I dedicate this collection of writing to everyone working to find their way through this flawed human experience, to remind us all that each of us is just doing the best we can... we are all just faking it!
Saturday, March 3, 2018
My Health & These Damn Boobs | chapter III
My journey started nine months ago. In that time I feel like I have lived 3 different lifetimes, or maybe it is more succinct to just say that I feel like I am living in dog years. When I first decided to publicly share my experiences with this unnerving medical adventure, my intention was to provide a voice to those, like myself, that fall into a grey area somewhere between no big deal and a cancer diagnosis. But now that I am about 30-ish days out from the final (hopefully) step in the reconstruction process, I can say, without hesitation, I was a total asshat for thinking I could tell anyone else how this experience would be for them. All I can do is share my experience and hope that someone, someday, finds value in it.
The morning that I walked into the hospital for surgery I was resolved that I was doing the absolute best thing for my health. And I was scared totally shitless. I had convinced myself that the hard part was the surgery, and that once I was home that it wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be horrible. It is hard not to actually laugh out loud as I type that, damn I was naive.
I have been very lucky and blessed to have wonderful doctors and nurses that all helped to take care of me throughout the entire process, but specially following the 6 and a half hours of surgery. As I woke up in recovery and got my bearings, I wasn't really in pain - a pleasant surprise. Then I remembered that I might not have nipples anymore... as I hastily lifted up the coverings I saw that in fact, I did still have them! The recovery room nurse happened to watch this discover go down and as I looked up from my new chest, he was smiling and laughing at my response. Going into surgery they had prepared me that there was a 50/50 shot in getting to keep them since it was all going to depend on the mid-surgery biopsy results where samples would be sent to pathology from behind my nipples to make sure they were free of cancer cells. All in all I felt pretty ok as they rolled me up to my hospital room for the night. By the next morning they had me up and walking around and getting me ready to go home. All very routine and essentially unspectacular and uneventful. Again, I need to acknowledge the people supporting me in this process. My partner that stayed with me all night on what looked like a very uncomfortable pull out bed, being woken up every 2 hours as the lights were turned on to check my vitals, drains and mainline me pain relief. At no point was he anything other than supportive, loving and profoundly patient.
The ride home from the hospital was fucking horrible. With expanders stitched into my pectoral muscles, every bump and dip in the road radiated through my body. They took out 600 cc of material from my right side and 590 from my left, they replaced it with 350 cc of fluid to begin the expansion process. So with each bump, the fluid sloshed and pulled at the stitches and tissue where my breasts used to be. All I could do was just breathe and cry, and wait for the ride to be over. Once I was home it quickly became clear that comfort was a thing of myth and legend that would elude me for the rest of this process. I am grateful for the advice of my friends that had been through similar processes, having told me to make sure I have loose pants (think anything easy to pull on) and button up shirts and a comfortable robe. This really saved me a lot of unnecessary pain and aggravation.
Day's one and two are a blur. I had intended to avoid pain medication opting for just cannabis and my yoga to help with the pain... what's the saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions? For three weeks I religiously took the medication I was supplied and supplemented with cannabis. Take the drugs they offer to you, the pain the first few weeks is no joke. One of my closest friends flew up to help take care of me so my partner could go back to work and I would have help since I was officially incapable of doing anything for myself. The compassion shown in the acts of helping me bathe, use the bathroom and just be there is hard to put in words.
I have begun to refer to this and the next 10 weeks of recovery as the death of ego. There is no way to mentally prepare your self to having loved ones help you dress and undress, help you bathe, help you use the bathroom, open doors and do just about anything else you have ever taken for granted being able to do for yourself, is such a mental mind screw. Specially if like me, you are used to being incredibly independent.
The first real substantial blow to my ego, the first time I attempted to shower without much assistance. I had disrobed and forced myself to look in the mirror at my new body - or at least my temporary, rebuilding stage, body. I cried, hard. Ugly cried. If you are going through this, just know that nothing anyone says, anything you read, pictures you see online, none of it will prepare you for the first real sight of the cost you have paid for your health. That shower was so difficult, not being able to really do anything other than let the water run on my body and just breathe.
3 weeks after the surgery I went in for my first fill of the expanders. My surgeon is wonderful and gave me a good pep talk and discussed how I was handling everything. He shared that all the tissue that was removed was tested and free from cancer! Relief! Then he told me he wouldn't be doing a fill that day. He told me I had to be off all the chemicals that they had prescribed for me before they could do a fill, that I needed to be in my body to pay attention to what was going on. So cold turkey I was done. No more meds. 3 days of withdrawal from the opiates that had been prescribed for pain. I went back a week later determined that nothing else would slow this process down.
