Okay, I admit it: I am supposed to be massaging my new breasts daily with vitamin e oil and I don't.
''Really get in there, and it will break up that scar tissue and soften it up'', said the Physican's Assistant.
I don't want to ''get in there''. I don't mind the soft, squishy part that feels like a natural breast, but I cannot bring myself to touch the hard, lumpy, weird parts where all of the scar tissue is. Literally, I cannot stomach it. I don't know if it's because it reminds me of when I found my tumor, or because it's just a general reminder that these aren't my natural breasts. All I know is that it freaks me out.
Let me be clear: I have a free tram reconstruction. For those of you deciding on getting reconstruction and are a candidate for free tram, I highly recommend it. If you decide on going flat, there are great resources, too, such as my friend's Facebook page ''Flat in Canada'' and another friend's cool business called Empowerhaus, which sells fun items celebrating ''flatties''.
It took me 8 plastic surgery consults until I found ''the one''. All of the others said they could only do implants, and reminded me ''They will never look like what you were born with'', and, ''You will look 'okay' WITH your clothes on.'' Oh, gee, really?! That's nice.
But my surgeon said, ''You will love them, they will look so beautiful you won't even remember that they aren't your natural ones.'' I was kind of pissed when he added, ''And you won't look like you're from the Amazon anymore!''. Wait...what? I had nursed three babies for 4 years, what the hell did he expect them to look like? But I was so happy I finally found someone who could make me feel whole again, that I didn't let it bother me.
He delivered on his promise, they look stunning, but feel odd.
In case you are unsure what a free tram is, it is when abdominal tissue is disconnected from the nerves, channeled up to your breasts, and then reconnected. It is microsurgery. They also cut a piece of abdominal muscle, to help activate the nerves. It took me a few months, but eventually I have regained most feeling in that area. It took me jumping into the pool at the YMCA over the winter and feeling the coldness to actually realize I had feeling again. I could have cried happy tears. The thought of never feeling a hug again bothered me immensely. I am a big hugger.
Nevertheless, some days, I feel like a fraud. A charlatan. (Does anyone even say ''charlatan'' anymore?).
If Holden Caufield were here, he would call me a phony for sure.
The last time I was at the breast surgeon for my routine ultrasound to monitor my lumps a few weeks ago, I nearly cried.
I hate going in there.
I hate wearing the flimsy pink paper gown.
I hate feeling cold in the flimsy pink paper gown, and feeling phantom pains of where my nipples used to be. Like they want to be erect, but they aren't there anymore. They are decomposing in a medical waste heap, along with my precious breast tissue and milk ducts that produced gallons of warm, sweet milk for my my babies. Like they are just insignificant surgical trash, that never even mattered. I guess that's like when people have amputations and say they have phantom pains of where their limb used to be, and the thought of where their beloved limb ended up haunts them.
I hate waiting to hear the results.
On that note, I have great news. I had my PET scan, which checks everywhere for cancer, and all of my organs and bones are totally healthy! Yay!!
However...the PET scan lit up on one place, my lower right breast, exactly where one of my lumps is. I have been referred to the breast surgeon for another ultrasound, and most likely a biopsy.
''We don't think it's cancer, it's probably scar tissue. But we don't want to take any chances with you.''
The thought of another breast biopsy scares me. The pain of the needle, and removing the tissue. Oh, it was awful last time. Hopefully it was because my breast was still full of milk, and more sensitive. I nursed my baby literally up until the last moment before the biopsy, trying to empty my breast as much as possible so it wouldn't hurt so much.
I hate when they say, ''Okay, take a deep breath'', because you know you're about to have pain inflicted upon you.
I hate feeling like I am being handled with such care, laced with a feeling of fragility. I am a strong warrior woman, damn it.
My tumor markers, which check for breast cancer cells in the body, should be no more than 38. The other day, mine were 72. Seventy two.
What the fuck.
Naturally, my oncologist has been out the last two days for an emergency, so the news was delivered by a PA who looked like a teenager, overused the word ''like'', and frequently explained things to me using air quotes like I was a simpleton.
''Is there any non-cancery explanation why my tumor markers are so high?'', I asked.
''Sometimes it's caused by inflammation, but usually it wouldn't be that high. Maybe a lab error?''.
Great. I was banking my high tumor markers on a lab error.
Luckily my oncologist called me this morning to say that not only was my PET scan perfect, but that some people just have high tumor markers. Since my last oncologist never checked my tumor markers, we have no trend to compare it to. I might just be one of those people. My iron levels are normal now, and my anemia seems to be getting better.
Please, please wish me luck on Wednesday for my visit with the breast surgeon! I will add in the next post an essay I wrote a few months ago during another trip to the breast surgeon, which goes into my feelings on the experience in greater detail and the unlikely place I found some comfort to get me through it.
Much love. XO
''Really get in there, and it will break up that scar tissue and soften it up'', said the Physican's Assistant.
I don't want to ''get in there''. I don't mind the soft, squishy part that feels like a natural breast, but I cannot bring myself to touch the hard, lumpy, weird parts where all of the scar tissue is. Literally, I cannot stomach it. I don't know if it's because it reminds me of when I found my tumor, or because it's just a general reminder that these aren't my natural breasts. All I know is that it freaks me out.
Let me be clear: I have a free tram reconstruction. For those of you deciding on getting reconstruction and are a candidate for free tram, I highly recommend it. If you decide on going flat, there are great resources, too, such as my friend's Facebook page ''Flat in Canada'' and another friend's cool business called Empowerhaus, which sells fun items celebrating ''flatties''.
It took me 8 plastic surgery consults until I found ''the one''. All of the others said they could only do implants, and reminded me ''They will never look like what you were born with'', and, ''You will look 'okay' WITH your clothes on.'' Oh, gee, really?! That's nice.
But my surgeon said, ''You will love them, they will look so beautiful you won't even remember that they aren't your natural ones.'' I was kind of pissed when he added, ''And you won't look like you're from the Amazon anymore!''. Wait...what? I had nursed three babies for 4 years, what the hell did he expect them to look like? But I was so happy I finally found someone who could make me feel whole again, that I didn't let it bother me.
He delivered on his promise, they look stunning, but feel odd.
In case you are unsure what a free tram is, it is when abdominal tissue is disconnected from the nerves, channeled up to your breasts, and then reconnected. It is microsurgery. They also cut a piece of abdominal muscle, to help activate the nerves. It took me a few months, but eventually I have regained most feeling in that area. It took me jumping into the pool at the YMCA over the winter and feeling the coldness to actually realize I had feeling again. I could have cried happy tears. The thought of never feeling a hug again bothered me immensely. I am a big hugger.
Nevertheless, some days, I feel like a fraud. A charlatan. (Does anyone even say ''charlatan'' anymore?).
If Holden Caufield were here, he would call me a phony for sure.
 |
| Radioactive sugar and the ''cocktail'' they give you to drink on an empty stomach is supposed to attract cancer cells in the body, causing the scan to ''light up'' any areas where the cells go. Sometimes scar tissue can cause it to light up. |
The last time I was at the breast surgeon for my routine ultrasound to monitor my lumps a few weeks ago, I nearly cried.
I hate wearing the flimsy pink paper gown.
I hate feeling cold in the flimsy pink paper gown, and feeling phantom pains of where my nipples used to be. Like they want to be erect, but they aren't there anymore. They are decomposing in a medical waste heap, along with my precious breast tissue and milk ducts that produced gallons of warm, sweet milk for my my babies. Like they are just insignificant surgical trash, that never even mattered. I guess that's like when people have amputations and say they have phantom pains of where their limb used to be, and the thought of where their beloved limb ended up haunts them.
I hate waiting to hear the results.
On that note, I have great news. I had my PET scan, which checks everywhere for cancer, and all of my organs and bones are totally healthy! Yay!!
However...the PET scan lit up on one place, my lower right breast, exactly where one of my lumps is. I have been referred to the breast surgeon for another ultrasound, and most likely a biopsy.
''We don't think it's cancer, it's probably scar tissue. But we don't want to take any chances with you.''
The thought of another breast biopsy scares me. The pain of the needle, and removing the tissue. Oh, it was awful last time. Hopefully it was because my breast was still full of milk, and more sensitive. I nursed my baby literally up until the last moment before the biopsy, trying to empty my breast as much as possible so it wouldn't hurt so much.
I hate when they say, ''Okay, take a deep breath'', because you know you're about to have pain inflicted upon you.
I hate feeling like I am being handled with such care, laced with a feeling of fragility. I am a strong warrior woman, damn it.
My tumor markers, which check for breast cancer cells in the body, should be no more than 38. The other day, mine were 72. Seventy two.
What the fuck.
Naturally, my oncologist has been out the last two days for an emergency, so the news was delivered by a PA who looked like a teenager, overused the word ''like'', and frequently explained things to me using air quotes like I was a simpleton.
''Is there any non-cancery explanation why my tumor markers are so high?'', I asked.
''Sometimes it's caused by inflammation, but usually it wouldn't be that high. Maybe a lab error?''.
Great. I was banking my high tumor markers on a lab error.
Luckily my oncologist called me this morning to say that not only was my PET scan perfect, but that some people just have high tumor markers. Since my last oncologist never checked my tumor markers, we have no trend to compare it to. I might just be one of those people. My iron levels are normal now, and my anemia seems to be getting better.
Please, please wish me luck on Wednesday for my visit with the breast surgeon! I will add in the next post an essay I wrote a few months ago during another trip to the breast surgeon, which goes into my feelings on the experience in greater detail and the unlikely place I found some comfort to get me through it.
Much love. XO
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