The Scary Woman with No Nipples

I went to the YMCA today with the kids. I've avoided getting into the pool for months because the only bathing suit I own is a black Speedo that accentuates all the wrong parts of my body. Additionally, the last time I wore it it was horribly tight and a little girl accused me of being pregnant. Wow! To say I hate that suit is an understatement. Today however, I chose to overcome myself in order to play with Koen in the pool and have some "us" time. I was excited to share those moments with him.

Having gone through bootcamp, I was able to get over being naked in front other others since we regularly changed and showered with other girls. Living in Japan as well offered opportunities to spend time at various onsen, which are public bath houses where naked is the rule and not the exception. The onsen are segregated, so it can be likened unto a tropical, steamy spa full of women lounging in hot tubs, steam rooms, and stone beds in their birthday suits. Suffice it to say that I'm really over the naked thing, though I don't go out of my way to show off what my Mama gave me.

I changed in the bathroom stall since I had consumed a lot of water in the hour before hitting the pool and frankly I needed to be in there anyway. :) I was pleasantly surprised that my bathing suit is fitting much nicer after losing 20 pounds. It's amazing what those 20 little boogers can do for a person - or not do, depending on where you are. It was great to feel that difference. My weight loss efforts are paying dividends.

After spending time in both the pool and the hot tub, I headed back into the locker room to peel out of my suit. Where an hour before there had not been more than a few people in the room, suddenly there wasn't a private spot to be had. As I stood there contemplating changing my clothes, it occurred to me that I was feeling anxious. It made me pause. I'm not accustomed to feeling nervous in this type of scenario. I wondered what lay at the root of my sudden modesty. It didn't take long to realize that I was concerned about someone seeing my breasts.

My breasts look like road maps now with long scars that wrap around toward my back. They are slightly misshapen because of my recent surgery and I don't have any nipples. As I was pondering my own feelings about revealing my body in front of strangers, a little girl walked in. She looked squarely at me, as had several other people. I thought, "What if this little girl stares at me with question marks in her eyes?" What if others notice as well. Will the obviously missing nipples create a discomfort in them that would be awkward? Would they stare? If so, would I want to say something to set them (or myself) at ease? I came to the conclusion that I wasn't ready to tackle that possibility. It's not that I'm uncomfortable to talk about it or even to show another woman who wants to see the scars. In that moment though I couldn't tell how much of me was hiding, versus simply wanting to spare others the awkwardness and questions.

I don't ever want to avoid the discussion. I guess I just want to do it with the right timing so that the impact on others is positive, not confusing. I would never want to be the scary woman with no nipples.

Scars: to Reveal or Not to Reveal

I went to the YMCA today with the kids. I've avoided getting into the pool for months because the only bathing suit I own is a black Speedo that accentuates all the wrong parts of my body. Additionally, the last time I wore it it was horribly tight and a little girl accused me of being pregnant. Wow! To say I hate that suit is an understatement. Today however, I chose to overcome myself in order to play with Koen in the pool and have some "us" time. I was excited to share those moments with him.

Having gone through boot camp, I was able to get over being naked in front other others since we regularly changed and showered as a group. Living in Japan as well offered opportunities to spend time at various onsen, which are public bath houses where naked is the rule and not the exception. Suffice it to say that I'm really over the whole naked thing, though I don't go out of my way to show off what my Mama gave me.

I changed in the bathroom stall since I had consumed a lot of water in the hour before hitting the pool and frankly, I needed to be in there anyway. :) I was pleasantly surprised that my bathing suit fit much nicer. I guess dropping those 20 pounds was helpful. It was great to feel that difference. My weight loss efforts are paying dividends.

After spending time in both the pool and the hot tub, I headed back into the locker room to peel out of my suit. Where an hour before there had not been more than a few people in the room, suddenly there wasn't a private spot to be had. As I stood there contemplating changing my clothes, it occurred to me that I was feeling anxious. It made me pause. I'm not accustomed to feeling nervous in this type of scenario. I wondered what lay at the root of my sudden modesty. It didn't take long to realize that I was concerned about someone seeing my breasts.

My breasts look like road maps now with long scars that wrap around my back. They are slightly misshapen because of my recent surgery and I don't have any nipples. As I was pondering my own feelings about revealing my body in front of strangers, a little girl walked in. She looked squarely at me, as had several other people. I thought, "What if this little girl stares at me with question marks in her eyes?" What if others notice as well? Will the obviously missing nipples create a discomfort in them that would be awkward? Would they stare? If so, would I want to say something to set them (or myself) at ease? I came to the conclusion that I wasn't ready to tackle that possibility. It's not that I'm uncomfortable talking about it or even showing another woman who wants to see the scars. In that moment though I couldn't tell how much of me was hiding, versus simply wanting to spare others the awkwardness and questions. I think I would have felt the need to explain myself had anyone noticed.

It reminds me of a man we met a couple years ago. We had seen him around the military base but hadn't spoken with him until one day when Koen stared long at the man's facial scars and loudly asked what was wrong with his face. I asked him if he would like to ask the man what happened to his skin, and Koen did want to speak with him. The man's name was John. He had been severely burned as a kid by an auto accident that killed both his mother and little brother. We enjoyed knowing him during our time in Japan. He was a lovely person and I'm glad we took the time to get to know him, scars and all.

