As I was reeled into the operating room, I silently hoped that once they opened my chest, they would find that it was all benign. I even kept my cool and remained calm when delicately, my youngest told me that they had had to remove the entire breast. I remember my eyes darting left and right as I laid in that hospital bed. Back and forth as if I was looking for where I could run to get away from what I had just heard. But the rest of me was still. I don’t remember my heart beating or any irregular breathing. Even my mind was quiet. Only my eyes moved. And I remained calm, accepting, even as I left the hospital the next day.
A ROLLER COASTER of EMOTIONS
On bad days, I couldn’t fathom what had happened. Any little silly thing drove me into heart-ripping tears. I cried my eyes out every time someone new found out. They felt as helpless and as shocked as I was! I hurt for their hurt, and I couldn’t make it go away. I thought it was a nightmare that I would never wake up from. I didn’t know if it was losing my breast or the irritating plastic drain tube sprouting from my side. Was this a fear of dying, adjustment to the shock, or worry for my daughters? I dreaded this ambiguity, this fear, this pain, this torment that would stay with me forever.
Then there were these moments when distracted by day-to-day chores. I forgot the struggle I was in. Like it had all happened to someone else, and I was just a spectator from afar. At other times, I would experience sudden momentary disbelief as if I had just learned what had happened to me. That, I had cancer. That this was actually happening to ME.
And then came the anger! My oncologist rationalized that maybe I hadn’t really mourned the loss of my breast. I disagreed and blamed the entire medical world for not having systems in place to heal my burned cells, scorched skin, aching bones, and bruised femininity.
STARTING TO DEAL WITH IT
At some point, to help manage my anxieties and my daunting thoughts, I would pigeonhole my recurring concerns into separate categories in my mind. And, one by one, I would silently address them and soothe myself by clearly visualizing how each would be resolved in due course.
My new physical state was the hardest of those concerns to come to terms with. In my weak moments, I was overwhelmed by a mixture of sadness and horror.
At the beginning, I couldn’t look at my breastless side. It wasn’t for another couple of months that I braved myself to glimpse at the slightly uneven incision on my chest. I dreaded stepping into the shower. It wasn’t until another 8 or 9 months later that I started to scrub my still-tender chest a little more confidently. Showering will never be the same with a missing boob and a significant cut across my chest, but now bathing is again a trauma-less everyday activity.
SOME USEFUL FASHION TIPS
Getting dressed was quite the challenge. I had to experiment with various types of breast prostheses. I finally went with a tear-shaped prosthetic that slides into a pocket in a mastectomy bra. If you are not going for breast reconstruction soon or ever, be open to exploring the mastectomy wear options available until you find something that makes you look and feel balanced and is suited to your style of dress.
The first time I wore a swimsuit in public after my mastectomy, I felt very self-conscious, even with the built-in cups. I wore a crocheted top over my swimsuit to blur any visible imbalance on my chest. I later found out that special mastectomy swimwear is available. I haven’t used them myself, but they are probably worth exploring.
TODAY
Five years on, the anguish and distress of my illness have become blurry, and I see myself etching my way to a new form of “normal” with each passing day and appreciating the little things that make life sweet. Thankfully, there’s no bitterness, only gratitude. And as the journey continues and the mark on my chest fades and softens, I gladly confirm that, yes, I am changed, but I am most certainly not scarred.
