Breastless

It’s been a week and 2 days since my implants were removed.  This has been such an emotional blow for me.  I had my real breasts removed on January 29, and had tissue expanders placed on June 4, so I was boobless for a while this year; my memory of that time was that I had sort of gotten used to it and I remember thinking it wasn’t so bad after all.  Now I remember that it was bad, and it’s just as bad and scary and shocking now as it was the first time.  I still can’t look behind the gauze.  One night last week when my husband was changing my gauze, I accidentally looked down and tears just poured down my face.

A week and 2 days ago I had my second horrible experience with the nursing staff at the hospital (Valley Hospital in Las Vegas.  Yes, it was so bad that I want to advertise how bad it was).  I am tempted to go into all the details about what happened, but I am trying not to feed the negative energy beast that can so easily rear its ugly head inside of me right now.  Let’s just say that I awoke to the anesthesiologist throwing a fit because the computer wouldn’t work and then the nurse got frustrated, so she left to take her lunch break.  Another nurse came to give me some pain meds, but he had another patient to take care of so he told me if I needed him I’d have to holler.  And they sent me home with someone else’s discharge papers.  There were several things in between being told to holler for help and getting the wrong discharge papers, but again, maybe another day.  Oh, I did tell my nurse that I was quite certain I was having a much shittier day than she was having.  That gives me a little satisfaction.

Apart from all that, this surgery itself hasn’t been too bad.  The pain has been manageable with meds and I am recovering pretty well, physically.  I saw my surgeon on Monday; he was pleased that there is no sign of infection and wants me to come back next Monday to have my stitches removed.  Upon leaving, his nurse (who I have mentioned is absolutely fabulous) came out to the front desk where I was making my follow-up appointment and asked me if I was ok.  She must have picked up on my distress earlier when I was getting dressed and muttered something about not knowing how my husband can stand to look at me.  She told me they can refer me to someone if I need to talk.  She was so kind.  I almost fell apart right there in the waiting room.  I don’t like to cry in front of people, so I kept my lips tight and just said “thank you” before the tears came forth.

In the days leading up to this surgery, I had made up my mind that I should wait at least 6 months, possibly a year, before deciding if I want to give reconstruction another shot.  For some reason, I feel like I need to learn to be comfortable with my boobless body before I get implants.  Something tells me that this is my opportunity to learn to love myself, maybe even like myself, beyond my physical appearance.  But now I have this boobless chest.  It is concave.  It is ugly.  It hurts.  My range of motion is limited.  It is ugly.  Did I mention that it is ugly?  Choosing something to wear every day is such a challenge.  I have 2 shirts that sort of camouflage this imperfection.  Scarves are a godsend right now. 

Despite all this, I have to remember how lucky I really am that I am alive and well.  I can go shopping for some new clothes before I return to work next week.  I could wear a padded bra or get a prosthesis if I really want to.  I have health insurance.  I have an amazing husband who loves me with or without breasts, I have 2 beautiful little girls.  And I am disease-free.

Something Went Really Wrong

The other day a commercial came on for some cancer center or another, and my 6-year old looked at me quizzically. I asked her what she was thinking and she said, “You had cancer.” I told her yes. “But you don’t anymore, right?” I told her she was correct, that the doctor cut it all out of me. Last night she was asking more questions about whether I still have to go to the doctor a lot, etc. My 10-year old told her I wouldn’t be having any more surgeries unless something goes “really wrong”.

Well, “really wrong” has happened, apparently. Yesterday the stitches came out. This morning as I was getting ready to get in the shower, I noticed blood on my arm. Blood from my incision, which we will now just call a wound. An open wound. Shower was canceled, hubby bandaged me up, and I decide not to go to work until I talk to the doctor’s office. After dropping the kids off at school, I was able to talk to my surgeon’s nurse, who is just fabulous. She then talked to the surgeon (he’s not in the office today), and it is decided that the implant must come out. So I will be having surgery next Tuesday. My fourth time going under this year.

I am in shock. Honestly, the shock I feel is comparable to that I felt when I was given my cancer diagnosis almost a year ago. My two biggest fears were 1) dying and 2) not having boobs. I beat the cancer and had finally made peace with the nipple-less, scarred breast mounds (at least they make me look feminine with my clothes on). I don’t cry every day anymore, and can actually look at them in the mirror. Now I will be boobless again. And I have to decide whether to have the other side removed or be lopsided until such time as we can try the reconstruction again, if that is even going to be an option and if I will even want to try again. The idea of having one fake boob and wearing a prosthesis on the other side is just very unsettling to me. If I’m going to wear a prosthesis, I wish I’d kept my real boob (the left one was not cancerous). I am just so…devastated. My husband made note of what a beautiful day it is outside today and all I could say was that it feels cloudy to me. I know I should be grateful that the cancer is gone, I am going to be okay, everything else in life is pretty good. Lots of silver linings. Quite frankly, I’m tired of having to find silver linings.

So when my girls get home from school tonight, I will have to let them know that Mommy will be having yet another surgery. I’ll have to find a way to say it so they don’t think something went “really wrong”. I guess that’s where those stupid silver linings will come in handy.

Back to Work

Tomorrow I return to work after being out for two weeks for my final surgery.   I’m not looking forward to it.  I was feeling very bitter, angry, depressed, nervous, scared in the days leading up to this surgery.  Partially, I was nervous and scared because I was afraid it would be so horribly painful as the last surgery and I just didn’t want to repeat that.  The night before the surgery, lying in bed unable to sleep even after taking a double dose of a sleep aid, my husband said he could actually hear my heart beating.  I was feeling especially bitter and angry, which I tell myself is only natural, but then I beat myself up for it.  I mean, seriously, for a breast cancer diagnosis, mine was pretty lucky.  No lymph nodes.  Stage 1.  Cut them off, radiation, reconstruction, no chemo, blood work has been clean ever since.  But I still have to look in the mirror and see the scars.  I see them with or without my clothes on.  I can see them through my clothes…they show through if the fabric isn’t dark enough, and the contour of the scars shows through some fabrics no matter what the color.  But in those weeks leading up to this final reconstructive surgery, people kept saying the worst things to me (unknowingly and with good intentions, really) and it left me feeling even more bitter. Some asked if I was excited to be getting my new boobs.  Others asked if I was going to get double d’s.  Some said how lucky I am that I’ll have cute, perky boobs and I’ll never have to wear a bra.  At first I tried to politely say that I was more nervous than excited, and maybe try to explain that I have no say in how big my “new boobs” will be because my skin is so damaged from radiation, or that they really won’t be cute, perky boobs.  Because I don’t have nipples.  Because the entire width of each boob (“breast mounds” as my plastic surgeon calls them) is marked with an ugly, thick, bumpy, purple scar, which I am very, very self-conscious about.  Those two details are things I haven’t shared with anyone besides my husband and my best friend, because it is so personal and embarrassing to me.  But it is so painful.  So painful.  And when people are so flippant about me and my cute new boobs, I feel like I need to defend myself and try to tell them a little bit about what it’s like for real, but people really either don’t want to hear it or they just aren’t prepared to hear anything besides, “Yes, you are correct”.    So, I’ve learned to just smile and say, yes, I’m excited to be getting the surgery over with.  And now it’s over, my last surgery has come and gone, I’m returning to work for good with no more planned absences and all cancer treatment done except for the quarterly checkup with the oncologist.  It’s time to life to get back to normal.  I just have to figure out a way to make peace with my new normal.