I don't ever want to avoid the discussion about my breasts if it comes up. I guess I just want to do it with the right timing so that the impact at that moment is positive. Making others comfortable has always been important to me. Truth be told though, down deep inside I think there was a part of me that was afraid to be that person. You know, the one everyone is staring at and afraid to talk to because they are obviously different and no one knows how to ask the question.

New Breasts & Old Choices

I pulled out my drains today. Actually, I pulled one and my sister helped pull the other one. I was supposed to have a doctor's appointment for my post-op during which the doctor would have pulled the drains, but having seen it done after my first surgery it wasn't an intimidating prospect, so out they came. I feel much more free and can snuggle the babies on my lap with being concerned about them pulling my tubes out. That's a great step in the right direction.

Now that the drains are gone I have been able to get a better look at my breasts and the incisions. The incisions run horizontally along my sides under my arms ending just before the edge of where my back begins. I didn't expect them to be quite that long, but the lines are smooth and rather thin. In time I think they won't be very noticeable. For now, they keep me from being very mobile in my upper body. Reaching across my chest is difficult without some amount of discomfort and lying on my sides won't be easy for some time. I long for the days when I'll be able to sleep on my side again. That is something I've truly missed during this more than 4 month process.

So far, my breasts don't look like I thought they would. I know there is still swelling and they will shift and look different over the next several months. It'll be nice when they reach their new normal look. They are much softer than the tissue expanders - no more rocks in my chest. I can't say that they feel like my real breasts though, which were much softer. I'm sure the swelling is contributing to the extra firmness I'm feeling as well, but a certain amount of firmness is here to stay. This is not a bad thing of course. I joked for years with my husband about trading in my old boobs for new, younger ones. This is NOT the way to go about having a boob job, but there has to be a silver lining to the 4 months of pain I inflicted on myself through this choice.

Speaking of this choice, if I haven't said it already, I would do the same thing all over again. It's not completely over yet. There is still the question of the third surgery to construct a nipple, as well as the future tattooing of the areolae. At this point I can see why some women are content to have no nipples at all. Having gone through this much already, suddenly a nipple becomes less important, especially because it is purely cosmetic and will have no sensation. Then there is the question of projection. How far do I want my new nipple to stick out? I don't want to look cold all the time, but flat won't do either. What's the right decision? Maybe I'll just skip this one, at least for now. I really have a lot more important things on my mind for the time being; like schooling Koen, making holiday plans, getting pregnant for my sister and brother-in-law. Those things are all way more important than I non-feeling nipple I think. When the time is right I'm sure I'll blog about that one as well. Until then, onward and upward. :)

The Day After Reconstruction

I'm sitting here fighting the effects of vicodin and valium in order to write my thoughts on this day after my surgery. It's been an odd day.

The day began at 7:30 a.m. with me in the bathroom stripping my drains. It was odd to be back to dealing with drains again. Without much thought, I grabbed my alcohol pad and began pinching the tube on my right side while sliding my hand down the tube toward the bulb attached to the end. It only took a moment before moving on to the left side for more of the same. Again I followed the same procedure, only I had forgotten that all things have been more uncomfortable with my left side than my right. I quickly stripped the drain and released the tube, upon which I felt a deep sucking pain in my upper chest at the top of my "breast". I had an odd thought as I was nearly passing-out from the pain - "Is this what a sucking chest wound feels like?" Of course I wasn't bleeding out, but I was seeing a large donut-like circle with a black center floating in front of my eyes. Quickly, I sat on the toilet and called for my mom. When she couldn't hear me from the other side of the house and past all the noise of breakfast cooking and babies squealing I purposed to make it back to my bed where I promptly fell asleep for another two hours. So much for starting school with my son on time.

Eventually, I came too and joined the family. I was feeling rather fine with pain meds in my system and was able to sit with Koen and guide him through his school work. Much of the time I wanted to lie my head on the table and rest, but was determined for us to not lose a day of school work. As the day went on I washed a few dishes and was able to do a little paperwork which felt productive. I was just seeing the wood grain on the top of my desk when I began running out of steam. Was it really possible that I had done so little and could be that exhausted?

As much as it pained me, I spent most of the day avoiding the babies because they wanted me to pick them up and I couldn't. It was just upsetting for them, so I tried to redirect them to my mom or sister. I really just wanted to be able to snatch them up and cuddle them, but I've been here before with my first surgery and knew better. I did that the first time, insisting that I could lift them without hurting myself and wound up paying a price. I really had to resist their cuteness and especially their cries. Thank God my family was here to give them the attention they needed.

By late afternoon I was completely spent and gave-in to the call of my bed. I collapsed into an oblivious slumber, sleeping right through the wonderful dinner delivered by a friend from our home school support group. At approximately 11 pm, I woke to the sound of a crying baby and, realizing I was hungry, made my way to the kitchen. One bowl of cereal later and a slow trip to the bathroom for my evening meds and I was back in bed. The whole day was a slow blur, but whew! One day down, two weeks and six days to go until I can pick up my babies - and six weeks to go before I can go back to running. It'll be there before I know it and I'll be so glad.

Thoughts Before Reconstructive Surgery

I'm going in for my second surgery tomorrow to remove the tissue expanders (TE's) from my chest and have the implants put in. It'll be odd to have breasts again. All the changes my body has undergone over the last almost four months have been unbelievable. I've gone from having breasts that have fed babies, to no breasts at all and feeling rather manly, to slowly growing mounds that sit high on my chest and are hard as rocks, to tomorrow going back to having breasts again. It's a lot of changes to digest.

