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In case you were wondering, here are ten ordinary tasks that are impossibly hard to do after a mastectomy:
- getting out of bed
- getting into bed
- getting comfortable enough to sleep in said bed
- opening the refrigerator
- opening pill bottles
- opening anything
- staying awake for more than a few hours at a time
- putting on t-shirts
- sitting on the same couch as a squirmy 3-year-old
- updating your blog, apparently
Things went fine on Monday. As fine as these things can go. No complications, unless you count a bout of nausea so severe it made me reach for the call light. I LOATHE using the call light, so yes, it was that bad.
No skin grafts were necessary for the wound closure. Thrilling news! We are so, so pleased about that.
By Tuesday afternoon, I was home. I�ve been sleeping ever since. I wouldn�t be surprised if Ingrid equates adulthood with perpetual naps and constant doctors' appointments. Because that is what the adults in her life do: sleep and go to the doctor. She may never want to grow up.
How does this surgery compare to the one I had in July?
No skin grafts were necessary for the wound closure. Thrilling news! We are so, so pleased about that.
By Tuesday afternoon, I was home. I�ve been sleeping ever since. I wouldn�t be surprised if Ingrid equates adulthood with perpetual naps and constant doctors' appointments. Because that is what the adults in her life do: sleep and go to the doctor. She may never want to grow up.
How does this surgery compare to the one I had in July?
Pain level is about the same. Very controllable with meds. This time around, though, it�s like my body is confused about where exactly surgery took place. I have zero pain at my incision site. For the most part, the right half of my torso is entirely numb. Scar tissue and all that.
You know where I hurt? My bum. Swear to God. The pain starts at my lower back and radiates down to my derri�re and upper thighs. My surgeon anticipated lower back pain because of all the skin-stretching going on, so I�m not concerned. Just sore.
�I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine, I'm...What Were We Talking About?�
How am I doing emotionally? Eh. The first few days after surgery, your brain can only process things on the most basic survivalist level. You just want to rest, to stop hurting, to be able to stomach a bowl of oatmeal, to heal.
Days pass, and you start to feel better physically. Your brain has enough fuel to move beyond �let�s just stay alive today.� This is where the emotional distress creeps in, ever so stealthily. Or maybe it kicks in the door full-force, robbing you blind and leaving you for dead.
I�d say, on an emotional level, I am coping less than perfectly. I�m not locking myself in the bathroom to cry all day or anything. Most of the time, I�m somewhat getting through my day. When I wake up, I brush my teeth and give my kid cereal. But there�s a new heaviness with this second surgery. Partly because I�m anxious about the pathology results. Partly because I�m unhappy with the way I look. Partly because I feel guilty about being unhappy with the way I look. (Emotions are ALL over the map. Tamoxifen isn�t doing me any favors, either.)
�I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine, I'm...What Were We Talking About?�
How am I doing emotionally? Eh. The first few days after surgery, your brain can only process things on the most basic survivalist level. You just want to rest, to stop hurting, to be able to stomach a bowl of oatmeal, to heal.
Days pass, and you start to feel better physically. Your brain has enough fuel to move beyond �let�s just stay alive today.� This is where the emotional distress creeps in, ever so stealthily. Or maybe it kicks in the door full-force, robbing you blind and leaving you for dead.
I�d say, on an emotional level, I am coping less than perfectly. I�m not locking myself in the bathroom to cry all day or anything. Most of the time, I�m somewhat getting through my day. When I wake up, I brush my teeth and give my kid cereal. But there�s a new heaviness with this second surgery. Partly because I�m anxious about the pathology results. Partly because I�m unhappy with the way I look. Partly because I feel guilty about being unhappy with the way I look. (Emotions are ALL over the map. Tamoxifen isn�t doing me any favors, either.)
In our house, there�s this chorus that echos repeatedly: �I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine, I�m fine.�
�I�m tired, but I�m fine.�
�It�s painful, but I�ll live.�
�I�m repulsed by my own skin, but haha, can�t complain!�
I will live. And there�s plenty more reason for me to be happy with my life than to complain. BUT...am I really fine? Is that seriously the best adjective I can come up with to describe my current emotional state? Am I really 100% OK with having my chest butchered like a slab of meat? No. I would say, um, not.
�It�s painful, but I�ll live.�
�I�m repulsed by my own skin, but haha, can�t complain!�
I will live. And there�s plenty more reason for me to be happy with my life than to complain. BUT...am I really fine? Is that seriously the best adjective I can come up with to describe my current emotional state? Am I really 100% OK with having my chest butchered like a slab of meat? No. I would say, um, not.
Yesterday was the first time I really looked at my body without clothing. Like really looked at it.
I grossed me out.
I have an 8-inch incision that runs diagonally from my right armpit to just past the middle of my chest. It meets with a curvy 5-inch vertical cut running down the right side of my torso.
The scars are unpretty, but I can live with them. What bothers me is my lopsidedness - there�s still an implant where my left breast used to be. I�m all for nixing both implants to achieve some balance. At this juncture, however, my doctor didn�t want to add more surgery to what was already a major operation. He preferred to minimize even the smallest risk of complication or infection, and rightly so.
I will be okay. When I am. Until that time, I�m going to be a little bit sad about my less-than-terrific uni-boob. I�m going to be mildly (and temporarily) unhinged while I�m waiting for test results.
