I’ve been struggling with how to write this post for some time, knowing that it was inevitably coming. On the one hand, this feels so incredibly personal to me, and I feel some unease in talking about it in this somewhat public medium that is read by people with whom I normally maintain some sense of boundaries. Like my professors. Or my parents. Or Miko’s teachers. And on the other hand, writing this blog has been such a gift to me, for which I have been doubly reinforced. First, by the act of writing itself; sharing my personal process has been instrumental in moving me through it. Creating something, even if it’s just this electronic account of my feelings, during a time in which it is all too easy to only think about sickness and death, has fed me in a way I can’t quite describe. And second, by the gracious and generous responses I get from people who read it. I feel so priveleged that I get to put this out there, and that people actually take their valuable time to read it, and then convey to me their reactions. And so because of all of that, it has been really important to me that everything I write here remains absolutely authentic to my experience, even if that feels a little uncomfortable at times.
So, what feels so uncomfortable? Well, up until now, I’ve been talking about my cancer in this somewhat generic way. Despite the differences in treatment protocols, really, this experience could be relevant to people with lots of different types of cancer. But today, I’m talking specifically about something I keep pretty hidden, about my breasts themselves, rather than the cancer inside them (ok, it’s just inside the left one, but I’m having both removed, so I’m talking about both here). And it feels uncomfortable to be trying to talk frankly and openly about something that is so sexualized in our society, to an audience that includes people with whom I am generally more guarded. Maybe this indicates some level of prudishness on my part, more than I recognized before. Regardless, I’ve been struggling with this post. So I’ll just talk about my fears as thoroughly and authentically as I can, and hope that I won’t cringe later.
On Monday, (yes, 11/11, checking in at 11) I will have both of my breasts removed. While this may seem obvious, it keeps occurring to me with a start that they will be gone permanently. Not just until treatment is completed, which is sort of what feels like should happen, but forever. These parts of my body that are so personal and private to me, will first be taken to a lab to be coldly and clinically dissected for evidence of disease by someone I don’t know and wouldn’t recognize me on the street, and ultimately just be added to biohazard trash, along with needles, gauze, plastic bits of disposable medical equipment, etc. Someone who I don’t know is going to see and touch my breasts without me there to give permission, and then will throw them away. That feels unreal to me. And more than a little unfair.
And these parts of my body, they mean something to me. I actually like them. They feel more integral to who I am than, say, my elbow or my little toe. I think that’s in part because they are a huge symbol of my personal gender identity. Maybe this feels counterintuitive, since I joke so much about how little attention I put toward valuing my appearance. But for me, it’s maybe because of that fact that they are important. They are the one consistent part of me that make me feel feminine, and I like that. They do this without requiring me to put on make-up, do my hair, or put time and thought into my wardrobe. So they’re like my lazy femininity (which, now that I think of it, is an apt description of my gender identity itself). But the point is, this personal and important part of my body will be gone forever in less than a week, and I’m experiencing that as a profound loss. I hear other women experience this same process somewhat eagerly, like they can’t wait to have their diseased breasts removed. And that makes sense — the surgery is literally lifesaving. But that’s not how I feel. I am definitely grieving.
The other main thing I’m feeling is dread. Dread about a few things, the first of which is my appearance. Let’s face it, I don’t have a boyish figure, so this post-mastectomy look isn’t going to go well. I will have no curves up top, will still have my ever-growing mid-section, and my surgeon just told me that my chest bone protrudes more than that of the average woman, which will be more obvious after surgery. Lovely. People keep asking why I don’t just wear prosthetic breasts if I’m so concerned about how I’ll look. And I get it, easy fix, or so it seems. But for those who know me well, know that I have the tendency to be overly literal, to over-explain things that don’t actually need explanation. When I don’t, it feels like I’m not telling the whole truth. And that’s how prosthetics feel when I think about them. Like I’d need to explain to everyone I come in contact with that they’re not actually my REAL breasts, should the subject come up. Not that I generally (or ever) engage in conversations with just anyone about my breasts, but the feeling is still there for me. It’s also the downside of having been so open about my treatment. Everyone knows that I am having a double mastectomy, so wearing prosthetics feels like an extremely transparent lie. I recognize this as a strange little quirk of mine, and I don’t feel this way about others who choose to wear prosthetics, but I have decided that if it doesn’t feel authentic, I can’t do it. So, I’m left with this impending body shape that our society views as weird, and I’m finding I care about that more than I thought I would. In fact, as I get closer to surgery, I rarely think about it without crying. And I think about it a lot.
