I am not going to lie to you, saying goodbye to my breasts was hard.
Not because I am a vain type of person, and not because I have been one to accentuate my breasts. Quite the opposite, in fact. I recall over the years so many people, my husband included, telling me I should wear this or that because I ''have the chest for it''. I always felt uncomfortable and preferred modesty.
My relationship with my breasts was so much more than that.
They swam in everything from the icy canals of Long Island, to night swimming in the Atlantic, to the warm waters of the Indian Ocean. They were fitted for many a bra, and felt fancy when a new one made just for them arrived at the shop. They were covered with cocoa butter and nipple butter and vitamin e oil to keep them in good shape and ease the pains of nursing. They grew and shrank and grew again through three pregnancies, and fed three babies, one of whom for three and half years. They nursed in two hemispheres at once on the Prime Meridian, and on riverboats of the Thames, on double red buses through London, electric buses through Chattanooga, and subways of New York City. They participated in three Big Latch On breastfeeding events. They pumped milk in the designated nursing room of Kennesaw State University, where I'd pump while writing my history papers in between classes. They even continued to feed Sawyer with a 3 cm. tumor inside the milk duct. They fed up until the very end.
It was hard because as uneven and asymmetrical and imperfect as they were, they were mine. We had been through a lot together. And I didn't want to part with them.
Many breast cancer survivors have told me that they felt betrayed by their breasts, and I can understand that. But I never felt that way. Rather, I felt that I had, in some way, let them down. My diseased breast even tried to tell me something was wrong by sending shooting pains down its side, as if to alert me to the lump. It was those pains which prompted me to eventually perform a self-exam and discover the lump. It wasn't their fault this happened, and they shouldn't be, quite literally, on the chopping block. But they were. Because when I have to choose between them or my life, my life will win. Every time.
To be fair, my right breast was healthy and could have remained. I decided to remove it prophylactically for two reasons.
The first reason was that I was concerned there could be cancer cells undetected by scans lurking in that breast, waiting to grow into a tumor and cause a new primary diagnosis or a recurrence. This thought terrified me more than I can express. How could I put myself, put my family, through chemotherapy, mastectomy, reconstruction, and radiation only to be back in this very same situation again? The very thought occupied my mind constantly.
Secondly, in terms of reconstruction, I decided to have a free tram flap. This would entail taking my abdominal tissue- the next best thing to breast tissue- and relocating it to create my new breasts by re-attaching the blond vessels. I loved the idea of this because it would mean I would most likely re-gain feeling in my breasts. Not everyone is a candidate for this to be performed on two breasts, but I was. In my opinion, my breasts were sisters. If one goes, so does the other, and we start again with a new, healthy pair that match.
I was at peace with my decision. But it still didn't make saying goodbye any easier.
Two nights before my mastectomy, I had an absolute ball with two of my wonderful girlfriends, one of whom flew in from New York to surprise me, and the other of whom is an amazingly talented local photographer. The later had offered, so kindly, to take some fun pictures of me in a beautiful Civil War-era creek near her home. Nothing done up, nothing fancy. Not trying too hard. Just me and my breasts. One more time. We played in the creek, and I splashed around and felt the cool water rush through my fingers and the rocks beneath my feet. I was soaked through, with a crown of wildflowers from my garden perched upon my head like a Goddess. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel medical. I wasn't poked and prodded and ''pre-op'ed'' and analyzed. I felt beautiful and free.
We had so much fun, and laughed so hard. I really needed that, more than I realized.
I brought my ''girls'' on one last adventure, and they were forever memorialized with photos I can look back on with fondness of an incredible memory for many years to come. They deserved that. I deserved that, too.
On surgery day, they brought Pete in to see me in the pre-op area. I was in my gown, iv in, and ready to go to the O.R. shortly. They told me they would give me something to help me ''calm down'', although I was perfectly calm. When I woke up, it was all over. I was in post-op recovery, and the first thought that came to mind was, ''The surgery is...over? But I didn't get to say goodbye''. I now realize that on that day in creek, I already had.
Goodbye, lovely girls.
