discussion to take place. (Reminder, this was brand new literature your average person would not know about for quite some time to come. I work in oncology.) How God, not even six months before crossed my path with that of a breast oncologist that I work on several projects with. That God would grant Ron and I wisdom to recognize His role in placing me at the right place at the right time and his offering this option to us. That Ron would make his decision that I should go through with mastectomy before I would and that they would match up. Maybe God had a specific plan not only to save me from a tremendously difficult journey with breast cancer, but to change me, challenge me, grow me. Was Sally going to let fear of a drastic surgical procedure guide her? Was Sally going to trust that God had big plans for her or even someone else by choosing the hard road? Who was Sally going to put her faith in?
I'm changed. I'm challenged. I'm broken. I'm restored. I'm accepting my new breasts.. as strange as that sounds. But most importantly, I'm allowing this journey to be whatever vessel God chooses in growing His kingdom. I may kick and scream along the way, but I'm still moving forward. I take steps back. I doubt things, but I'm committed for the long haul. Come what may.
Now, pray that these next few weeks are smooth. I have a great bit to accomplish in a short amount of time. Pray for my transition back into life. Monday, I start removing some of my restrictions. In two weeks, back to the surgeon to assess everything. Will the skin survive, is my mobility and strength back, have the impostors settled in their new home. Is the swelling and pain gone. Can I handle going back to work? Can I drive? Can I shower in my own without falling apart emotionally in the process?
A lot happened in three short weeks. More than I could ever have imagined. I hope to be a better person on the other side of this. I hope you found a new understanding of preventative mastectomies. And maybe you saw a glimpse of God's provision in the awful (and incredibly amazing.)
Aug 29, 2012 - Day # 21- Post reconstruction appt update
Bad news. No lower body liposuction. Guess I better get on the treadmill. (All four drains are out!) More specifics later.
A few hours later.... Thinking I can't formulate a post (maybe), but I will say sitting in the breast clinic this afternoon reminded me of why I made this radical mastectomy decision. Judge me if needed but I feel awful for these ladies that sit here who didn't have the luxury of preventative options that I had. Prayers for these women and their journeys..
A few hours later.... Thinking I can't formulate a post (maybe), but I will say sitting in the breast clinic this afternoon reminded me of why I made this radical mastectomy decision. Judge me if needed but I feel awful for these ladies that sit here who didn't have the luxury of preventative options that I had. Prayers for these women and their journeys..
Aug 29, 2012 - Day # 21 - Pesky little suckers!
So there is this one little pesky little drain, whom I've hated all along more than the others (under normal circumstances I would feel extremely guilty about that. I used to line up all the dolls on my bed so one wasn't left out). Anyway, this drain #3 decided in the last 24 hours to start dumping out more. Well let's just say, if this drain keeps me from getting them pulled out, not only will I be getting free lower body liposuction from this surgeon (yesterday's post), but this drain #3 is going to be slandered, mauled, talked about for centuries to come all over social media. The power of words, buster!
Disclaimer: this author in no way supports bullying. And finds it absolutely unacceptable and intolerable with the exception of drains.
Aug 27, 2012 - Day # 21 - Bra burning
Surgical bra burning...stay tuned for more up to the minute notice in upcoming weeks.
Aug 28, 2012 - Day # 20 - Seven Bras
Day #20: I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but just so there is no mistaken assumption of adoration, I sure do detest these drains. All stinking four of them, although there are two I loathe a bit more than the others. So I feel worthy of having a go away party full of good riddance and best of luck to the four miserable suckers!
When: Wednesday (tomorrow) at 2:45.
Where: Cancer Center Clinic
Who: Lead plastic surgeon He better come with parting gifts in tow (gauze, tape, chew toys for me to bite down on while he pulls them out...and I'm not opposed to cupcakes throw in for good measure.)
And Dear God, all of everything will break loose if he says for any reason they have to stay in another week. He will have to bribe me one more week in exchange for lower body liposuction. It's only fair bartering. This for that. Heave for hoe. I'm willing to forego liposuction though for the sake of all sanity, so hop on that prayer coverage folks! The true celebration will come afterwards when I beg Ron and mom to take me out for dinner on the way home if my stamina will allow it. Surely, an adrenaline high will be my fate for a few hours at least. While, my journey won't come to a close for several weeks to come (He did afterall perform extensive surgery on my pectoral muscle, insert an implant, create a synthetic sling, glue this to that, insert fluff, suture here, suture there) I'm still elated about this drain milestone.