The filling of the expanders is just weird. I had intended to video it, but was so in awe of the experience I just plain forgot. My surgeon had warned me that many women experience some anxiety with the fills. He really should have said "shit is going to be really challenging for the next week or so". Once the 75cc were in each breast I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I couldn't take a full breath - or more accurately, felt like I couldn't take a full breath for the next week. A week long, intense, hard to put words to, anxiety attack. It only abated as I approached the second fill. That one, actually provided relief for being in the car and generally moving around. With the expanders 3/4 filled they became my rock boobs and no longer sloshed when I moved or rode in a car. I ended up only doing 3 fills. I physically could not take any more expansion so we did the absolute minimum needed to be cleared for the final surgery. It would be a minimum of 90 days from that last fill until the next surgery but by the time I was scheduled, it will be closer to 4 months. Or exactly 6 months from the first surgery (precisely what my surgeon said it would be).
I am not the same person that I was a year ago. I will never be that person again. I have struggled with putting this post together because of how lost this whole thing has made me feel. How incredibly detached I have become from my story of me that I have told myself, and reinforced for the last 37 years. The reality that it is ok to be angry, really fucking angry, that this was a necessary choice to protect my health. That its ok not to be grateful all the time that it wasn't cancer throughout my chest. My perspective has shifted profoundly. I am no longer willing to do anything that does not support my contentment and happiness, life is just to damn short. With not being able to sleep and dealing with depression and anxiety, I have been counseled by many people in my life that I need to get on benzos for the anxiety and anti-depressants. That if I would just take a sleeping pill I would be able to get rest. Each time I have said no. Each time I have become more frustrated. I strongly believe that I have to feel the feelings, to see them, be in them and then move through them. That is how you heal, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually. Healing is an unavoidably messy process.
Being off my yoga mat for 10 months now has given me ample opportunity to practice so much of what I teach that has nothing to do with physical (asana) practice. There is this practice of Tapas, a Niyama, that has to do with being disciplined, and the translation literally means to "burn". It can mean cultivating self-discipline to be in the fire of life to burn away the 'impurities' physically, mentally & emotionally. Ultimately creating a path into our own greatness. When I teach this, I use the analogy of a forrest fire, burning everything away to create space for the new. The wildflowers are always the first thing to grow back after a wild fire. This practice has taught me to be in the fire, to not hide from the pain, to tell people when I am struggling and need support, to cry my face off when I need to, to yell and rage that this is the hand that I was dealt. And, most importantly, to not feel sorry or guilty for doing any of that. This practice and this surgery has taught me to let go of acting and living from a place of fear. This practice has helped to give me courage to know that I do not have to listen to the douche in my head telling me I am not strong enough or good enough to get through this. To accept being loved and supported through this process. This practice, through this process of healing, has lead me to more self trust and inner strength than I could have ever imagined being possible.
When I really started focusing on this practice of being in the fire and letting it burn, that is when I started feeling profoundly grateful.
I have a long way to go still. My body is different, and will always be different than the one I knew so well. In 32 days the expanders will be removed and the implants (foobs) will be installed. I will be a t-rex again for a few weeks as my body heals again with new scars and new incisions. Those around me frequently remind me that this one will be "easier". But really, that doesn't matter to me at this point. Pain is unavoidable in a well lived life. Suffering, however, is a choice. The practice is being present so we see all that is funny and awesome about life even in the moments of profound, unavoidable, pain. Like immediately following my last fill, I came home and went to plug in my phone. Bending over to grab my charger cable, I kneed my self square in the rock boob. I was laughing and crying at the same time. My partner didn't know how to react, he froze as he watched this all go down. Through the laughter and tears I told him it was ok to laugh. It hurt like hell, but it was so damn funny that I have no boob depth perception that I gave myself a direct shot.
I suppose the one thing I want to convey as I wrap up this long post, to anyone going through this process or supporting someone going through this process, is to allow yourself to be on your own journey. That no one can tell you how this is going to feel or how long it will take you to heal. No amount of googling will show you what your reconstructed breasts will look like. I could give you advice like use Bio-oil on your scars twice a day (it is like some crazy voodoo, my scars look incredibly good). I could suggest building a pillow fort each night to help you sleep. But you know what, you will figure it out on your own, you will figure out what will work to support your own story and healing. Be in your fire, be in the uncomfortable, let the wild flowers grow. This shit is not easy, but is anything easy that is really, truly, worth while?
32 days until the next chapter, the next check point.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I love your spirit and physical being for going through this journey and the amazing writing about it you have done. My confidence in myself went up a few notches. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDelete