Having survived early stage breast cancer and a lumpectomy at the age of 34, I marched forward with my life. Assured by my beloved late breast surgeon, Dr. Yvedt Matory, that the result of two consecutive surgeries had, in fact, removed all the cancer cells in my right breast, I re-boarded the train of my life, destined again for great places, wonderful vistas, and friendships along the way.
The removal of the lower third of my small (but perky) breasts did pose some interesting challenges. But, all in all, the cancer removal had little impact on my life. Try getting an underwire bra to stay "under" when there's no breast "fold" to keep the wire from sliding up. Alas, aside from the elimination of popular underwire bras from my lingerie possibilities, I rarely thought about my disfigurement. Padded bras helped fill in the missing contour quite nicely, and, well, I still had my wonderful nipples!
Four years later, things changed. I discovered a lump, wound up in the operating room again, and....yada, yada, yada.....the biopsy revealed breast cancer again. This time, the prognosis was much more grim. (I shall describe the emotional and slightly humorous instance and circumstances of this diagnosis in a later blog.) With infiltrating invasive breast cancer, my "choice" of having a mastetomy was clearly the best course of action. The removal of the contra-lateral left breast was optional, but given my history, the agressiveness of my cancer, and my desire to "never have to deal with this again" I signed up for bilateral mastectomies. This was my second time around, and I was anxious to get the *@**##! cancer out!
On the recommendation of my surgeon, I had a consult with a plastic surgeon prior to surgery. This, of course, SHOULD be standard practice, as all possible aesthetic outcomes should be considered before the treatment and surgery plans are devised. Did you know that according to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons less than half of all women diagnosed with breast cancer in this country are afforded breast reconstruction information? Unacceptable! Well, my plastic surgoen presented me with the option of having immediate breast reconstruction performed during my breast removal surgery. I would wake up without my real breasts and with some scarring and loss of sensation, but with perfect silicone-filled substitutes.
Well, that was not to be.
The cancer was very extensive, five underarm lymph nodes were also cancerous, and a nasty infection had taken hold in the breast as well. Not good. The reconstruction was not possible. And, a year-long treatment plan was put in place involving chemotherapy and tissue-damaging chest radiation.
I woke up from surgery with no breasts at all. Not a mound, not a nipple. I was beyond just flat, with a concave contour where my lovely curves once resided.
Breastless is how I spent the next 4 1/2 years of my life.
With the support of my family, my husband, and friends, I made the best of my LWB (life without breasts). I approached this period of my life with humour and determination, although the smiles often hid the emotional suffering this disfigurement truly caused me. I determined to keep wearing the same fitted styles I always enjoyed, my GAP tees, fitted sweaters and the like.
Among the many sentiments people sent me during my period of recovery, the Hallmark Fresh Ink card sent by my cousin Dolores and depicted above is my absolute favorite. It about sums up how I felt, how my breastlessness affected my self-esteem. She really GOT it, and that validation made me laugh hysterically (still does) and cry. "I think the ruffle really makes a difference, don't you?"....as though the little fringe at the bottom of the bathing suit could really mask the low self-esteem obviated by the depicted woman's body language. "I think the ruffle really makes it." Ha.
On so many levels, I related to the cartoon on the card. Tiny hair (that's what my then 3-year-old daughter called my newly re-growing hair after chemo), concave body, and a weirdly fitting girls bathing suit. I think the flowers really make a difference, don't you? Perhaps I should have chosen ruffles? (smile)
My life without breasts hurt in more ways than one. Ways that one untouched by cancer might never consider.
My breasts represented many things to me: my identity as a woman; a source of intimacy and vital physical pleasure for both me and my husband; the sentimental symbol of my breastfed babies; a certain female power that comes from atrractiveness to the opposite gender; a required contour for beautiful lingerie and clothing made for women. All gone in a single surgery that preserved my life.
In some recent speeches I gave on the subject of breast reconstruction, I challenged every man in the audience to consider what a "comparable" loss might mean in terms of their "masculinity". Picture lots of crossed legs and flushing faces. The fact of the matter, and the reason for my awareness crusading, is that breast loss undermines women's well-being in ways that pervasively impact her life.
Ruffles and roses, humorous cards, loving family and friends all helped me in their way. But, it was the flourish, the bloom, and the joy I re-discovered in ME that helped me emotionally recover and get on with my life. My breast reconstruction surgery helped finally put the train back on the track.
You are the most wonderful and courageous woman I know, and an inspiration to so many. I love you! You give me strength! Auntie Reen
ReplyDeleteYour paragraph about what your breasts meant to you has me in tears. I am a 13 year survivor and I have never identified so much with a statement as that. I think you look beautiful in your bathing suit! Thank you so much for sharing your powerful words they have meant so much to me.
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