My next milestone in this order will be:
return to life outside these stinking four walls (at least without feeling guilty of sneaking out); resolution of all of this chest pain;
removal of lifting restrictions;
shower By MYSELF;
resumption of exercise;
driving again; back to work.
Think all of that can happen in the next two weeks???? Doubtful, but that is the original agreed on timeline. Six weeks will have flown by! Sort of. Mom is back. Yesterday, she walked in with SEVEN new bras to try out. Having these surgical vests on 24 hours a day was causing all kinds of chaos on my skin and thoracic muscle. Let's talk about pressure points and raw skin. I was in tears simply because of a simple seam. So I'm having to switch bras out about every 12 hours from this to that simple to save my skin. Bet you didn't know that tid bit before this blog post. No underwire. No pushup. No frill. No silk. No nothing but poorly designed 1800s coverage. I am however grateful to be out of the Velcro. So mom, you did very well!!! And quite frankly, what used to fit, fits no more. I've gained weight in this glorious journey. Stress weight no doubt, but you know weight gain is a gals worst enemy. Worst enemy. And then, I've downsized in other front line areas. We can blame the plastic surgeon and medical technology for this result. After a mastectomy, you don't have underlying tissue to build on top of unlike super models who are adding to their baseline conditions... so you are at the mercy of 800 grams of less of silicone. (Did we or did we not land a man on the moon?) People, 800 grams is not very much.
Without being overly graphic as this is social media after all, but still maintaining transparency as promised, they are weird. Every mastectomy patient I had talked with...every one of them... said, "Sally, you are going to love the results. They do an amazing job!", or something along those lines. Well let me tell you, I'm not sure I agree. I'm pretty positive I don't. They just aren't me. I look and see something foreign. Great work if this was all I had to compare it to, but I don't. I have a lot to compare it to. I have my pre mastectomy self to compare it to, very flawed as they were, but they were what I had known for 20+ years. They were me, and they were mine. These are not me (ok, so I admit they are now mine) but they are weird. Imagine getting a new set of eyes. Wouldn't that freak you out going to the mirror expecting the beautiful old green hue you have always cherished only to find stinking muddy brown in return? (not that i have anything against brown eyes...they write songs about brown after all.) Or let's try your hands. You've looked at those a million times in your life. Try lopping those off, inserting a new one that is covered in different colors, spots, size, texture, and consistency, and guess what? Now, they are yours! You used to have small petite hands, now you have enormous man hands. Try that on for size!
There is one very distinct difference I have assumed from the get go based on my vast oncology experience both personal and professional. In breast cancer after the diagnosis is confirmed, I imagine you quickly start to view your own breast as dangerous. Out to kill you. Life threatening. And you can't wait to do everything in your power to kill tumor cells, including resorting to mastectomy. Good riddance, so long, can't get them off fast enough. They are killing you so you need them gone!! In preventative/prophylactic mastectomies, as in my case, there really is no problem. No emergency. No life threatening scenario (yet anyway). So you feel like you are trading in something perfectly fine for some imposter in return. When you are large chested, as I was, and when you have had so much radiation in the past that you virtually glow in the dark, you don't have any choices in reconstruction. You get what you get. One option, chosen by a surgeon that you hope likes you and wants the best for you (I happened to luck up here). Wake up from surgery, and there you have it folks! Distorted, taunt, super heavy, strangely smaller, painful, lumpy...Foreign hands! And hands that will need a lot of revision as years pass. Maybe even in a few weeks. New hands! Or in my case new fake "breasts". Imposters. Beautiful on someone else because I've never seen yours before. On me, imposters. His best work with what he had. But still.
So there you have it. Perspective. Other mastectomy patients may disagree, but this is where I am today. All that said, God have me an opportunity to be saved from best cancer that was in my future. (more on that remarkable story later). So for that, these are the best boobs ever! Breast cancer free. Back to what matters. Surgical drains out hopefully tomorrow!!! 2:45. It's where the party is at.
When: Wednesday (tomorrow) at 2:45.
Where: Cancer Center Clinic
Who: Lead plastic surgeon He better come with parting gifts in tow (gauze, tape, chew toys for me to bite down on while he pulls them out...and I'm not opposed to cupcakes throw in for good measure.)
