After rain showers, new boobs flower (or something like that)
When I had my mastectomy over the summer, expanders were placed in my chest - these are basically heavy duty sacks that were gradually filled over several months to stretch my skin in preparation for permanent implants.
Tomorrow, Dec 23, is a big day - I’m finally getting my new boobs! I’ll be returning to UCSF for my reconstruction surgery. My stiff, weirdly shaped, pinching expanders will be swapped for more comfortable and natural-looking silicone implants. Can you say Hot Girl Summer 2020?? The healing process should be a bit better than the first - I’ll be off of work for four weeks instead of six - but I expect I’ll have a similar period of not being able to use my arms much.
This year alone, I’ve met with 5 surgeons and have been to over 30 medical appointments. This will be my 3rd major surgery in 6 months. When it’s all said and done, I will have taken almost 3 months of medical leave from work (shout out to all of my coworkers who have given me the support to do so).
After this surgery, we may explore options to revise my scars and breast shape. If so, that work will extend as late as the end of next summer, but this is my last planned major surgery. I can see the end, and while I’m anxious for this next healing period, I feel a huge sense of relief that I’ll be able to put this behind me soon.
In some ways, I feel like I’ve been putting my life on hold for over two years, not knowing my surgery dates until a few weeks before, holding travel plans, not knowing how much further it would stretch into the future. I wondered if I’d need to decline projects at work or postpone career opportunities.
For a long time, it was a dream of mine to move abroad for work, and I knew all of this would mean putting that dream on hold for a while. I wanted to get everything over with, here in San Francisco where I have access to amazing healthcare and a support network of family and friends, rather than starting over in a new city. I love it here, but I still felt sad sometimes when I was reminded of my decision to stay. I had the opportunity to switch roles over the summer as part of my rotational program, and we were given a list of 80 jobs all over the world - when I got it, I deleted everything outside of the Bay Area and felt a small twinge of mourning. I crammed interviews into the week before my first surgery, and luckily had the chance to join an amazing team, but I felt anxious knowing I’d have to carve out another month of leave soon.
To get through those periods of limbo, I’d put my head down and forget to feel all the emotions I was experiencing. And sometimes those feelings hit me like a train. I can remember two times I cried during this process. The first time was after my last consultation in May. My surgeons said goodbye, and the door closed behind them on their way out. As I watched it shut I realized the only thing standing between me and the surgery was scheduling a date. It had been so distant and abstract for so long, it was hard to grasp that it was becoming concrete. Something to mark on my calendar, something I’d actually have to do. I thought about postponing, questioning if I was brave enough to really go through with it.
The second time I cried was a few weeks ago, when I found out I was getting a new set of scars. When we did my first surgery, my surgeon made incisions along the top of my nipples. She said the darker skin would help camouflage the scars, and the position would also help to give me a little lift. It was much more difficult to do so - the smaller opening meant less room for the surgical team to work through - but she thought she was helping me. I felt lucky to avoid the huge, underboob scars I’d seen on most other mastectomy patients.
My first incisions were periareolar - like that top left picture but along the top instead of the side. My new incisions will be inframammary (bottom left).
It turns out I am getting those huge, underboob scars this time around. The implants are going to create a lot of pressure, and my surgeon doesn’t want to risk opening the skin at the center of all that strain. Since I already had trouble healing the first time, and had to go in for another surgery when a chunk of my skin died, it’s a hard no.
When they told me they’d have to use the larger underboob incisions, it made sense… But I was frustrated because it was a complete surprise, and I felt like my original scars were for nothing. I was already struggling to accept them, and now I wish they just made the larger incisions the first time. I’ve felt fairly informed during most of this process, and this was the first time I felt truly blindsided. After my surgeon discussed the new incisions and left the room, the tears came in a rush along with feelings of failure and loss. Part of me felt like if I had just asked the right questions it wouldn’t have happened. I know that’s not the case, and there’s always something that can go wrong, it’s just hard letting go of the desire to be in control.
When I started this, I imagined waking up in 2 or 3 years with perfect boobs and no fear of breast cancer - that was my light at the end of the tunnel. I have since learned to manage my expectations on the reconstruction piece. I waltzed into a surgery consultation a while ago with a phone full of inspiration combed from plastic surgery websites. When crafting my perfect boobs, I wanted something fuller on the bottom, perky yet natural-looking, proportional to my rib cage, large enough to look great in a swimsuit but not too large to get in the way of a workout. My surgeon took one look at the first picture and gently reminded me, “you’re not starting at the same place they did. You are at ground zero - there’s only so much we can do.”
There are some things I can control, and others where I just have to trust it’s going to work out. At this point, there aren’t too many more difficult decisions to make. I’m excited to get through this next step and get my life back to normal. When I turned 25 a few weeks ago - which is how old my cousin was when she received her triple-negative cancer diagnosis - I thought about how far I’ve come since that scared 23 year old, waiting to get her genetic test results back. Now I’m a scared 25 year old, waiting for another surgery to be over. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to be scared, and usually the worrying is worse than the actual process. Tomorrow is another big milestone, and I’m excited to be on the other side.