Staying A Breast with DCIS - Bellevue, WA

It's been awhile since I've written. Byt he time, November had rolled around, I had pretty much had it up to here (my hand is over my head) with my mastectomy and my loss of the twins. I figured no one really wanted to hear about it anymore even though it was cathartic to write, I didn't want to drag it on any longer.

I was reconstructed right be fore Christmas and had the encore performance of the drains for 10 days. Love looking like a Slurpee with crazy straws attached to my sides (I say sarcastically). Before the surgery, my chubby surgeon reminded me that I was no slim Lizzy and would require liposuction under my arms. She reminded me every week as if I didn't realize by looking in the mirror each day that I was indeed, a bit robust.

I was in for one of my weekly appointments when she reminded me again that I was "fat" and would need lipsuction. I finally had enough. "Maybe we can both go on a diet ." She was silent. I think it may have dawned on her that she was no slim Lizzy either. Anyway, I think her tongue has bruises from biting it the next time I was in.

I was reconstructed and now I have round, dough-like breasts with no "nipplies." I decided tattooing nipples was really a waste of time and besides, I can weird people out if I am a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest. (Get it?) And really, who cares? My days of being a swimsuit model are over and I seriously doubt nipples are an issue in the dark.

It is pretty strange getting used to though. The scars that criss-cross your chest. They slowly go away, but they are stiff, rope like and some parts don't fade. The saline implants don't feel like they are mine, but rather more like a heavy, lumpy garment attached to my chest. It's hard to explain. Parts of you are numb. Parts have little sensation. No matter how much I try to joke about them (which is my release), they aren't me, but more like something foreign under my skin.

I do joke. It's what keeps me going. I know that it makes it easier for others, too. But really, what is there to say? I'm sorry? Pity is thoughtful and quick to the lips, but not needed. We are survivors and being strong is all you have when parts of you are invaded and dying. Strength is from within and how you create and cope and manufacture that strength is all that matters. It's what keeps you going.

I've had some time now to reflect. I know I am changed forever, but to those I love, I appear the same. I'm stronger now. I know not cancer or anything else will get the best of me. It was a speed bump in my life, nothing more. I won't give it any more credence than that as it does not deserve it. I won't be defined by something tragic. I will though be defined by being there to support other women facing the same ordeal and hopefully, be of some inspiration and if needed, a shoulder for tears or as support to rise above.

So I got my last fill a week or so ago and am somewhere between a C and D cup. My extenders are rock hard and feel like an over filled waterbed mattress. They are also right under my chin (or they feel like they are) as I never realized how saggy my former breasts truly were. A bit like two long rolls of dough pointing at my shoes. Yes, not a pretty picture.

I still have the two tufts, one on each side where the surgeon stopped removing tissue. Looks like I am missing a button as if I were pillow or couch cushion with the button missing from the tuft. The plastic surgeon said she would liposuction the extra out so I won't look so deformed with bulges here and there and then there's the two round mounds that are my breasts. Honestly, they are ugly with scars criss-crossing, but I tell myself they will heal better the next time and won't be so noticeable. Right...

So my new boobs will be installed on December 20. Last year I had a colonoscopy on Christmas Eve and this year it will be a new set of ta-tas. Makes me nervous about next Christmas.

I still try to make jokes to make others laugh. When my long time friend called me to tell me her mother had the same diagnosis, I made her laugh about my situation. It made her feel better. Her mom is luckier than I as she can have a lumpectomy and doesn't need to go through this radical of a procedure. Her road will be hard, but if I can it less frightening so be it.

Making her laugh made me feel good. Perhaps that's my real end game in all of this--to let others know it's ok. You'll be all right. Keep smiling and nothing can tear you down. Make lemonade. Hell, plant a lemon grove.

I'm looking forward to the pain going away, being able to get out of bed and not feel the ice pick in my side from what I suspect is nerve damage. Raising my left arm with any pressure creates stabbing pain that truly debilitates me. I want it gone.

Patience.

Until then, there are a pair of round saline boobs with my name on them. I'm looking forward to meeting my new set of twins in December.

I waited a day before taking the plunge...yes, you know what I mean. I took a shower. For a month, I had been moving dirt around with a warm wash cloth and bar soap, careful not to get my bandages wet. Now, drain-free, I could take a shower.

Seriously, it was Nirvana. The warm water beating against my scalp and pouring down across every part of my disfigured body. It felt so good. Who would've thought something we take for granted would be so incredibly important! I stood in the warm shower, steam tinting the glass doors like fog. Oh my God was this awesome.

I stayed in longer than usual and cleaned parts of me I knew were in dire need or at least I felt like they were. It felt so good to be fresh. I dried off with a towel and stood in front of the mirror.

Not a pretty sight. Odd looking bulges of skin with folds like pinched crust appeared where my breasts use to be. The bulges protruded under my arms, where a dimple appeared on both sides. I put my finger in it. This is where back fat meets breast, I assumed. I could see the half moon scar where my lymph nodes were removed. It was still pink.

Looked like a war zone.

I touched my new breasts, which were really extenders and it was a strange softness. It felt much like one of those heavy duty air mattresses, mooshy, but with some substance. I poked gently and released. It refilled. Yes, just like an air mattress.

I scanned my stomach. Not a pretty site. Hills, valleys...the only thing I didn't have was the amber waves of grain. Looked more like the Midwest from Google Earth.

Yes, it is true. God made boobs as a visual barrier to our stomach. With that removed, I was forced to see what a serous lack of self control of sweets had done to my waistline. Well, the waistline I used to have. I looked more like a lumpy telephone pole. Combine that with the poorly stitched breast area, I was ready for my photo shoot for Sports Illustrated....June, July and August. Not!

I dried off and decided that there was another thing God gave us aging divas...she gave us the gift of poor eyesight. As I have graduated from readers to full time eyewear, I realized that without my glasses, my stomach and breasts didn't look half bad. Yes, that means they looked half good, blurry, but half good. Mind you, I said half and that was with glasses off, squinting a little.

Thank you God for poor eyesight as we age. Surely God must be a woman as a man wouldn't have thought of that gift.

I smiled and got dressed. I was clean, half blind and half deluded.

Yes, I was getting back to being me again.