I’ve been struggling to put words to what it was like the days after my surgery. I find that I’m struggling to put all of this to words because I have to look some trauma in the eye. I’ve been giving myself grace and writing about this experience, telling this story, when my body has the energy to work through the trauma and write about it. As much as I had intended on doing this from the get go I somehow created some arbitrary expectations of myself on how often I should be blogging. Once again, I’m going to allow myself to struggle through this knowing that struggle is a part of my healing and eventually putting it into words. I am finally ready to share this part of the story.
A bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction is no joke of a surgery. It took about 3.5 hours to rearrange my chest and the aftermath felt like carnage and frankly looked like carnage. I was experiencing pain unlike any I’d had experienced before. The majority of the time it was agony living inside my body. My chest and how it felt was at the forefront of my mind. My body felt nothing like it felt before the surgery. The major reason I was in so much discomfort was because my doctors chose to place my implants under the pectoral muscles instead of on top, like where you would find breast tissue. My tumor was too close to my pectoral muscles and it was better for early cancer detection if the muscle was not behind an implant. I understood the logic and they explained it to me before my surgery but I had no idea what kind of a sensory nightmare it was going to be to have a muscle change locations in your body. A location change is hard enough but they also had to maneuver it over a silicon C cup implant (know this is not the right way to explain implant sizing but I can’t remember what mine was and I don’t want to dig through paperwork to find the information). Essentially my pectoral muscles were moved and laid over a metaphorical mountain. It hurt so bad but it wasn’t a pain I’d experienced before so I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s strange because it’s more of a discomfort than pain but my brain registered it as pain and reacted accordingly. I found myself yelping out many times because of my pectoral discomfort. It was so hard to effectively tune it out or ignore it because it was such a weird sensation and so new to my body. My brain felt like it was taken over with the pain and discomfort, the only way I could get relief was if I was really high. THC was my friend during the early days of recovery. I was also given a prescription for oxycodone and that managed the fiery incision pain in the early days of recovery then after that a steady rotation of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. Weed helped too. Keep in mind, my breast tissue had just been melon balled out of me and replaced with a sack of silicone. Even though it didn’t really look like it from the outside, I had an important part of my body amputated. My breasts were a life giving force in my body, they nourished my children with milk and provided a soft pillows to lay on. I draped my babies over my breast and let them take naps on me. My breasts were an essential part of my maternal expression in my children’s early childhood. My breast had to transform to provide for the needs of my body and they met those needs well.
My breasts were such an important part of me feeling beautiful and sexy. I liked how they looked in clothing and without clothing. They drove my husband crazy. I used to flash him whenever the kids weren’t looking. I’ll never forget the happy surprised face he’d give me. That would usually trigger a day of flirting and little make out sessions when the kids weren’t looking. Foreplay at its best when you’re married to your best friend. My breasts were such an important part of my sex life and helped produce magical feelings and connectedness with my husband. I was so proud of my breasts and how they served me.
Now they were unrecognizable, nothing like what they had been just a few days prior. This was the beginning of the feeling that I was the bride of Frankenstein, my body was sliced and diced and replaced with parts that aren’t my own. I was missing part of myself. These feelings were overwhelming at times and there were many days I felt weak with grief.
I am amazed to inform you that despite all the pain, discomfort, and grief I would find myself in miracle moments of joy and delight. I was reaping the benefits of what past Emilie had done for me as she prepared for the surgery. Putting a couch in my room ended up being just as I had set intensions for, my room became the gathering place for the family. There was rarely a time where there wasn’t at least one of my children with me and this was healing balm. Past Emilie knew that moments of connection with my loved ones were going to be what ultimately brought my recovery. I took pictures of my self a few times when I was feeling the deep joy that only family can provide. I couldn’t put words to it yet, but I noticed just how contrasting my experiences were. Inside my body was in agony but the outside was relishing in the strange places beauty can be found. I was not feeling my best but I was seeing my best. Heaven and Hell coexisting.
Here’s some pictures of moments I remembered to document, there aren’t many pictured but there were many experienced. I’m so thankful for that.