The first surgery left flaps of skin on my sides that I've begun lovingly referring to as "Thing 1" and "Thing 2". When they told me the flaps would be gone after tomorrow's surgery I was almost nostalgic. I said, "But I was about to name them!" LOL We all had a good laugh. I was seriously considering Thelma and Louise.

I spoke with my roommate earlier today and she gave me a head's up about what to expect. We had our mastectomies on the same day and recovered together. Last week she had her reconstruction surgery. It was nice to have her share her experience. There were even questions she spawned in me. I thought I knew everything to look forward to until then.

Like the night before every major planned event in my life, I've had a hard time settling my mind. I'm nervous and excited. There's even a part of me that is sad to let it come to an end. This experience has helped to further shape me into the person I am. It's been such a huge part of my life that it's come up a lot in conversation. Now that it's going to be finished, I won't have as much of a reason to talk about it, yet it's still molding me.

When I was widowed I found it hard to talk with anyone without telling them about Jason's death. How could I leave out a reference to something that had and was changing me so drastically? I thought they needed to know in order to "get me". Will this be a similar feeling? It's not exactly the same, but it's certainly made me a different person. This too, like every other experience I've had, will become part of the fabric of my life. Once the scars heal and no one can tell from the outside that anything is different about me it'll become another way to relate to others in similar circumstances.

I've written all my brain can process at this hour. My body is sufficiently exhausted and it's time to call it done. This time tomorrow, I'll be thanking God living life to the fullest. :)

Let's Be Honest: Reconstruction Sucks

The first four inflations of my tissue expanders were a breeze. I thought the rest of this process would be a walk in the park. Then the fifth, sixth, and now seventh inflations have come and gone. Well, gone isn't entirely accurate. The fifth created intense pain for three days and was similar to the initial pain of my surgery. The sixth caused that same level of pain that lasted for four days. As of yesterday, my seventh came and is still lingering. I expect it to last at least four days. I may have two whole relatively pain-free days before my next inflation since they are once a week. Thank God for my son or I would be in a much larger heap of pain.

Waking up is the worst part. As with anyone who suffers aches and pains, they are normally more manifest upon lifting yourself out of bed during the first moments of your day. Mine is no different. I find myself holding onto my left "boob" like it's in danger of falling off. I clinch my left arm across my chest under the breast mound and hold tight to the right side of my sleep shirt. Meanwhile my right hand finds it's way as far down the edge of our pillow top mattress as possible. As I tug with my right hand to pull myself up, I hold my breath to stifle any attempt my brain might make at registering the pain as a gasp, thereby waking my husband or a sleeping baby. This is how I wake up most mornings since June 17, 2010, and how I will function for the foreseeable future.

Making my way to the bathroom, still holding my left breast mound in place, I locate my dose of morning pills that includes a Valium (for the instant muscles spasms) and ibuprofen I hope will kick in before I'm called on to lift a 25 pound baby from a crib. It's funny how I used to resent having to take my daily Synthroid (I have hypothyroidism) because I've never been a pill taker. Yet here I am now with my little S-M-T-W-T-F-S container to keep them all straight. I look forward to conveniently "losing" that pill container in the not distant future!

My breast mounds, because I can't really begin to think of them as boobs to be honest, are beginning to take a shape I can recognize. Who would've thought this would be fraught with dangers? I've grown so accustomed to not having any boobs that I have begun to move differently through the house. I found myself cutting corners more sharply, or only opening one side of the pantry door because let's face it, my boobs weren't calling for me to open the other side to accommodate a wider load. Well, all of that is a thing of the past. In the last 48 hours my boobs have run into doors, walls, and the refrigerator door. Come on, really! I don't recall this being an issue before. The really funny thing is that I mostly can't feel it except that in that instant my forward progress is thrown off as I'm launched into an unintended rotation, thereby hitting my other boob on the pantry's door frame. It's just too odd not to tell.

See, someday I'll have all this over and done with and these memories will begin to fade. For now at least I can recount them and use the humor to help me over the hump that is this reconstruction process. Or would it be more accurate to say humps?

Ergonomic Boobs

Sharing a room with an infant can be a challenge, especially at bedtime. Our son goes to sleep hours before us and while we prepare for bed we have to pay close attention to not making an abundance of noise so as not to wake him. Tonight we were in the bathroom doing our usual prep routine, which recently has included rubbing lotion on my mastectomy scars. The lotion, Elta Lite, has helped to soften and smooth the scarred area. According to the doctor this should make my reconstruction look nicer.

Arie and I were joking around about something completely unrelated to my boobs, when we both began laughing and couldn't contain our noise. I leaned in to whisper something in his ear and when he stepped back he laughed even harder and told me he only heard half of what I'd said. The rest, he said, had sounded like swishing noises. I invited him into my office, a.k.a. my closet so we wouldn't wake the baby. We laughed so hard we fell into each other, hugging, and I told him how grateful I am that we understand each others sense of humor. Trust me, if I told you what had us laughing so hard you'd think we were quite strange. Some things are meant to be kept just between a husband and wife. Having said that, you are seriously going to wonder what I would feel the need to hold in such close confidence given what I'm about to divulge. . .