Related to that, I also dread seeing people for the first time after surgery. It’s like how I felt about seeing people after going bald, only more pronounced, because it’s forever and way more personal. I’m dreading the first inevitable, furtive glances that people who know me will naturally give me, curiously taking in the difference in my appearance. I’m dreading the urge I will have to scan their faces for signs of pity, and the defensiveness I will feel when I find it there. I’m dreading hugs. Hugs will feel different. Closer maybe? Less soft? Physically uncomfortable and/or painful? All of that plus more I’m not thinking of, and yet I know I’ll want the hugs. Or at least I think I will. I’m a hugger.
I’m scared about how I’ll feel emotionally after surgery. To wake up, and take that first look myself, and have it all hit me. Because while it feels real to me now, I’m aware that I have no idea how it will feel until after surgery. And so all of this, all of these reasons for dread will no longer be hypothetical, but will be my new reality. And it feels like that will likely feel like a sad reality, at least at first while I adjust. I’m scared that the adjustment will take a while; I talked to a lovely woman the other day who spoke openly to me about her mastectomy three years prior, and she still choked up. I don’t want to be sad about this in three years. I want to be happily engaged in my post-cancer and post-grad school life. But life keeps showing me that I don’t always get to pick how things go.
The most recent thing I’m feeling is this unease related to time. Not only are the days until my surgery flying by, but it just occurred to me that, practically, I have less time than others. Three or fours fewer hours. For my family waiting at the hospital, or others waiting elsewhere who are aware of the time that surgery will take place, they have all of those hours until surgery is over. I have until I get anesthesia. Then I wake up without experiencing the interim. And while I of course don’t want to be aware of the act of surgery, I’m feeling a little panicky at the idea of losing those hours. Those are my hours, and I don’t get to experience them. They are being taken from me, just like my breasts are, and I can’t do anything about it.
So this is how I’m anticipating surgery. This unease, this dread, this grief, punctuated by moments of just wanting it to be over, open to the possibility that maybe I’ll feel just fine and will actually like my body more. Until I know that, though, my breath catches more, my attention jumps all over the place, the lump in my throat grows.
As a practical matter, for those who are nervous with and for me, my sister will update my blog on my surgery day, after she hears how it went. Hopefully she won’t abuse this responsibility and share stories or pictures of my painfully awkward teen years, but she’s an older sibling, so who knows.
nopinkribbonsplease 
I’ve been reading all along but not always commenting, feeling lucky to get to read about how you are and what you are experiencing.
Yes, this is such a profound loss (on top of other losses). And unreal and unfair. Your frankness is a gift to the world. It sounds like you’re being as present as you can be with all these intense feelings while trying to be open to possibilities you can’t predict–even that is hard.
I will be thinking of you on Monday and I continue to hold you in my heart.
Lauri, This was the most difficult for me to read, for reasons I find hard to own. It has been such a soulful message to those of us who have had such a personal look into what you are thinking and living. Everyone who has been privileged to read these blogs has been moved beyond where they were to a new understanding of what countless women have experienced, but the vast majority would be unable to relate with such articulate feeling. Your ability is amazing and you have a gift for which you will at sometime realize rewards. I can honestly say your writing is really touching everyone who reads it, some of whom are excellent writers in their own right. Thank you, Lauri, for this personal and authentic view into a mind of real integrity. Mom
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Lauri, thank you for sharing, for including us in your most personal battles and victories. You have quite the way with words and have touched all of us profoundly. You are in my prayers and I know you will be in good hands. My sister-in-law also had a double mastectomy and chose to have breast reconstruction. You are right-we do consider them part of our femininity. Thank goodness there is more to us than those two parts of our anatomy-you are still wonderful, with or without them. They don’t define YOU as a person. Grieve-it’s okay-but know that you will still be YOU and loved just the same as always.
I’ve had limited experience with this…both from female and male friends….Everyones experience is different, so I don’t know if this helps or not…. People I know who grieved a lot before the procedure described a strange relief when it was over. As if, all the dread and fear and loss happened before it was done, and they were able to continue forward positively afterwords. Love you Lauri. Good luck with everything.