And Dear God, all of everything will break loose if he says for any reason they have to stay in another week. He will have to bribe me one more week in exchange for lower body liposuction. It's only fair bartering. This for that. Heave for hoe. I'm willing to forego liposuction though for the sake of all sanity, so hop on that prayer coverage folks! The true celebration will come afterwards when I beg Ron and mom to take me out for dinner on the way home if my stamina will allow it. Surely, an adrenaline high will be my fate for a few hours at least. While, my journey won't come to a close for several weeks to come (He did afterall perform extensive surgery on my pectoral muscle, insert an implant, create a synthetic sling, glue this to that, insert fluff, suture here, suture there) I'm still elated about this drain milestone.
My next milestone in this order will be:
return to life outside these stinking four walls (at least without feeling guilty of sneaking out); resolution of all of this chest pain;
removal of lifting restrictions;
shower By MYSELF;
resumption of exercise;
driving again; back to work.
Think all of that can happen in the next two weeks???? Doubtful, but that is the original agreed on timeline. Six weeks will have flown by! Sort of. Mom is back. Yesterday, she walked in with SEVEN new bras to try out. Having these surgical vests on 24 hours a day was causing all kinds of chaos on my skin and thoracic muscle. Let's talk about pressure points and raw skin. I was in tears simply because of a simple seam. So I'm having to switch bras out about every 12 hours from this to that simple to save my skin. Bet you didn't know that tid bit before this blog post. No underwire. No pushup. No frill. No silk. No nothing but poorly designed 1800s coverage. I am however grateful to be out of the Velcro. So mom, you did very well!!! And quite frankly, what used to fit, fits no more. I've gained weight in this glorious journey. Stress weight no doubt, but you know weight gain is a gals worst enemy. Worst enemy. And then, I've downsized in other front line areas. We can blame the plastic surgeon and medical technology for this result. After a mastectomy, you don't have underlying tissue to build on top of unlike super models who are adding to their baseline conditions... so you are at the mercy of 800 grams of less of silicone. (Did we or did we not land a man on the moon?) People, 800 grams is not very much.
Without being overly graphic as this is social media after all, but still maintaining transparency as promised, they are weird. Every mastectomy patient I had talked with...every one of them... said, "Sally, you are going to love the results. They do an amazing job!", or something along those lines. Well let me tell you, I'm not sure I agree. I'm pretty positive I don't. They just aren't me. I look and see something foreign. Great work if this was all I had to compare it to, but I don't. I have a lot to compare it to. I have my pre mastectomy self to compare it to, very flawed as they were, but they were what I had known for 20+ years. They were me, and they were mine. These are not me (ok, so I admit they are now mine) but they are weird. Imagine getting a new set of eyes. Wouldn't that freak you out going to the mirror expecting the beautiful old green hue you have always cherished only to find stinking muddy brown in return? (not that i have anything against brown eyes...they write songs about brown after all.) Or let's try your hands. You've looked at those a million times in your life. Try lopping those off, inserting a new one that is covered in different colors, spots, size, texture, and consistency, and guess what? Now, they are yours! You used to have small petite hands, now you have enormous man hands. Try that on for size!
There is one very distinct difference I have assumed from the get go based on my vast oncology experience both personal and professional. In breast cancer after the diagnosis is confirmed, I imagine you quickly start to view your own breast as dangerous. Out to kill you. Life threatening. And you can't wait to do everything in your power to kill tumor cells, including resorting to mastectomy. Good riddance, so long, can't get them off fast enough. They are killing you so you need them gone!! In preventative/prophylactic mastectomies, as in my case, there really is no problem. No emergency. No life threatening scenario (yet anyway). So you feel like you are trading in something perfectly fine for some imposter in return. When you are large chested, as I was, and when you have had so much radiation in the past that you virtually glow in the dark, you don't have any choices in reconstruction. You get what you get. One option, chosen by a surgeon that you hope likes you and wants the best for you (I happened to luck up here). Wake up from surgery, and there you have it folks! Distorted, taunt, super heavy, strangely smaller, painful, lumpy...Foreign hands! And hands that will need a lot of revision as years pass. Maybe even in a few weeks. New hands! Or in my case new fake "breasts". Imposters. Beautiful on someone else because I've never seen yours before. On me, imposters. His best work with what he had. But still.
So there you have it. Perspective. Other mastectomy patients may disagree, but this is where I am today. All that said, God have me an opportunity to be saved from best cancer that was in my future. (more on that remarkable story later). So for that, these are the best boobs ever! Breast cancer free. Back to what matters. Surgical drains out hopefully tomorrow!!! 2:45. It's where the party is at.
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