While we were hugging and laughing, I half jokingly asked him if he wanted to "feel me up". This has been a constant ritual since the inflations of my tissue expanders began. I think it's important that my husband really like the size and feel of my boobs since he's the one who will get all the pleasure from them once this whole reconstruction is complete. (Sounds like we're renovating, which I guess is sort of accurate.) This was his first opportunity to feel them since I had my last inflation. As he reached for my boobs with both hands - now mind you this wasn't a sensual thing by any means, but more like holding a peach firmly in your hands while contemplating whether it's the perfect firmness that makes you want to buy it - I told him he might want to feel the right one because it's more round. First he felt only the right one, then the left, and agreed with me that the right side was indeed more round. The left one feels slightly misshapen because the tissue expander has inflated somewhat more awkwardly than the other side. That's normal.

I said, "Aren't you glad the implants won't feel like these?" What I have now actually feels like rocks under my chest, a.k.a. (according to Arie) man pecks. I can actually make them flex up and down like Hulk Hogan, but I digress. Arie then reached up and put both hands on my boobs. He gave them a few good squeezes, then declared they'd be good for push-ups because they're "ergonomic". We both about died laughing! I never thought of having ergonomic boobs, but I guess that might be the best thing that comes out of this whole mastectomy. My husband will be happy and his hands will never grow weary because his wife's boobs are custom made to fit his palm size! I'd like to think he'd be equally considerate if he were having penis reconstruction. LOL

You Always Know Where to Find Me

Up to this point my mastectomy experience has been physically on par with everything I've read on the subject. From personal stories, to medical literature, and the proverbial mastectomy for dummies kind of books, I have gleaned every drop of what to expect that my brain would possibly hold.

Today I put another check mark on my list of "yep, dealt with that one too." I wasn't engaged in anything particularly strenuous unless you call sitting in the drive-thru at Dairy Queen strenuous. That's when it suddenly hit me, a burning sensation blended with a sharp, stabbing pain in my nipple area, well at least the area my nipple used to call home. My first reaction was to grab my breast. If anyone had seen me in that moment they might have thought I was having a heart attack and called 911 on my behalf. Can't you see it now? Me explaining to some poor, unsuspecting EMT that my boob that is no longer a boob is in pain. They might opt to transport me to the psych ward instead.

It only lasted a couple seconds before I was back to normal. Funny, I don't feel normal right now. My chest is so tight that I feel as if I've been wearing an ill-fitting bra for more than six weeks. Anyone who might feel me would think I've stuffed said bra on each side with a fist-sized smooth rock. My husband says I have pecks and very masculine ones at that. Somehow that doesn't bring me as much comfort as if he were to tell me I look fit. We both laugh at his peck joke. The comic relief is nice.

The ghost pains lasted into the evening, then slipped into the night, along with accompanying thoughts of amputee war vets. (Wow, I guess I am an amputee, though someone missing a limb might take exception to the notion that I would liken my loss unto theirs. Isn't ghost pain, ghost pain? These amputee thoughts are too large for me to deal with right now and will have to wait.)

Thankfully, the pains were replaced with this lovely moment of quiet solitude, offset only by the whirring sound of the washing machine. Throughout this ordeal, I have been blessed with moments such as this. These are the times when God finds me, lifts me up, and begins healing me from the inside out. Suddenly the scars running across my chest feel as if they're fading. That's just how life is. It is in those quiet moments full of reflection, full of God, that we find the strength to withstand the pressure and pain that life is punctuated with. I thank God that He always knows where to find me.

Watermark sings a song titled "Where to Find Me." No other song more perfectly fits where I am at this moment. Here are the lyrics:

When the lie is deeper than I know
You capture me and You carry me home
You see these wounds and rescue me
You always heal things beautifully

And I close my eyes
And You can still my heart
And I call out Your name…
‘Cause You always know
You always know where to find me…
You always know
You always know where to find me…

And where could I wander that You wouldn’t be?
Whom have I but You who really knows me?
Proven to be the God that sees
From strength to strength You’ve lifted me…

And I could cry from the depths of the earth
I could stand on a mountaintop
And I can speak Your name out to the wind
And You go before me…
And You fall around me…

‘Cause You always know
You always know where to find me…
You always know You always know where to find me…

How Can I Know Your Touch?

Yesterday I had the tissue expanders filled for the third time since my surgery. The procedure is never painful since I'm mostly numb across my entire upper chest, wrapping around under my armpits to edge of my back. It is nice to have some semblance of a breast beginning to take shape under my clothes.

The doctor noted that I still have some thick scabs on the center portion of my incisions on both sides. He gave me some Elta Lite lotion to soften both the incision areas, as well as the scabs to help them fall off. After only one day it seems to be making a huge difference and my scabs have already begun peeling up.

Last night I was in a lot of pain as a result of the expansion and had a difficult time putting on the lotion. When the expanders are under the muscle and are suddenly stretched it makes me unable to reach with one hand across my chest to reach the other side. I also couldn't apply the lotion with my hand on the same side. It became easier to ask my husband to apply it for me, so I asked him to help.

I squeezed some of the lotion onto his hand and he began to massage it into my breast area. At one time that would have so erotic, but all I could think was how my life has radically changed. As he rubbed this lotion into my skin, I felt nothing meaningful except gratefulness that he was helping me. There was no tingling, no nipple erection because of his touch. I think it finally fully struck me how much this changes our sex life. There's not one part of me that regrets making the decision for this surgery and yet that does not take away the feeling of loss that suddenly hit me. Part of me wanted to go back to the last time he touched my breasts and freeze that moment in time. If I could bottle that sensation and sell it to all the women around the world who've gone through this, I would be a rich woman. Then again, it occurs to me that even without that sensation I am still a rich woman in so many other ways.

Still, I cried gently when I longed to know he was touching me. To date, this is the greatest sense of loss I've felt.

Tickle Me No?

When I was a kid, my brother used to tickle my armpits until I couldn't breathe. At first it was fun, then I'd say stop, then he wouldn't, then I'd get angry, then he'd get in trouble...you get the idea. Ah, the good times.

I thought a lot about my brother today and those tickles. What also came with them was belly-rolling laughter, at least for a time. Thankfully, my husband is a very witty person and he keeps us in stitches much of the time. Though it's been years since my brother tickled me, that kind of laughter isn't missing from our home.

Today of all days I'm thinking of all this because I came to the realization that since my surgery I am no longer ticklish under my arms. The skin isn't completely numb, but sufficiently enough so that it's not stimulating enough to tickle. It never occurred to me that being ticklish was something to be thankful for, but now that the sensation is gone I find myself nostalgic. Who knew?

It's All About the Rainbow

I think of my roommate everyday and wonder how she is progressing. We compare notes and while we occasionally diverge in our sensations since our mastectomies, we most often find ourselves saying, “Yeah, me too!” This bond of sisterhood is something I have come to share not only with her, but also with my mother and aunt who both have survived cancer, just as my roomie is currently doing. And though I don’t consider to have survived cancer per se, I do consider myself a survivor in a sense. The commiseration of this survivorship brings out a degree of dark humor that some may find odd. I can’t help but find humor in these difficulties of life. What could be funny about tubes snaking out the sides of your body or ugly scars that mar the complexion of your chest? Plenty! There will be more later on the humor of such things, but for now I digress.

Sometimes humor is the only thing that keeps you from crying. Sometimes you’re simultaneously laughing and crying. It reminds me of those beautiful, sunshiny days that suddenly are touched by rain showers. As children, those days when the sun and rain dance together are shrouded in mystery. It perplexes us and the first thing we come to realize is the only thing that truly matters - it all results in a rainbow.

Wouldn’t it be beautiful if each of us would choose to weather those storms of life and come to the same conclusion? There is always something beautiful waiting on the other side. It’s all in your choice of perspective. Yes, I said choice, just as we can choose which clothes we’ll wear for the day. There are days we may take a step backward and begin to lament our situations or decisions and that is normal, and yet if we can consistently take two more steps forward, we have won!

Showers are a Glorious Gift

Today was a most glorious day! After three weeks and one day of no full showers or baths, I was finally able to clean myself from head to toe. What an amazing feeling to have the water wash over me again. It was almost as if I was having a shower for the first time in years. Standing there with the hot water flowing down from my head and entirely covering my body gave me such a sense of comfort. For a time the whole world disappeared.

Hot water seemed to soften my muscles, warming them to the point that raising my arms above my head seemed nearly physically normal and slightly less labor intensive than previous times when I’ve been doing my exercises the physical therapist gave me. After washing my hair and face, as I usually begin, I moved my way down my body to the chest I’ve been so protective of over the last three weeks. Having babied my drain tubes and bulbs for so long and avoiding water and soap, to be able to softly drag my bath puff across my chest was something like heaven. In some places my nerves seemed to stand gently on end though the sensation wasn’t painful at all. The rest was completely numb, which for now is mostly a blessing.

Continuing my normal shower routine, I glanced down at my razor thinking how nice it would be to shave, particularly my armpits. One tiny little detail everyone forgot to mention is how it would initially be impossible to reach across my body with one hand and touch the armpit on the other side. In fact, there have been times over the last three weeks I’ve had to ask my mom or sister to help me put on deodorant. It’s funny how everyone seems to feel perfectly capable of applying their own, but suddenly unsure if they’re covering the right area when applying it for someone else. I know their feeling since I only recently helped my ten year-old son apply his for the first time. It’s interesting how the nerve-endings in your armpit help direct you in the process. Having made significant progress in this area of crossing my arms over, I thought it would be no problem to shave. This would all be fine and dandy were it not for the fact that my scars, extra skin, and a bulge of my tissue expanders stretches into the fold of my armpits changing their contour and making shaving somewhat of a challenge. It’s odd, but temporary. I still shaved and I felt great, even accomplished.

I made note of how most of my wounds have become smooth with the exception of the very center where my nipple used to be. Family members who have seen this area say it’s interesting how my scabs almost make it look like I still have a nipple. It’s only a trick on the eyes. I know that with time and every shower, the scabs will soften and begin to peel away, revealing the scar that will be a permanent reminder to me of so many painful and yet wonderful memories, including this one - the day I reclaimed part of myself, my independence, my wholeness, my hygiene by doing that one little act that we mostly take for granted everyday - taking a shower.

Liberated From Breast Cancer

For years I have referred to my future as one that was certain to involve breast cancer. I have seen no way around it. Everyone on my mom's side of the family has been struck with it. In fact, I have always said to my husband and close friends, "Someday when I have cancer. . . The prospect has never seemed sad to me, but more like an unfortunate reality that I'll just have to deal with and hopefully overcome. Down deep inside, though resigned, I felt that when death knocked at my door it would say, "Hello Audri, I'm the cancer that's going to take your life".

Well, I was having a conversation with my mom today and a word came out of my mouth that surprised me so greatly that I had to write about it. We had been talking about my most recent doctor's appointment. Tomorrow will be three weeks since my prophylactic bilateral mastectomy surgery. As Mom and I chatted, I casually said to her for the first time in my entire adult life, "Someday if I ever have cancer". IF? It's not like this word is unfamiliar to me, I must have used it in various contexts thousands of times over my lifetime. The subconscious choice of that word at that moment made me take pause.

I considered "IF," mulling it around in my brain for a time and the conclusion I've come to is that it is synonymous with "HOPE". Before this surgery, I think I had been cheating myself of hope - hope that I would be able to avoid the horrible cancers that have struck or killed so many in my family. If there is one family trend I don't want to be a part of continuing, it would be this - that breast and ovarian cancer and the pain and often death that comes with it would stop with me. I can't do anything about being born with a mutation of the BRCA1 gene, but I can certainly be proactive. God willing, I am going to be around to experience a full and long life with my family. Thanks to God and the technology and expertise He's given to so many in the field, I stand now and say "IF" to breast cancer and suddenly I feel liberated!

The dictionary in part says being liberated means: to set free, as from imprisonment or bondage; to disengage. Aside from the lingering physical effects of my surgery, that is how I overwhelming feel - liberated! I used to hit the "I believe someday I will have breast cancer" button. Now that I've disengaged from the "WHEN", that button is a distant memory.

Tubes & Evil Grenades

After a mastectomy, tubes are coiled up in the cavity left by the removed breast tissue in order to drain the fluid that collects in the space. These tubes stick out through holes in your side and are stitched into place. There are two tubes on each side. They extend (in my case) about 18 inches outside the body, with a drain bulb attached to the end. The medical staff called these bulbs "grenades". The tubes must be stripped or "milked" and the bulbs collapsed and sealed so that a reverse suction is achieved in order to draw the fluid out of the chest. The fluid has to be drained four times per day so that a seroma does not form. Seromas can be partially absorbed by the body, but would otherwise need medical intervention to remove the fluid, hence the drain tubes.

Depending on your doctor's preference, the standard is that the fluid from each bulb must drain anywhere from 20-50 ml of fluid in a 24 hour period before they can be removed. My doctor wanted my bulbs to each be under 30 ml and I wound up keeping mine for nearly three weeks as a result. After a time, the tubes begin to form a crust around the skin at the entry point. I found this crusty scab-like formation to be helpful in keeping my tubes from twisting while I slept. Of course I didn't realize this helpful aspect until the first time I removed the crust and found my tubes beginning to twist in odd directions, making the site sore.

I'm thankful for the drains, though I must say they were a pain in the rear. Anytime I wasn't wearing clothes, I had to find some way of preventing them from hanging so that the bulbs would not fall off the ends of the tubes. The collected fluid in the bulbs sometimes made them heavy enough to detach from the tubes. Sometimes I would put the bulbs in my pockets (if I had pockets). Without pockets, I would often attach them to my bra or the lapel of my shirt. Several times when I was using the bathroom just before getting in the shower (to wash from the waist down), I found I had to hold the bulbs under my chin so that I could take care of my "business" without them dangling.

There was also the threat of babies pulling on the tubes, or catching one with a foot if they were climbing on me. I kept covered around them or placed a pillow between my body and theirs to minimize the likelihood of this type of thing. It was hard to have to avoid the babies sometimes. My heart was burdened when I couldn't lift them or let them climb onto my lap. Sometimes it just hurt too much. Thank God for my husband, son, sister, mom, and step-dad at this time! Without them I couldn't have done it.

The tubes were removed today, July 6, 2010. I am thrilled to have them gone! It is so much easier to function. Holding the babies the first time was exciting. For once I didn't have to worry about guarding myself so heavily. I could actually fully embrace them! Now all I have to worry about it lifting them. I'm not supposed to lift them until I'm 6 weeks post-op. My weight limit is 10 pounds and they are each over 25 pounds.

One day at a time...for now I'm just happy to have lost the tubes. Good bye tubes, hello freedom. Once my holes close-up, I can finally have the shower I've been longing for. Ah...

Acne Resolution?

From the time I was about 12 years-old I have had acne problems. For years I thought acne was the type of thing a person would outgrow with age. It never occurred to me that I would be an adult and still struggling with what I thought was an adolescent issue.

I tried a number of products claiming to be the ultimate solution to my problem. Each time I've been let down. I thought using Proactiv would be my final resolution and it has helped by lessening the frequency of my breakouts and reduced their duration, but it hasn't stopped them altogether.

I knew there would be changes in my life as a result of my mastectomy, but the thought honestly never crossed my mind that my skin would clear up as a result of the reduced amount of estrogen due to my breast tissue being gone. It's amazing! If there is one thing so far that I'm very happy about is that I can go without make-up and feel more confident. I don't guess I've had that feeling since I was about 14 years-old. Hormones and the havoc they can wreak on a woman's body is fascinating to me! Imagine what will happen when my ovaries are gone?

The Worst Question to Ask a Mastectomy Patient

I had a follow-up appointment today to have my JP drains checked. Two of the four drains are out now and the last two are feeling slightly irritated. The fluid draining out of each side is hovering around 50 ml per day, still not low enough to take them out. Regardless, they have to come out at two weeks post-op, so they'll be removed in two days anyway. This is certainly a moment to look forward to.