Not because I am a vain type of person, and not because I have been one to accentuate my breasts. Quite the opposite, in fact. I recall over the years so many people, my husband included, telling me I should wear this or that because I ''have the chest for it''. I always felt uncomfortable and preferred modesty.
My relationship with my breasts was so much more than that.
They swam in everything from the icy canals of Long Island, to night swimming in the Atlantic, to the warm waters of the Indian Ocean. They were fitted for many a bra, and felt fancy when a new one made just for them arrived at the shop. They were covered with cocoa butter and nipple butter and vitamin e oil to keep them in good shape and ease the pains of nursing. They grew and shrank and grew again through three pregnancies, and fed three babies, one of whom for three and half years. They nursed in two hemispheres at once on the Prime Meridian, and on riverboats of the Thames, on double red buses through London, electric buses through Chattanooga, and subways of New York City. They participated in three Big Latch On breastfeeding events. They pumped milk in the designated nursing room of Kennesaw State University, where I'd pump while writing my history papers in between classes. They even continued to feed Sawyer with a 3 cm. tumor inside the milk duct. They fed up until the very end.
It was hard because as uneven and asymmetrical and imperfect as they were, they were mine. We had been through a lot together. And I didn't want to part with them.
Many breast cancer survivors have told me that they felt betrayed by their breasts, and I can understand that. But I never felt that way. Rather, I felt that I had, in some way, let them down. My diseased breast even tried to tell me something was wrong by sending shooting pains down its side, as if to alert me to the lump. It was those pains which prompted me to eventually perform a self-exam and discover the lump. It wasn't their fault this happened, and they shouldn't be, quite literally, on the chopping block. But they were. Because when I have to choose between them or my life, my life will win. Every time.
To be fair, my right breast was healthy and could have remained. I decided to remove it prophylactically for two reasons.
The first reason was that I was concerned there could be cancer cells undetected by scans lurking in that breast, waiting to grow into a tumor and cause a new primary diagnosis or a recurrence. This thought terrified me more than I can express. How could I put myself, put my family, through chemotherapy, mastectomy, reconstruction, and radiation only to be back in this very same situation again? The very thought occupied my mind constantly.
Secondly, in terms of reconstruction, I decided to have a free tram flap. This would entail taking my abdominal tissue- the next best thing to breast tissue- and relocating it to create my new breasts by re-attaching the blond vessels. I loved the idea of this because it would mean I would most likely re-gain feeling in my breasts. Not everyone is a candidate for this to be performed on two breasts, but I was. In my opinion, my breasts were sisters. If one goes, so does the other, and we start again with a new, healthy pair that match.
I was at peace with my decision. But it still didn't make saying goodbye any easier.
Two nights before my mastectomy, I had an absolute ball with two of my wonderful girlfriends, one of whom flew in from New York to surprise me, and the other of whom is an amazingly talented local photographer. The later had offered, so kindly, to take some fun pictures of me in a beautiful Civil War-era creek near her home. Nothing done up, nothing fancy. Not trying too hard. Just me and my breasts. One more time. We played in the creek, and I splashed around and felt the cool water rush through my fingers and the rocks beneath my feet. I was soaked through, with a crown of wildflowers from my garden perched upon my head like a Goddess. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel medical. I wasn't poked and prodded and ''pre-op'ed'' and analyzed. I felt beautiful and free.
We had so much fun, and laughed so hard. I really needed that, more than I realized.
I brought my ''girls'' on one last adventure, and they were forever memorialized with photos I can look back on with fondness of an incredible memory for many years to come. They deserved that. I deserved that, too.
On surgery day, they brought Pete in to see me in the pre-op area. I was in my gown, iv in, and ready to go to the O.R. shortly. They told me they would give me something to help me ''calm down'', although I was perfectly calm. When I woke up, it was all over. I was in post-op recovery, and the first thought that came to mind was, ''The surgery is...over? But I didn't get to say goodbye''. I now realize that on that day in creek, I already had.
Goodbye, lovely girls.
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| On my Mastectomy Eve-Eve. Photo credit: Mak Photography |
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