You Don�t Need to Bury Your Ugly Feelings Beneath a Layer of Rainbow Sprinkles and Unicorns
Besides, I�m more than tired of these sparkly images of women jumping right back in the saddle after breast surgery. I�m tired of the trite Pinterest memes about �cancer-thriving� (yes, that is a commonly used term) and �feeling strong and beautiful in your skin� right after a mastectomy. It�s total hogwash. I feel the opposite of �strong and beautiful in my skin.� I�m self-conscious and uncomfortable with my asymmetry.
I grossed me out.
I have an 8-inch incision that runs diagonally from my right armpit to just past the middle of my chest. It meets with a curvy 5-inch vertical cut running down the right side of my torso.
The scars are unpretty, but I can live with them. What bothers me is my lopsidedness - there�s still an implant where my left breast used to be. I�m all for nixing both implants to achieve some balance. At this juncture, however, my doctor didn�t want to add more surgery to what was already a major operation. He preferred to minimize even the smallest risk of complication or infection, and rightly so.
I will be okay. When I am. Until that time, I�m going to be a little bit sad about my less-than-terrific uni-boob. I�m going to be mildly (and temporarily) unhinged while I�m waiting for test results.
You Don�t Need to Bury Your Ugly Feelings Beneath a Layer of Rainbow Sprinkles and Unicorns
Besides, I�m more than tired of these sparkly images of women jumping right back in the saddle after breast surgery. I�m tired of the trite Pinterest memes about �cancer-thriving� (yes, that is a commonly used term) and �feeling strong and beautiful in your skin� right after a mastectomy. It�s total hogwash. I feel the opposite of �strong and beautiful in my skin.� I�m self-conscious and uncomfortable with my asymmetry.
It takes time (and counseling and drugs and prayer) to achieve that kind of peace. Let�s not kid ourselves.
Let�s also let ourselves be sad. And angry. And human. Why are we so quick to deny our suffering in front of people? In front of ourselves, even? Why are we obsessed with being okay with NOT okay things? Why do we strive to put a positive spin on every last thing that happens to us?
Because we want our sad stories to come with happy endings. We like our challenges in life to come paired with a cute corresponding morality nugget. Pain is more digestible when it's tastefully wrapped in hip kraft paper and sealed with a bow. We like it to be tidy and meaningful.
Let�s also let ourselves be sad. And angry. And human. Why are we so quick to deny our suffering in front of people? In front of ourselves, even? Why are we obsessed with being okay with NOT okay things? Why do we strive to put a positive spin on every last thing that happens to us?
Because we want our sad stories to come with happy endings. We like our challenges in life to come paired with a cute corresponding morality nugget. Pain is more digestible when it's tastefully wrapped in hip kraft paper and sealed with a bow. We like it to be tidy and meaningful.
Plain old suffering is not the stuff of inspirational Instagram posts. It�s icky, and it makes us uncomfortable, and we don�t like it!
Poking around an Internet cancer support forum, I found a thread where a woman was struggling with her husband�s recent setback in treatment. She was seeking advice on how to remain optimistic in the face of less than hopeful circumstances.
One response barbed me. It read something like, �you just push through it - that�s all there is to it. Never let your husband see your doubt. You must stay optimistic at all times in front of him.�
Nope. No and no! We all work through things differently, but this is just bad advice.
I�m not advocating indulgent sniveling marathons. I�m not suggesting this woman throw in the towel or that she view life through the murky lens of bitterness.
What I�m suggesting is that she ought to be HUMAN. She�s entitled to feel feelings. Even the ugly ones. Especially the ugly ones. It would likely do her husband good to witness the occasional cry, too. You can still be someone�s rock even if you�re sometimes sad about the hard things in your life.
It�s Okay to Not Be Okay
I�ve been both a caregiver to my husband and a cancer patient myself, so I feel like I have the authority to say: It was OKAY to see my husband struggle with my diagnosis. It was OKAY to see him cry on my behalf. It was OKAY for him to lose it for 10 seconds when I took my bandages off this week.
I mean, it sucked big time to see him so distraught. It wasn�t pleasant (remind me - what part of cancer is?) But it made me feel loved in a very raw and personal and honest way.
Truthfully, it would have irked the shit out of me if his only response to my distress during chemo was a plucky, �You�ll get through it, honey. I believe in you!� It would have been kind of uncool if he was smiling in fake optimism while my breast surgeon explained that my mastectomy had resulted in �dirty margins� and I would be needing another surgery.
It is perfectly reasonable and healthy to run the gamut of emotions here. Cancer will do that to you. Life will do that to you.
It is perfectly reasonable and healthy to run the gamut of emotions here. Cancer will do that to you. Life will do that to you.
As the lovely writer Nora McInerny puts it:
So feel your feelings. The gross, painful ones too. Stop apologizing for them. Work with them and through them.
That�s how we�ll arrive at being okay. Not by pretending things are brilliant when they aren't. That only leaves others confused and worse - ashamed about their own ugly feelings.
�The cure for grief is not �be not sad� and the cure for anger isn�t �be unangry!� It�s feeling all of these things, even the uncomfortable ones, without judging yourself for them.�Right on!
So feel your feelings. The gross, painful ones too. Stop apologizing for them. Work with them and through them.
That�s how we�ll arrive at being okay. Not by pretending things are brilliant when they aren't. That only leaves others confused and worse - ashamed about their own ugly feelings.
Instead, let's be helpful by being honest. Let's give ourselves permission to be something other than "fine." Let's be okay when we're ready to be okay.
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