Last Christmas, my cute little mommy got her breast cancer diagnosis. It was much harder being on this side of the big C. While I never really worried about myself while I was going through treatment, I worried non stop about her. She had a lumpectomy and 18 rounds of radiation. She was a trooper, never complained, and came out the other side like it had never happened.
I thought we were all done once again. Then, in August, I had an injury. I was helping my daughter move, and I thought I tore a muscle. As I was moving a 6 foot bookshelf by myself (my daughter was seven months pregnant at the time), I felt a pop in my chest then a searing pain. I figured I had pulled a muscle until my boob moved to my armpit. That didn't seem right, so I went to my doctor. She thought it seemed easy enough to get started on figuring out what I had done to myself -- just call my reconstruction surgeon. Nothing is ever that easy, though, is it?
My plastic surgeon no longer contracts with the cancer treatment center. In fact, no plastic surgeons contract with the cancer treatment center any more. So, I called the number I had for my surgeon's office in LA. That number no longer belongs to him, and the receptionist had no idea who he was or where to find him. All she knew was that the doctor who formerly practiced out of the office she was in had retired. So, I did some research and looked online to find my former surgeon's number. The only number online was the one I had just called that now belonged to a gastroenterologist. I didn't think he could help me with my armpit boob. So, back to my doctor, I went. She referred me to two different plastic surgeons in Visalia. They both declined me as a patient, because they had not done the original reconstruction. Yeah. More research for me.
Finally, I found a surgeon in Fresno who would take me on as a patient. A really good surgeon as a matter of fact. It turns out that both implants had ruptured, I had torn muscles in my chest that had caused the mesh in my chest to tear, and I had quite a lot of tissue damage from the movement of the broken implants and the continued use of my chest when it was so injured. The good news was that it was all fixable.
Now, I knew that I would eventually have to have my implants replaced. They are designed to last 10 - 15 years. I, however, am only 7 years out from my reconstruction. Knowing how bad the situation can get, I have definitely learned a lot about how I will have to treat my body going forward.
I have had my first surgery. This is the most invasive surgery to date. The old implants had to be removed, of course, and new implants put in. This meant completely reopening my chest. Because of the damaged tissue, liposuction and a general clean up had to be done. Basically, my whole chest had to be rebuilt. There are lots of stitches and drainage tubes in both sides. I've never had fluid like this. It's A LOT. It's gross. It's painful. I hate it.
I have to sleep sitting up for another 5 days (a total of 10 days), and I have to wear a compression bra for at least 2 weeks. Everything is swollen. Everything leaks. Everything hurts. It sucks. I know I've said this before, but honestly, if I knew then what I know now, I would not have opted for reconstruction. It's too late now, but definitely, if you are in a situation where you are having to choose to remain flat and fabulous or to reconstruct, read all of the literature, weigh the down time, the pain, and the lifestyle changes long and hard before you decide to go down this road.
I'm not even done yet. I will have to have one more surgery to graft fat into the holes created by the tissue damage.
For the rest of my life, I will not be able to lift, push, or pull anything over 15 pounds. My granddaughter weighs more than 20 pounds now, and my new grandson was born at 7 pounds 9 ounces on the day of this most recent surgery. I have not been able to hold him yet at all. See what I mean? This reconstruction thing suckity suck sucks.
So, that's where we're at. Breast cancer continues to screw with our family even when the cancer is gone.
Now that you know how horrible it is even 8 years later, I want you all to go check your boobies. Make sure your boobs stay healthy, get your mammogram EVERY year, and get to your doctor IMMEDIATELY if you even THINK you feel absolutely anything abnormal.
I'll write soon, and I'll be a more positive person. Take my crabbiness as your inspiration to take care of yourself. Thank you for listening to me whine. I'm going to bed now to prop up my drainage balls and to watch Halloween horror movies because I deserve to, damn it.