July 29, 2014 - Introducing "The Imposter Collection"

I’m done being frustrated I think. It’s been a week and the news has settled in. I only cried twice. Once the day of when I told my mom. She tends to bring out my emotions from deep down in my hiding box. Second, when my cousin so thoughtfully asked me if I had set a surgery date. That one shot out of me like a bolt of lightning. It didn’t even ooze up to the surface and out like it did with my mom. Instead, it just flew out of my tear ducts with no warning at all! But no more, I think I am done. I’ve moved to the acceptance phase that there shall indeed be yet another surgery. Surgery #5. It has grown on me. The Imposters are at peace. Well Boob 2.2 is anyway since he doesn’t have to be involved at all in this one. Boob 1…outta luck. (I won’t remind 2.2 that the last time we went in for a singular lipomodeling surgery, both got roped into it before all was said and done.) We are adjusting.

It helps that a few of my friends made a game out of it and spontaneously threw out reasons as to why Surgery #5 landed in my lap. My favorite…Lead Plastic Surgeon subscribes to this blog and likes seeing his name in print over and over again. Other front runners…this surgery gives Ron an opportunity to get his RN degree in 2 years without having to do additional practicum. And last, Hallmark needed more cases to justify a “hope your boob is looking up!” tagline. Feel free to contribute to the game by adding your reason in the comments below (click the word comment at bottom of post on). I’d relish in your humor indeed.

Today is the perfect day to remind me why I need to get this done and to pump me up (no pun intended) for setting that surgery date. Not only is there a risk for further slippage if I don’t fix it, there are also a few wardrobe malfunctions lurking in the closet. This morning I threw on a summer maxi dress that has an empire waist. Well, let’s just say the image in the mirror was all but “put together”. One high, one low. Calamity! I was at risk of causing coworkers to fall in the hallway thinking their vision was distorted. Back to the closet for some adjustment and only 10 minutes late leaving. It’s a hoot if you let your mind get past the scariness of it. Scary, well to me and my vain self. Probably not all that scary to you. Comical (when I’m not tearful) to us both.

This time two years ago I was preparing myself for my last week of work before mastectomy surgery. August 7, 2012 was a date that had me shaking in my boots! I had not even come out in the open to most of you. A handful of people (immediate family, a few select coworkers, and my bible study group = less than 10 total I’d say) were all that knew what was about to go down. I was all the things you would expect me to be. Embarrassed, worried, naïve, unsettled, self-conscious. I knew taking these breasts off was absolutely what I needed to do, but there were a good many emotions straddling my certainty. I remember trying to figure out how in the world my mind was going to make it through the 10 days of “no breasts”. But none off those thoughts prepared me for the reality of where my mind would go. Upside-down. Inside-out. What in the world is going on!?!  I found this picture below from a post in August of that year. Not that you can tell, but I had no boobs in this picture. I was off to my first appointment after mastectomy (10 days later) and I had my jacket zipped up basically to my chin and underneath was a surgical bra stuffed full of white fluff. It was August people and sure over 90 degrees outside with 200% humidity as we seem to specailize in here, but I was not about to let it be known I was walking around boob-less. I recall that day standing in my closet wondering what in the world I was going to put on to make this visit even remotely possible. I was to be walking into a waiting room of women who were in similar fate, but that didn't mean I was ready to make myself known (and I work with these people, most of whom had no idea what was going on). I found this hot pink velore-ish type jacket crammed in the back corner of the closet and then some jeans. I quickly ditched the jeans when I realized there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to pull them up with my immobility from surgery. The jeans morphed into black pajama bottoms that could pass as athletic gear. I changed as best as I could (not doubt a spectacle to observe!) and walked back into the living room where Ron and my mom were waiting. Mom snapped this picture below and even now I recall the beaming face both of them had on talking about how great I looked. “The pink makes you glow!” Boy could I have eaten them up with a spoon. I will never forget that moment. They had not seen me crying in my closet desperately flinging clothes this way and that trying to find something that would mask the underneath. Somehow they knew exactly what I needed to hear.

I didn’t comment that day in the post about what I was feeling. I wasn’t really "there" yet in my blog with being open and honest. Only seven days before (3 days after mastectomy) was my very first post and it was puny and low key. I was just trying to get through a post those days. Transparency came later. Anyway, I say all of this as a testament to where I’ve come.  August was a very long month with me hiding behind chin-high pink velore-ish zipup jackets in 200% humidity to now talking with little reserve (but still respectfully, I hope!) about lopsided boobs. I’ve come a long way! I’m here. I’ve arrived intact with Imposter 1 and Imposter 2.2 in tow.  

I’ve set a date. October 16^th. I've even set a post-op clinic date. Oct 22. Boy, do they offer full boob service! It’s going to be here in no time. But I admit I will think about it every single hour of every day between now and then. Just yesterday I remembered the surgical bra again. Oh bother, I am going to get another one. I should have kept them all for a collection. I’d have 5 you know! Those things have a long way to go in the fashion world. But having 5, couldn’t that be a “collection” that I could name and sell on the black market? “The Imposter Collection”. High dollar, my friend! Open to the highest bidder...which I am sure will be backed by Victoria's Secret.

July 24, 2014 - Pink sharpie

Well, I've got some good news! I'm excited to report I did not have to pay the usual $45 for my doctor's appointment this week. I got a deal- buy one lipomodeling surgery get one clinic visit free! Woo hoo! Yep, that's the good thing I have to report. Bask in it, relish it, roll around and enjoy it. Free visit!!!! Learning to find the silver lining in these Imposters and getting pretty dang good at distraction.

I sat in the waiting room for a bit over an hour (Lead Plastic Surgeon was running behind schedule). Next to me was this adorable lady in her late 60s, if I had to guess, who had recently undergone mastectomy and she had not yet entered the reconstructive phase (if she had plans to at all). She was wearing her infusion pump on her waist and she and her husband where happy little larks just chatting away about their activities of the week. I kept thinking to myself that she was the perfect example of finding peace in circumstance. I wanted to get into her head, hear about her journey, and I was secretly hoping she had chosen to NOT have reconstruction. Here she was prancing into her appointment with no effort to distract from her concaveness. I want to be that confident – or at least that is how she seemed. While she was sitting there content with her day, my stomach was all tied up in knots. The irony of that. Me = no chemo = all tied up in knots. Her = chemo= happy as a lark.

I wasn't at all upset that he was running, almost an hour by now, behind schedule. The longer I sat in that office chair, the longer I was away from that examining room and what I knew deep down in my heart was the inevitable. I actually laughed at myself for being so nervous, but sometimes our subconscious rules the roost. Then came the nurse out to get me and in I went feeling like I was going to lose the contents of my stomach all over my little slipper shoe and her pink scrubs.

Lead Plastic Surgeon was so kind and thoughtful. He could tell I did not want to be there so we chatted about work before we got down to the nitty gritty. Follow-up from the lipomodeling was a great report out. The area looked as expected, and so far there was little to no fat reabsorption (remember: sometimes the fat reabsorbs over time and you have to have the procedure repeated over time). Off to a good start. Then the dreaded news…option #2 was the winner. The implant has slipped out of place. You may recall that when he put the implant in, he had to attach a mesh sling to hold the implant since the pectoral (chest) muscle wasn't large enough to do the duty. When we went in a year ago for the cellulitis infection surgery, he noted that on the right breast, the sling had never incorporated into the tissue like it was supposed to. So now we are wondering if that happened on the left side as well, therefore leaving the implant unsupported. It happens sometimes and it looks like it happened to me. And it won't fix itself and could worsen if left unattended. Hello, Surgery, so very nice to see you again. I've missed you so.

We both are nervous about opening up the breast again. Each time we touch and expose the implant, we increase the risk of infection. And since I've already "been there done that" with the left breast, we don't want to risk that with the right. So, he has come up with this beautiful plan of manipulating the skin to lift up the implant. This way we don't have to expose the implant during surgery. Picture a water balloon. Squeeze the bottom of the balloon and the water is forced up to the top. Water = implant. Balloon = skin. We will cut out a portion of the skin at the bottom and then suture it back up in hopes of lifting the implant back into place. As Ron says, it's a bit nauseating to think about, but it gets me a much easier surgery and much quicker recovery time. And I get a new battle scar! (You will recall this is the part I detest, so I'm having to get used to that idea of a new prominent scar.) But I score all of this with no DRAINs so a woman will celebrate that silver lining.

I won't lie to you. I'm bummed. I may or may not have walked around the house a little preoccupied this evening. I may or may not have called my mom and cried a little. It seemed inevitable with the drunkard boob appearance, but I really wanted to be wrong. I had prepared myself for this outcome, but when it was confirmed I felt a little heart (and stomach) drop. Nothing to do but pull myself together and look forward to our very LAST boob surgery. #5 is a charm, right?

We haven't set a date yet. I have a few things I need to try and work around and I need to build up some time off. These surgeries have run me dry! The terrific news is surgery should only last about an hour. A few days off work. And then about 3 weeks of restrictions so the scar doesn't open up. He gave me permission to take some time to enjoy the summer for a bit before I enter the water restrictions that come with surgery. Another silver lining. They are all around if I search enough. My outlook is good (after the last 24 hours of not so much). My best friend recommended we drown our sorrow in a tattoo. She's a giver isn't she? I landed on a pink awareness ribbon on the side of Boob 1. Don't worry, Mom, I'm gonna do it with a pink sharpie.

Jeremiah 29: 11. "For I know the plans I have for you..." Now for me to be faithful and to do my part.

July 22, 2014 - Catch 22

This week is the week. I’m headed back to the dreaded plastic surgery office in a few days. Just to make sure I had not imagined anything, I took a peak again…and yes, they are still as lopsided/off-kilter/definitely-not-twins as I had remembered. I actually hadn’t done an inspection since early June, so a girl could be hopeful that the magical fairies of yonder boobie-land would embrace July and bring greatness again, but alas...those fairies must be at the beach with the rest of the working force. Nothing more fun that getting to go in for yet MORE poking and prodding and wonderfully entertaining pictures that can be floating around wherever those such things end up. Rolling my eyes at some of the absurdity and loss of self-dignity that can occur with breast surgery.  

I fondly think back to a year ago when I went to what was to be my very last surgical appointment. Bahahaha! Psych! Gotcha! Loser! Made ya look! Surgery #4! Oh to have that last appointment once again and that feeling of “done”. I promise I’m not bitter. More kinda just over it. But I have this very sneaky suspicion that boob surgery #5 is not only a very realistic choice but also something I need to prepare myself for if there is any possibility of twin peaks again. I’m going to beg for pink duct tape. I might even allow hot glue. But that scalpel, I loathe him. He has taken his silver edge to me one time too many! Sadly, the drunkard state of the implants leaves me equally as unsettled for the long term. Catch 22.

I’m learning a good bit about long term outcomes of radiation treatment this week. First there were the boobs and their probable fate thus propelling me to mastectomy. Second, I’ve been dealing with dental consequences. Many moons ago, we prophylactically sealed all of my teeth to keep them cavity free. Radiation causes all kinds of dental problems that I won’t go into here for sake of keystroke, but google is your friend if you are an overachiever like myself (smile).  Well, let’s just say I’ve had cavities between every single tooth over the last 10 or so years. And it seems like at least yearly I have to get a filling dug out and replaced. Ten guesses as to what I am doing August 12^th. I’m wondering if I should go ahead and start saving for dentures. SURELY, I’m too young for dentures. I should be turned into glue, but as my sister says…”Sally, forget it! You won’t stick!” (Not a reflection of her love for me in anyway.) And then there is the summer heat asthma in the beautiful stifling State I live in (and truly adore).

I’ve actually got it so easy. And I shouldn’t be complaining even a single syllable. I see the realities of malignancy on a daily basis. I see TRUE struggle in my clinic. I see third world problems littering my computer screen.  Mine is laughable, and therefore I laugh. But there are some days when my prideful and selfish self finds a little pity stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Thankfully, my reality hears that little voice reminding me that God has purposed even this. Every incision, every tooth, every cleft lip provisioned to be an opportunity for me to point to His grace. Hopeful that I remember that as I step up on that exam table. Otherwise, you might see a shoe fly across the room. “Why hello, lead plastic surgeon. Don’t you look handsome with that tred mark on your fore head. You got some botox for that?”  

Not praying for an outcome, praying for an outlook. Sometimes that fixes the outcome all together.