I saw my doctor today for what will be the last time for quite awhile. She'll be deploying to the U.S.S. Iwo Jima for a time. By the time she comes back, I'll have already gone through a second major surgery to remove the tissue expanders and place my breast implants. Also a day to look forward to with great anticipation. I promised to stop in when she gets back from deployment and show her my new boobs. LOL

After leaving the plastic surgeons' office today, I headed to the pharmacy to pick up some refills on the prescriptions they gave me for muscle spasms, as the tissue expanders tend to cause spasms. After a short wait, my number was called and I stepped to the window. The nice pharmacy tech took my military ID and asked me to state my full name and birth date. Following what I know is a strict script, she proceeded to ask me, "Are you pregnant or breast-feeding at this time"? I looked at her and began to laugh before glancing down at my chest. As I looked back up at her she was staring at me like I was very strange. I couldn't help myself. I said, "I know you don't know my medical history and I hope you find this as amusing as I do, but I just had a bilateral mastectomy last week . . . so, no, I am not currently breast-feeding." I don't know that she found it as funny as I did, but it was definitely my comic relief for the day. :)

My Baby Knew Me and I Was Different

My parents came home today to bring the twins. They kept them in Texas for 2 weeks in order to help me recover from my mastectomy. In two weeks they'll be one year old. They've changed so much just over the last two weeks since I've seen them. I know it's even more evident and maybe a little heart-wrenching to Arie to see how much they've grown without him. The time didn't seem to matter much once Lisse heard the sound of her daddy's voice. She smiled as if yesterday were the last time she'd set eyes on him.

Karter smiled at me, tongue hanging out as usual. He seemed so happy to see me and everyone else. Then again, he's such a naturally happy boy. Arie held him for a time, then placed him on my lap. As he sat straddling my legs, facing me, I was overwhelmed with joy. His soft gaze melted my heart and we were as we always were, one. He laid his head on my chest to cuddle into me. It was such a familiar place for us both. He stayed only a moment before lifting his gaze to stare at my shirt, then up to my face. Again, he laid his head softly on my chest - and again, only lingered a moment. He reached his little hand up and felt my chest, specifically where my right breast used to be. His gaze turned quizzical and he stared into my eyes for a moment before turning his attentions to other endeavors. I knew then that he knew - Mama was different.

As I sit here writing this, I hear the sounds of joyful play and banter coming from the livingroom only feet away. I'm having a hard time joining them because I don't want to stifle their joy. The tears stream from my eyes and somehow I feel less whole, like so many others who have gone before me. Yet, my emotions have still taken me slightly off guard. I needed a moment alone to contemplate the condition of my heavy heart.

My Mom came into the kitchen a few moments later to make bottles for the babies. Using the microwave, she began to heat a bottle, but couldn't figure out which buttons to push. She said, "Why can't I remember how to use this?" I couldn't contain my anguish and tears as I softly blurted out, "Probably for the same reason I can't tell you how many ounces of formula my babies need now before bed . . . you haven't done it for awhile!" I laid my head on the counter and sobbed. My heart was bleeding and the whole family knew. Arie placed his hand on my back and after a short time, Mom hugged me close.

Later, once most of the house was asleep, Mom shared a story with me. It's one I've heard many times, though now it seemed even more poignant. When she was pregnant with my older brother, my older sister used to sit on her lap and lean forward onto her pregnant belly. That was my sister Lori's favorite place to be, laying over Mama's belly. When Mom came back from the hospital after delivering my brother and Lori sat on her lap for the first time, she leaned forward, then leaned back and gave my mom the most heartbroken look before bursting into tears. She knew Mama was different then too. A part of what gave her such comfort was obviously missing and she was devastated.

As Mom shared this story with me, I felt a sense of relief. It's hard sometimes to let my Mom see me so transparent - to view the rawness of my heart. Something in me is compelled to protect her from my pain. But in this moment, she connected with the nerve-endings of my heart and mind and coated them with a salve that sometimes can only come from Mom. She gave me at 38 what I was not able to give my son at 11.5 months - comfort.

Numbness

Obviously the surgery would involve cutting through nerves. I knew going in that I would not have the same sensations as I'd had before. I expected numbness and I've heard that each person's outcome is different. Some people begin to regain feeling in their breasts as nerves start the process of reconnecting. In some cases, according to my aunt who has undergone this surgery, a person may find herself years down the road scratch her skin in one spot and feel a tingle in another. Nerves are an amazing construction within the human body.

I wonder how much feeling I'll get back. Mostly what I feel at this point is a feeling similar to being numb in your mouth after getting a shot at the dentist's office. It's like that moment just before you're completely numb and ready to be drilled on, sort of the twilight moment when you still feel pain if touched, it's just dulled dramatically. This has been a blessing during the inflation procedures where they push needles through my chest into the tissue expanders (TE's).

I hope the sensations return to a great degree, but if they don't I guess it's just he price I have to pay for the decision. I still don't regret it, though one thing I'll miss is the feeling of my nipples being stimulated, either by the cold or by my husband's hand. It's a sensation we take for granted. In a way I wish I'd paid greater attention to that the last time I experienced it because I understand it will never come again.

As a good friend often says to me, "Note to self." Well, I'm making a note. Try harder to explore and appreciate the little things because you never know when they'll be gone.

Grand Central Mastectomy Station!

