One candle can light the dark

Two years ago, as I have previously described, I was "restored" to my pre-cancer self.  My breast reconstruction repaired the amputation that saved my life.    When I woke up from my reconstruction surgery and, in the prone position of my hospital bed, could not see my feet past my reconstructed (albeit swollen) breasts - I was elated!   Giddy!  I had entered Faulkner Hospital in Boston early that morning as a "two-dimensional woman-boy", and went home two days later a re-blossomed woman.

Upon my arrival home, the first thing I did was to ascend the stairs to my bedroom, reach into my closet, and slip into a strapless dress that I had not been able to wear. ( I shall describe this humorous umoment in a later blog.)   A few weeks later, the healing well under way and the pain subsiding, I began to fully and completely realize the lift that this corrective surgery provided to me and those I love.  The depression I was unaware I had suffered was gone.  As a result, I felt energized, full of new possibility, and more confident in my wellness.  The train was put back on the tracks, the world again my "oyster".

Wanting the same restorative opportunity for others, I began to contemplate the lack of information that had been available to me prior to my surgery.  As much as they were physical, the scars from my mastectomies were even more emotional.  I knew first hand how so many women like me suffered the emotional consequences of breast loss, and wanted to help every one achieve restoration.   I began researching, speaking with my doctors, phoning LifeCell (makers of AlloDerm used in my reconstruction), and surveying breast cancer groups.  A deeply involved activist and breast cancer fundraiser for the prior eight years, why had I NEVER heard about the AlloDerm option?  I made up my mind I would, I MUST, work to change that, to fill the information void.  Thank goodness for my supportive and patient family and friends.  This endeavor has compelled me for the past few years like a ninja on caffeine. Weird analogy, huh?

I learned that the AlloDerm*/implant reconstruction technique (*also referred to by some as supplemental tissue, donor tissue matrix, and acellular dermal matrix) had been conceived many years prior.  I became enraged that this procedural option was available all while those like me suffered.  I discovered that this surgery was virtually unknown outside closed plastic surgery communities.  To me, this was tantamount to a sin of ommission, a violation of women's rights!  Thousands of women, I realized, were making half-informed decisions regarding breast cancer treatment, surgery, and reconstruction.  A champion of others from the day I was born (both a blessing and a curse), I turned my anger into action, starting an impassioned crusade to raise awareness.  I mapped out a strategic communications plan targeted to reach entities I beleived could help spread the word - breast cancer communities, medical and social work groups that serve as health contact points for women, local and national media.........

The attached clip is one result.  Reporter Jennifer Vaughn, a true champion herself of the breast cancer cause, was equally upset that our interview was the first time she had heard of this option!   I knowingly sacrificed my privacy to make these communications opportunities happen.   There is no time now for regret.  My privacy seemed a small price to pay for a better fate for so many others.

What I learned, what my children experienced through my actions (one of life's most valuable lessons), and what I hope to inspire with this blog entry, is this phrase I entered in my high school yearbook way back when.....ONE PERSON CAN LIGHT A CANDLE IN THE DARK!!!  All it takes  -  a belief that truth prevails, a willingness to boldly act, and a passion to never give up.

The attached video is an example of how one person can instigate change, how information leads to empowerment, and how that informed empowerment can affect the lives of others.

Woman Seeks To Spread Message To Others

2 min 23 sec - Nov 18, 2009
for reconstruction, but her search to restore her body to what it once was has finally paid off. ... Donna Bramante Indelicato breast cancer AlloDerm ...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=SijIP5aTnFo

The Abercrombie Bag and A Modest Hope

An Abercrombie bag. A wholesome young model. A pie. A friend. The sum of these ingredients comprised a recipe that lead to my restoration . You could say, I suppose, that from that day forward, my hopes for a renewed life after breast cancer were "in the bag".

It was Easter of 2007. I graciously offered to host my entire immediate family, all 17 of us, at our home for Easter dinner. My husband and I enjoy these occasions, our house filled with good food and love. It is times like this that I cannot contain my deep appreciation for being so very much alive. The beautiful sight, the cacophony of chatter around the table, magnified my post-cancer joy, dampening my cheeks with silent, salty rivulets of escaping happy tears. Generations of our Italian ancestors before us lived for days like this, when family and good food fostered love. This was a good day. Never mind that I had spent 30 minutes that morning pondering my closet in hopes of locating a single blouse or sweater that would look normal on my post-mastectomy body. Forget that most of my tops, purchased when I enjoyed being an "A" kind of girl, now gathered dust. (I imagined my tops complaining about not ever being chosen and accusing me of neglect.) Our son and daughter, nieces and nephews, and extended family deserved a holiday where wonderful memories would be made. There was work to be done, food to prepare. No time for a personal pity party for one.

Fortunately, my mom and husband make up for my domestic deficits. Our collaboration in the kitchen that Easter added to the holiday fun. My mom brought some side dishes I do not remember, and an apple pie I recall being exceptional, all delivered to me in a recycled Abercrombie bag, pictured above. The annual InDelicato Easter Egg hunt commenced, the hungry hunters counting retrieved eggs, receiving their prizes, and joining the table for our feast. And feast we did. When the binging was over and the last coffee served, hugs were exchanged and the guests departed. I traded my masquerading ruffle-front blouse for an old sweatshirt, and got down to the pleasing task of returning our home to order. The aforementioned bag, still in good shape, got filed away with other recyclable totes.

A few weeks later, our daughter's Montessori school held their annual end-of-year picnic. The bittersweet commemoration of another school year was held outdoors at a local park, "pot-luck" style. I brought my "famous" chocolate chip cookies in...the saved Abercrombie bag. After depositing the cookies in the "dessert buffet", I grabbed a piece of lawn near my friend Lynn, the mother of my then five-year-old daughter's "best friend ever". I adore and respect Lynn. We laughed and talked, enjoyed each other's company as best we could while vigilantly keeping track of our children in a crowded public place. As older and oh-so-appreciative moms, Lynn and I tend to be extremely (okay, overly) protective of our precious progeny. As was typical at such public events, my concave post-mastectomy chest elicited unwanted sympathy, shading my interpersonal interactions. "So, how are you feeling?" people would inquire. "How are YOU feeling?" I felt like snipping back.

You see, despite having completed my cancer treatment over three years prior, despite being entirely cancer free, having my long hair grown back, being extremely healthy and active.....in spite of all that, when people saw my concave, breastless profile they continued to define me as "suffering" from cancer. I suppose in some ways, they were right - I was still suffering emotionally from the physical scars my mastectomies left behind. Still, sympathy was the very LAST thing I ever wanted.

Anyway, at the picnic, the subject turned to the upcoming bathing suit season, and my struggles with finding a suit that worked. Our "swimsuit season" here in New England being especially short, I wondered out loud if the shopping would be worth the trauma. My dear sympathetic friend conferred. Then it happened. The image of the Abercrombie model on the now-empty bag looked at me. Or so it seemed. I picked the bag up for a closer look. "Why can't I have THAT," I said out loud to my friend. "That's all I want to be happy," I added while deep in thought. "Yeah, don't we all!" came the response. "What?" "Oh!" We both laughed a good cleansing laugh. The image on the opposite side of the bag, the one facing her, was pure beef - a topless young stud of a twenty-something man! I laid the bag down. The young woman pictured was lovely. The model's barely-there "AA" contour, the minimal curve in her shirt, seemed so wonderfully feminine to me. Bumps.....that's all I really wanted.

Why was this very modest wish not possible? I had been told by three well-established plastic surgeons that my small frame, the amount of tissue taken during my life-saving mastectomy surgery, and the radiation treatment damage precluded me from any kind of breast reconstruction. Each time I was told this it was harder to take. With all the advances in medicine, wound repair, and science, this lack of possibility was difficult for me, a highly educated and tenacious person, to accept.

The bag's place was elevated from the recyclable totes heap to a place in my closet, where the Abercrombie model continued to look through a camera lens right at me.