a place to put my hurt

First, a confession: I can be quite neurotic – hypersensitive, over-dramatic, lacking in objective perspective, even downright loony.

Perhaps I am still “processing” the whole ordeal of losing my right breast. Or maybe I'm this way all the time, but won't admit to it without an excuse.

I do not want any of the feelings that I write here to reflect on the professionalism and skill of the doctors who have treated me. Even though I have not quite come to terms with my reconstruction surgery – things are, in fact, still changing – I consider my plastic surgeon to be extremely competent, responsive, and perhaps a genius.

I am getting used to my new breasts – even starting to feel that they look good, despite not being perfect matches. The right breast is falling more and I don’t feel so strange looking.

And because I’m more healed, I’m not afraid to expose my breasts anymore. (Yes, I make love with nothing covering them now – yeah!) What is it about the way I do not want others to see my wounds - to see where I hurt? I bet a shrink could make something of that.

Maybe part of my reason for writing here is to have a place to put my hurt.

as soon as I can swim ...

As I heal - and the tightness, pain and swelling go down, and even though it all still feels and looks rather wierd to me - I have to admit that I am somewhat astonished (and pleased) with the reconstruction surgery.

My native breast is beautiful, the perfect shape. Like when I was 25 years old. The other breast (I still haven't decided what to call it - the "silicon" breast?, the "new" breast?, the "alien" breast) is trying hard to fall into place and be a companion.

I still worry, though, that the space between the 2 breasts is wide enough and stable, and not going to pop out. I guess that in time I will trust this new arrangement of things.

I developed a bladder infection last week and had to take another round of different antibiotics. Tonight is my last one, and I am almost feeling back to normal. As soon as I can swim ...

healing ... again

It is good for me to be told: no you cannot exercise, no you cannot swim, no you cannot work.

I am free to do nothing. To sit outside with Jubilee and watch the wind in the trees. To be empty, and quiet.

I am healing … again … I think both emotionally and physically … from the trauma of being diagnosed with breast cancer, having my breast removed, and then “reconstructed”. In time, I want to write a little more clearly and decisively about this experience, and in a way that will directly address the way the medical system and the culture responds to breast cancer, and the way that the patient gets sucked into that mindset.

Reconstructive surgery is touted as either “no big deal” or the greatest thing since sliced bread. It is neither. It is both painful and disfiguring, even if you have the best plastic surgeon (and I do).

I know that I will adapt to my new breast, but I also know that I will never be “normal-looking” again. I wonder if I could have had the guts to be a uni-breast, if it had been more encouraged, more accepted.

My cancers were very small (the invasive cancer was detectable only by MRI) and early stage. There must be a way to stop cancers at this stage without resorting to removing the entire breast. I have read somewhere about an infrared (I think) beam that could be directed at the tumor, and kill it from within. However, it needs further testing and research. I would have gladly volunteered to be part of that study.

And I will get photos up here of my new breasts – I’m just still feeling a bit too swollen, wounded and vulnerable. So I return to the backyard – to heal.

ohmygosh (looking at myself)

Ohmygosh – look at me. That’s my reaction at looking at my chest and the site of my mastectomy surgery, and I don’t make the effort to look. On the one side is this beautiful, soft, natural breast. On the other … scars, bulges of skin, a hard round something (the expander). This is my body? This happened to me?

It’s been a good week, though. For the first time, I am beginning to not actively hurt – though there are still places of soreness. Dr. Lickstein gave me the first injection of “new breast” (saline into the expander) and it was no big deal. I had been expecting the worst. He told me not to worry about the seroma and to get on with exercising my arms. And the seroma does seem to be getting better.

It has been a month since my surgery. Tonight I asked John a lot of questions about what happened on that day of surgery. Funny how little I remember.

I went to an exercise class this morning and it was just wonderful. I was able to pretty much keep up with all the ladies and I left feeling flushed with endorphins. I’m going again Monday. I was able to do most of the arm exercises using low weights.

And I made an appointment with the oncologist for next Thursday. Finally I guess I’ll face the facts about my cancer and what I need to do now.

hurting and healing

I still hurt. I wonder how long it takes to heal. I wonder when this seroma will go away. My mastectomy surgery was 4 weeks ago tomorrow, and it seems I should be further along the in healing than this.

I decided to keep this blog public, because when I search for answers to my questions, like “how long does it take for a mastectomy seroma to heal?” the most I get is research answers. Like: “the study shows that the length of time that drains were left in does not affect the incidence of seromas.”

seroma

The miracle breast is really a “seroma” – a not uncommon complication following mastectomy. During the surgery my skin was lifted from my chest wall to remove the breast and the lymph nodes. Then when the skin was laid back down, there was a “space” between the skin and the chest wall, and it filled with fluid. The drains removed this fluid and then the skin was supposed to re-attach to the chest wall. Except sometimes this doesn’t happen right away. I guess the skin is pretty inflamed and needs some time to heal.

I had my 2nd drain in for 2 weeks. Drains can’t stay in forever. There is risk of infection, and they are so damn gross and uncomfortable. So the doctor had to make a judgement call. When my 2nd drain was removed, the serum continued to fill the “space”, resulting in a blister-like swelling that goes from my back, around under my arm to under my non-breast. It tends to be sore and annoying. Last night I woke up with little shooting pains just under my non-breast.

I still cannot wear a bra of any kind. Thank God (or thank you, Sue) for the little mastectomy camisole that I have been wearing every day for 4 weeks now.

Last Friday (10 days ago), Dr. Rimmer said that my body would reabsorb the seroma in a couple of weeks. Hmmmm. I don’t see it getting any smaller.

On Tuesday I go to Dr. Lickstein for my first injection of “new breast”. I wonder what that will be like, and I wonder what he will say about the seroma.

miracle breast

I am growing a new breast out of my right side. When I asked John to feel it yesterday, he said “oh my”. Who needs plastic surgery?! Perhaps this new miracle breast will give miracle milk!

Seriously, this is probably a build up of fluid that the drain was taking care of and now my body is supposed to somehow reabsorb. I will see what Dr. Rimmer says tomorrow. Dr. Lickstein seems to think that everything looks the way it is supposed to look.

I am still very sore, especially under my arm, and still taking the Tylenol 3 at night. I think it is the codeine that I like because it helps me to sleep better.

When I told Sebastian about my new miracle breast, he asked if I thought I might have a future in the circus. I am thinking more along the lines of the cinnamon bun that looked like Mother Theresa. Perhaps a shrine …

my body

Today I celebrate my body.

Though I am still sore and swollen, and my ears are screw-y (water on the cochlea), once I got the drain out and off the antibiotic, I could sense my own body’s innate integrity for healing kicking in. I find myself glorying in the wonder of this. I smell the air. My body feels like a very good friend, rising to the occasion, glad to be back!

healing

healing means being still
having nowhere to go
nothing to do.