Though I've lived through a number of previous surgeries, I recall waking up from this one in a fog unlike anything I'd previously experienced. If my awareness was intact, I would say they had already moved me to the room I would call home for the next 24-48 hours. The fact is I spent nearly exactly 34 hours in the hospital from the time I walked in the door and checked into the surgery department to the moment they wheeled me out to my car. It all happened rather quickly.

Just as I was coming out of my deep, anesthetic fog, I became aware that another patient was being wheeled into my room and taking up residence on the other side of my curtain. Noting the use of the word "my", I realize that it was intentional. Initially, I felt violated and offended that I would be made to share this moment of my life with a total stranger - a fleeting thought before drifting back into a deep sleep . . . little did I know.

It seemed to me that Arie and Koen were by my side in a flash. I think I even recall Koen hugging my head like we'd agreed he'd have to do. I was so groggy, in and out of sleep that I remember nothing that went on around me for several hours. I only remember a button being placed in my left hand, which I was supposed to push for morphine as needed. Wow, was it needed! I pushed it every time I became conscious and could see the soft green light of the button glowing. There was another button in my right hand in case I needed to call the nurses station. I tried not to use that one too much, but occasionally I had no choice. At the time I hoped I wasn't bothering them. Isn't that funny? I know some patients can be a real pain and I was determined not to be one of them. I hope I used the button sparingly.

Eventually, the anesthesia began to wear off more completely and I realized my mouth was very dry. They wouldn't let me have water, but eventually gave me a sponge on a stick to moisten my mouth. I had been put on a no liquid/no food diet. Initially, this was an issue for me because I really wanted something to quench the horrible thirst I was having. My loving husband had gum in his pocket and I talked him into giving me a piece. It was heaven! It gave me saliva and I suddenly felt like an actor in one of the gum commercials where I was the one receiving the "burst of flavor"! This euphoria last maybe 15 minutes before the taste began to make me nauseous and I spit it out. Confessing my indiscretion about the gum to my doctor, he gave me an anti nausea medicine and I forgot about the dryness of my mouth or the rumbling in my stomach. I spent the rest of the evening in an out of sleep, not even thinking about food, but fantasizing about ice chips.

Arie eventually left to take Koen for dinner and home since work would come early in the morning. I was a little thankful for the time alone until I became acutely aware that my neighbor had three family members with her. I tried to ignore their conversations, in part to be polite and in part to sleep. It became increasingly more difficult to tune-out the sounds of their voices as a creeping awareness came to me that she too had undergone a bilateral mastectomy. I was overwhelmed with an urge to talk with her and searched for the most considerate opportunity to inject myself into their conversation.

She had her husband, sister, and father at her bedside. I think she was 60 years old, but didn't look much more than a day over 45 even right out of surgery. She seemed to be handling coming out of anesthesia better than me and I was self-conscious that I wasn't being a "good patient". At about 8:15 pm, the hospital pa system announced visiting hours had come to an end and asked all visitors to leave. I was relieved that maybe now I could sleep, uninterrupted by the conversations going on beyond my curtain and by the staff in and out of the room. I faded into the darkness where there are no dreams, no consciousness whatsoever. When I came around everyone was gone and the room was quiet save the occasional beep of an IV machine.

Now, for anyone who would imagine that a hospital is the place to go for rest, even after a surgery, think again! My roomie and I each had our own set of staff caring for us. It was Grand Central Station! Much to my surprise, this is where and when my healing would begin, between the lights flicking off and on, the buzz of blood pressure cuffs, rushing water in the sink, or flushing water in the toilet, and all the words pouring from the mouths of a seemingly endless stream of one new stranger after another. In the midst of it all, a beautiful thing happened - I made a friend, my roomie, Carolyn.

Pulling the Rip Cord

Many years ago I took a trip with my husband, son, parents, and older brother to Six Flags in Dallas, Texas. I don't recall too much about the trip, but one very important event took place that is forever a part of me.

My brother Ross and husband Arie saw a ride called Dive Bomber Alley. They hook you up to heavy duty harnesses and connect you with your riding buddies. Then you are all connected to a massive cable and hoisted 15 stories above the ground. Once in place aloft, an announcer starts the countdown . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . pull! The one person in your group who has been designated to pull the rip cord to release you all at that last command has to pull the cord and you are sent soaring downward 15 stories until the cable catches you and you soar out above the awed crowds, swinging back and forth, all the while probably screaming at the top of your lungs either from shear adrenaline or absolute terror!

I insisted I wanted to be the person to pull that cord. I'm not sure why. I was even slightly concerned at the time that I wouldn't be able to follow through when the time came. I recall my brother swearing as we were being pulled upward. Truth be told, we were all a little freaked out. Then came the countdown. On pull, I didn't hesitate one nano second. We soared through the air screaming with fear, delight, a few expletives, and my brother saying he hated me. LOL It was a good time that we'll never forget and some of us may never do again.

Flash forward about ten years . . .

Just as the surgical staff was preparing to roll me back to the OR for my bilateral mastectomy, I asked Arie if he remembered that particular ride. Together we recalled the rip cord - no choice, no hesitation, and complete faith that the equipment would take us safely back to earth. During the planning, appointments, and pre-op for this surgery, I appeared resolute, even stoic perhaps at times. At that moment, my husband saw my first tears as I told him, "I'm pulling the rip cord" and he kissed me and understood.