Memories flood back

I am sitting back in outpatients at Northshore Hospital waiting to see the plastic surgeon who operated on me putting in my implants after I had my mastectomy. Its a weird feeling being here after so long. I don’t even remember the last time I was here. Nothing has changed...its still the same funny little place with the same smell. The ‘short stay ward’ just sitting behind it. One of my many regular wards I stayed in. A nurse came out before to ask if I was waiting for a mammogram...if only, I thought to myself. But those few words have unleashed a lot of thoughts and feelings.

A mammogram...thats where this nightmare began. Why couldn’t I have been one of those women diagnosed (or preferrably with nothing to diagnose at all) but if I had to be diagnosed, why couldn’t it have been with a lump that could be cut out, have chemo (ugh), radiotheraphy and then just get on with my life. Not having to worry about what life expectancy I may or may not have. Wondering if those cancerous cells are swimming closer to my lungs or my liver, or my brain.  But it would probably have been my luck for it to have come back again anyhow. This is the path I was destined to go down. For what purpose I ask myself? To spread the word with my story so I can save someone else? While it would be wonderful to think I may have saved someones life by educating them with my journey, I will never ever know. But I can only hope my being so open does help raise awareness.

I haven’t missed this place...the endless visits back when I first had my surgery. Seeing both the plastic surgeon and the breast surgeon at different appointments but at the same funny little place. Being poked at, prodded, endless people looking at my implants / scars, having dressings changed and so on. It seems like such a lifetime ago but it wasn’t really.

My appointment:

Surprisingly I wasn’t examined. I thought with the length of time since last seen, they may have needed to. Mr K was quite astonished when I said it had been 16 to 18 months since I last saw him. In fact, it was June 2016, so I was pretty much on the nose. What he wantd to know was whether I wanted to have further surgery to replace the implant I lost, or would I be happy to have my case signed off. I told him of my concerns about my dislike for both my implant and prosthesis, was I brave enough to have the implant removed and stay flat, finally ending with how I feel these days I have bigger and better things to worry about. Mr K agreed with me. He said there was always the concern that having surgery may compromise my existing cancer condition and reminding me of the old saying ‘if it ain’t broke, why fix it’. He asked if I would like a further six months or so to think on it more and I said no, lets sign my case off now. And so we have...Feeling a tinge of sadness. This man was a big part of the beginning of my journey with breast cancer. While someone else removed my old breasts, Mr K gave me new ones. He tried to save my infected one, deciding in the end it was better to remove it. My endless appointments with him, that have now come to an end. We shook hands and he wished me luck and expressed his sorrow at how things hadn’t turned out the way we would have wished and I had to fight back the tears. Coming home and relaying it to my husband, those tears finally fall and then again as I type this.

Another appointment next month to see the breast surgeon, back at the same place. I wonder if that visit will evoke old memories and stir up thoughts and feelings I would rather not have.

I lie on the bed, the sky is a beautiful blue and the sun is streaming. Summer is definitely making an impression. How can you have such sad thoughts and feelings on such a beautiful day. God, I wish circumstances were different...

So on this beautiful, sunny late afternoon, it looks like the decision has been made. I will continue to be lopsided, having two breasts when I feel like wearing my prosthesis. I now have to come to terms with having this implant which I don’t like, and get used to the ugly unsightly cavern where an implant briefly was before it became infected, eventually filling with poison. This is me...time to come to terms with it.

When I take my bra off, I am very conscious of the fact that I feel like a weight has literally been taken off my chest. The prosthesis can feel very heavy some days and I drop it on the bed with a sense of relief, feeling a bit like its a small bowling ball or bag of sand.I am then conscious of the fact that I have one breast sticking out of my chest wall. An un-natural one. An immovable object that just stays. No jiggling to be had. And then the opposite side to the immovable object, is this ugly bulk of puckered skin. It serves no purpose except as a reminder of what I have lost. Do I feel less of a woman because of it? No, definitely not. Do I feel embarrassed by it? No, I don’t think so...its just a part of me now. But its an ugly part which I don’t like. I try not to look at it. I know its there and as I put my bra on with the prosthesis inside it, it is yet another reminder of what I have lost.

I wish I could say all I have lost are my breasts but I have lost so much more than that...

Tuesday 21st November 2017 - 6.21pm