How I Learned To Love My Mastectomy
My mastectomy was performed on Friday, April 25th. I got to Greenwich Hospital early for my 0700 curtain call so I sat for 15 minutes in the lobby marveling at how uncomfortable those lovely pale green love seats are. The first doctor I saw was my plastic surgeon "Keith". He used a purple Sharpie to draw guidelines for both breasts and some sort of midline. I think I remember both he and the "breast surgeon" initializing these markings but that might just be a weird hallucination. I did stress to him that lingerie is important to me and that any change in size that meant replacing my collection would be a big bummer.
I came out of surgery in the late afternoon. I steadfastly avoided looking at any spot even near the site of the surgery. Anesthesia is a strange beast. For days I had flashes of memories--being fed soup, being fed some sort of strange frozen peach dessert, sipping ginger ale, and generally being out of it.
On Sunday, I left the hospital. I still hadn't looked at the dressing. There was something there that looked vaguely the size and shape of the breast that had been there before or at least the "breast tissue" that had been there before. The first time my cute 20-something surgeon said the word "mastectomy" I thought of the Betty Rollin book "First You Cry" . That book is over 30 years old but I remember reading it as a teenager. For whatever reason, I vividly remember her description of the concave depression where her breast had been.
I am very lucky. My cancer was the "pee-wee" variety, barely Stage 1. My calcifications were non-invasive and at times I wondered whether they were even truly cancerous. I pictured villainous pebbles of "pee-wee" cancer spread across a 3-6 centimeter range. A lumpectomy wouldn't work because the area was too large and any remaining calcifications would be difficult to track from year to year. I never worried that the cancer had spread and I never seriously considered any sorts of post-cancer treatments. My surgeon had told me quite confidently that I wouldn't need any and I believed her.
Out of arrogance or naivete, I barely gave it another thought. I gave the mastectomy a lot of thought however and my admiration for any woman who juggles the distress of surgery/reconstruction and post-surgery treatment such as chemo or radiation is boundless. I really can't imagine coping with mortality and mastectomy.
Now nearly two weeks out, I think to myself 'this wasn't that big a deal' but I don't say it out loud. I feel a bit guilty. My left "breast" is the same size as its partner on the right. It feels numb and a bit strange but it looks okay. I think of it as the "robot breast" because of the metal expander that holds the temporary implant in place. I picture those conical breast plates that Wonder Woman wears and I laugh to myself. I suppose that in some odd sense I'm shielded by that metal expander. I wonder if it would set off the metal detector at an airport gate. Hmm.
Having only one nipple is strange. I saw one "before and after" photo set in my plastic surgeon's portfolio that showed a woman with no nipples. She'd opted not to bother with reconstructed ones. At the time, I thought that was strange but now I think I get it. When I wear a thin top, it's disconcerting to see the nipple on one side and the other side without, but the smoothness on the left side looks better. Initially, preserving the nipple on the right side was important to me but now I don't feel strongly either way. When the entire reconstruction "project" is done (I'm starting to think of it as my own personal Big Dig), my breasts will be high and perky. He'll lift the "good" one and even put in a small implant on the top of that side to match the left. In the future, I may only wear a bra for nostalgia's sake.
In the meantime, I look forward to ditching the "medical bra" I'm stuck with for now. It is structured like a '50s swim suit top with high sides and a 2 inch wide band of elastic. The surgeon proudly pointed out that the seams are on the outside of the "cups" to avoid chafing. It was only later that I realized that every bra I own has seamless cups. I guess this means my plastic surgeon doesn't wear a bra and high heels around the house. He'd never heard of Betty Rollin either. Perhaps I'll find a copy of her book on Ebay and send it to him as a thank-you gift when our joint "project" is finished. I bet she'd like that wherever she is.
I came out of surgery in the late afternoon. I steadfastly avoided looking at any spot even near the site of the surgery. Anesthesia is a strange beast. For days I had flashes of memories--being fed soup, being fed some sort of strange frozen peach dessert, sipping ginger ale, and generally being out of it.
On Sunday, I left the hospital. I still hadn't looked at the dressing. There was something there that looked vaguely the size and shape of the breast that had been there before or at least the "breast tissue" that had been there before. The first time my cute 20-something surgeon said the word "mastectomy" I thought of the Betty Rollin book "First You Cry" . That book is over 30 years old but I remember reading it as a teenager. For whatever reason, I vividly remember her description of the concave depression where her breast had been.
I am very lucky. My cancer was the "pee-wee" variety, barely Stage 1. My calcifications were non-invasive and at times I wondered whether they were even truly cancerous. I pictured villainous pebbles of "pee-wee" cancer spread across a 3-6 centimeter range. A lumpectomy wouldn't work because the area was too large and any remaining calcifications would be difficult to track from year to year. I never worried that the cancer had spread and I never seriously considered any sorts of post-cancer treatments. My surgeon had told me quite confidently that I wouldn't need any and I believed her.
Out of arrogance or naivete, I barely gave it another thought. I gave the mastectomy a lot of thought however and my admiration for any woman who juggles the distress of surgery/reconstruction and post-surgery treatment such as chemo or radiation is boundless. I really can't imagine coping with mortality and mastectomy.
Now nearly two weeks out, I think to myself 'this wasn't that big a deal' but I don't say it out loud. I feel a bit guilty. My left "breast" is the same size as its partner on the right. It feels numb and a bit strange but it looks okay. I think of it as the "robot breast" because of the metal expander that holds the temporary implant in place. I picture those conical breast plates that Wonder Woman wears and I laugh to myself. I suppose that in some odd sense I'm shielded by that metal expander. I wonder if it would set off the metal detector at an airport gate. Hmm.
Having only one nipple is strange. I saw one "before and after" photo set in my plastic surgeon's portfolio that showed a woman with no nipples. She'd opted not to bother with reconstructed ones. At the time, I thought that was strange but now I think I get it. When I wear a thin top, it's disconcerting to see the nipple on one side and the other side without, but the smoothness on the left side looks better. Initially, preserving the nipple on the right side was important to me but now I don't feel strongly either way. When the entire reconstruction "project" is done (I'm starting to think of it as my own personal Big Dig), my breasts will be high and perky. He'll lift the "good" one and even put in a small implant on the top of that side to match the left. In the future, I may only wear a bra for nostalgia's sake.
In the meantime, I look forward to ditching the "medical bra" I'm stuck with for now. It is structured like a '50s swim suit top with high sides and a 2 inch wide band of elastic. The surgeon proudly pointed out that the seams are on the outside of the "cups" to avoid chafing. It was only later that I realized that every bra I own has seamless cups. I guess this means my plastic surgeon doesn't wear a bra and high heels around the house. He'd never heard of Betty Rollin either. Perhaps I'll find a copy of her book on Ebay and send it to him as a thank-you gift when our joint "project" is finished. I bet she'd like that wherever she is.
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