This Is Not a Boob Job.
So, I had my reconstructive surgery done two weeks ago today, and here I am with my 'final product' after two and a half years of this BRCA journey, and five months since my initial preventative double mastectomy. This surgery consisted of reopening my mastectomy scars, removing the scar tissue, removing the temporary expander implants, putting in a cohesive gel implant, and closing up the incisions that run along the bottom of both breasts. Somehow, waking up from this surgery was much worse than waking up from the far more invasive mastectomy, not physically, but mentally. I kind of hate admitting that, because it's not my style to be rocked mentally by something regarding my physical appearance, but I'm beginning to learn that the emotions connected to this surgery run a bit deeper than what I saw when I looked down.
Rewind a few months... I spent this past summer going thru many stages of unattractive boobs. I started flat chested, swollen, and bruised. Moved on to black nipple scabs, and small developing mounds, suuuper cute. Finishing off with filled expanders, the fakest looking/feeling excuse for a boob-job that you've seen in a while, during which my skin felt like it might burst from the pressure that the expanders were putting on it from the inside. All the while watching two incision scars slowly fade along what once was my under-boob. It wasn't pretty, and it was hard to navigate, particularly during bathing suit and wedding season... but I never cried about it. Not once.
I cried more in the first few days following this surgery than I had in the last five months of fairly intense surgery recovery. I cried to my Mom and my Aunt in the recovery room, I cried to my sisters and girlfriend sitting on my moms couch the day after surgery, I cried to my boyfriend on our drive home from a really fun party, I cried to my Dad on the phone, I cried to myself in the shower, I cried to myself in the car, on the train, on the walk to my apartment, in the dressing room at The Gap, in line at the coffee shop, etc. etc. etc. etc. I just kept crying. What a big fucking baby.
Regardless of the extensive conversations that we had prior, and the amazing job that my surgeons did during my operation, I was still surprised by what I woke up to. I knew going into this that they would be swollen, my nipples would be weird again from the trauma of surgery, and my incisions fresh and obvious upon waking up. I knew that it took time for them to settle in and 'fall'. I knew all of this, but I still cried. It's hard to explain, but the disappointment that I felt because of the way that I immediately looked was intense, and like a lot of my BRCA journey, it was combined with guilt for feeling disappointed or upset. Hello rollercoaster of emotions!
Two weeks later, my boobs are settling in a bit, the swelling is going down, and the pain is subsiding. I've had a few really uncomfortable days, but it has been absolutely nothing, pain wise, in comparison to my first surgery. I've taken a minute to wrap my head around why I was so flustered and emotional. The post-op appointment with my surgeon started, naturally, with me sobbing... Once we got past that he was able to explain to me, for the 100th time, that I did not get a boob job. That I would never have 'real' looking boobs. He assured me that from a breast surgeons standpoint, and even that of "a normal guy with his own opinions", everything looked really great. He claimed that my results were an "ideal scenario" for a post mastectomy reconstruction, and something that he and the rest of the team were very proud of. And most importantly, he reminded me that I would forever be breast cancer free.
Somewhere along the way I had attached my future happiness and an ultimate feeling of resolution to how I would look after this surgery. I was hoping that feeling good about something materialistic could take away all of the other emotions that came along with this BRCA stuff. But I know better now. I'm coming out of the surgery fog and back to reality. It is not important what I look like, it is important that I am healthy. I was, and still am, grieving the loss of a part of myself physically, and navigating a situation that stole a bit of me emotionally. I am learning to appreciate the power that I was granted to make choices, and changes, that would help keep me cancer free. I am realizing what is important to me, who is important to me, and why. Ultimately, I am slowly regaining the sense of control that I felt before I was diagnosed with the BRCA1 gene mutation, and I am very happy, and I guess a little bit proud, to be where I am today.
I have to give a big shoutout to my amazing and always tolerant of my need for selfies surgeon, Dr. Bernard Lee, as well as the amazing staff at the Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, Department of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery. The team there really did an amazing job of making me feel well taken care of, and understood. Your support over the last few months has been appreciated more than you know! I also want to send some love to all of the amazing women that I have been meeting along the way thru this blog, and Instagram, that have been overwhelmingly kind and supportive. It's pretty crazy that clicking on a hashtag, and sending someone a DM or commenting on their post, can lead to a moment of feeling truly understood, when you really need it. Perfect strangers have texted to ask how I was feeling, reminded me that it will be ok, and understood me when I've described things I've never felt before. The Internet is really something, guys. Thanks for the love ladies, it has, as you know, made all the difference. And thanks to everyone for reading, and sharing with anyone that you think might find this helpful!
