A Time for Insight

I don’t recognize myself after the mastectomy. I’m saying “the” instead of “my,” because this week a respected mentor said don’t say “my”. It implies ownership and makes cancer a character trait. You don’t own the cancer. It’s not who you are. You aren’t the cancer, or in this case, the procedure. It’s just something that happened to you.

Isn’t that so strong and beautiful?

Back on track… I don’t recognize myself after the mastectomy. And not in the flat chest way. That was actually easy to accept once my breasts were gone. It was strange and a little terrifying how easily my mind wrapped itself around my new body. The mastectomy wasn’t the hard part for me, it was the pre- and post-op.

Pre-Op Mastectomy

Pre-mastectomy, I learned how to really grieve and let go. I cried for days. It was one of the moments in life where I had to do something I truly (with every fiber of my being) did not want to do. One of the only times there’s a true buildup to something that you have no control over. A masterclass in patience and acceptance. Others, like Mitch and my sorority sisters, could offer support and advice, but I had to truly work through my feelings and face them head on. Sadness and fear were a tight vice grip on me. I had to really push hard on that handle, then ease up and try to push again before it started to loosen and I started to regain my joy.

I was terrified of the “after look” and of the pain that was to come. Many women have looks they are not happy with even after reconstruction. There are things called cording and dog ears, that you can Google or click the links, that cause so many issues for so many. There’s also the fear of pain; many women struggle with pain for the rest of their lives after the mastectomy. This is due to the nerves being cut, the muscles being cut/not used, or just new anatomy that the body never got used to.

That’s just a quick little snapshot of all the fear and unknowns I had to accept going into surgery. I’m here today, and happy to say I did it. I faced those fears. Not because I’m brave or courageous. But because I had to. I had no choice. What was the other option… literal death. I figured I better buckle up and get on board… and fast…. because there was a date and time set for those bad boobies to go. It’s amazing what we can do and how much we can grow when there’s no other choice and time limits.

Post-Op

While pre-op was emotional growth, post-op was one of the most physically-painful experiences of my life. Looking back now, I realize for the first 3 or 4 days my pain was not managed at all. It was excruciating. Besides my 5-minute walks and eating, I wasn’t getting out of bed. I was drugged into a sleep half the time and still with pain. Have you ever had pain while you sleep? I will never again question how a patient can be asleep and in pain. I’ve officially experienced it, believed it, and know how truly awful it is. It’s not rest. It’s avoidance of being conscious.

It wasn’t my boobs (or lack of) that hurt, but my under arm, arm pit and by my lower ribs near the drains. None of the pains felt the same either. Pulling here, sore there, sharp pain somewhere else, stabbing, throbbing. So many different pains all at once, almost nowhere I expected, and at such an intense degree. I couldn’t raise my arm. I could barely wipe my own ass. I needed help with almost every basic task like showering and changing dressings. I was totally dependent on my helpers and Mitch. It was painful. It was humbling. It was character buidling.

I don’t want anyone thinking it was surgery mismanaging my pain. I had pain medicine, I even took it. I simply thought this was normal and how it was supposed to be. I didn’t speak up more, because I didn’t know it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t until I’ve started to feel better and more lucid off the narcs that I realized how I experienced the pain wasn’t right.

The Fever

Coupled with the pain, came the eventual fever a lot of you heard about. I spiked a fever and the on-call surgeon thought it was an ileus. I didn’t agree and spent 2.5 hours in the ER waiting for a bed. Once I got one, they did blood work, X-ray, CT and an ultrasound only to be left with no clear source of the fever. Everyone threw their hands in the air, out of options and not agreeing on the issue at hand, Dr. Chad from the ER pulled a favorite ER trick… must be a UTI. With crossed fingers, antibiotics where given, IV and I was sent home. Within 24 hours, my pain and swelling came down and fever diminished. The start of coming out onto the other side.

Now the other side. My last drain is out. I’m cleared to do whatever the hell I feel like that doesn’t hurt. My mind is clearer. Clearer to not recognize who I see. Not the physical outworld version, but the inner me. I feel like I’ve morphed and found this new strong, fierce, powerful but yet humble and introspective me.  I look back to pre-mastectomy and all I see is a Robin Williams—a loud, sad, lost adult child.

But Now

Through the hell that was pre-/post-op, I see that I can face anything. I can live a calm, peaceful life working through things how I need to and filled with those I love (and who love me) the most. I can and should advocate myself more when I know things aren’t right. This life is mine and I can do with it however I want to have the most joy.

I learned that the thing about joy is that it can exist at the same time as sorrow. In fact, one can not exist without the other. I still experienced joy while overcoming my fears and subsequent pain. In fact, it spawned more joy because I was so proud of working through that trauma in real time.

Warriors, it’s possible that a time of such physical loss (like 5 pounds of boobs), can also be a time of profound personal growth and understanding. It’s beautiful. It’s scary. It’s joyous.

Until next time,
Have a magical day