(((just big hugs)))
I’m with you on this. I only lost my right one, but I hate the way I look, I hate my prosthetic, I hate being lopsided, I hate that I’m not just flat on that side, but scooped out, hollow. I hate losing half my wardrobe because I can’t wear even slightly low necklines any more. What I love is being cancer free. For now, anyway. And I’m having reconstruction. I want my cleavage back! Good luck.
Your post made me very emotional, and speechless. All I can say is that my heart goes out to you. I hope the procedure went well yesterday.
Good luck to you and your blog friends will be rooting for you!
Reblogged this on benotmane2.
Lauri, I hope that your surgery went well and that you are okay today. The last post that you submitted about all of the feelings you are experiencing was so moving. I could understand how you feel about all of it – it seemed like something I would feel as well even though I have not had to go through what you are dealing with. I hope that you feel better today and that everything went well. Take care!!
Susan
I am trying to be empathetic. It is hard to imagine such a procedure. I assume their is no option. I recently had my teeth removed and wear dentures. I know it is small comparative to what you are doing. But that sucks and I hate it. So what you are going through is much more that me. I can only wish you the best of luck. With time it may help. But maybe not. Just be strong.
Thank you for sharing this personal journey, Lauri. Your writing is captivating, and I really appreciate your honesty and insight about the whirl of emotions pre-surgery. I hope the surgery went well, and I look forward to following your blog.
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I just went through this and have posted humorous Boob Reports on my blog. You may want to check them out! I love my bionic boobs. I’ll say a prayer for you.
Be strong! A stranger wishes you the best of luck and send you a big hug!!
this is so powerful
Very brave post, hope your surgery went well and you make a speedy recovery.
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I pray that everything went well and that you recover quickly – physically and emotionally. I remember how upset my grandmother was after her masectomy; I don’t think she had the option of reconstruction and being a woman who loved to dress up, it was very difficult for her to deal with her changed body. I must have been 9 years old at the time and I still remember vividly the intensity of her grief.
I just read your blog for the first time today. This post. It moved me. I cannot relate at all, but I can empathize. You are incredibly brave – even to be writing so openly and honestly about your fears and feelings. I know you are helping many people – even the ones without cancer. Say a prayer for you! And going to check now to see what your sister’s update says as it’s the 13th today and you will have already had this surgery. Blessings.
Hugs now and hugs later. I cannot imagine, but appreciate your ability to share. You are not alone.
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i came across your blog this cold morning in alabama. i hope your surgery went well and you are feeling good care, comfort and peace
Sending you gentle blogging hugs, good vibes and positivity.
I hope the surgery went well and that you are recovering as well as can be expected. I think it is when you mentioned that your breasts would be thrown away… that seems just so tragic and such a strange thing to happen to a body part.
I’m sad for you. But I’m really glad I got to read this. Sending you good thoughts.
Thank you for sharing this touching and honest perspective. You’re so right, many women seem so eager to have this surgery that it must feel like there is no room for your (very natural) grieving. I have no experience with this, but I imagine myself feeling much the same. I wish you all the best things as you navigate this.
You sure are a courgaeous person. You will surely handle it with grit, determination and finesse. Best wishes.
WOW. I am floored at this post. First, all the light and blessings and comfort to you. Second, I wish I could have written this post for my upcoming surgery (hysterectomy). Third, I have a rare genetic syndrome that puts me high risk for breast cancer. Many of my doctors are talking to me about a PBM. I have ZERO breast cancer, or really any cancer if my family, so I’m not really there yet. I pray I don’t have my hand forced. I’m doing the hysterectomy for other reasons, but to get rid of my uterine cancer risk is job one. I’m following your blog now. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings on this.
Reblogged this on How my heart speaks and commented:
So moving
I love your blog name. I love that you wrote this, and that it found oodles of people at the same time Dr. Cohan danced into the OR for her surgery. (I think she’s badass, but it’s not how ANY of the rest of us approached that dreadful day.) It’s important to recognize the loss. Almost two years later, I’m still not “me.” But I am still ME! My best friend, crying and commiserating the night before my surgery said, “… it’s your house!” And she was right. And the house is altered forever.
Because my husband is a plastic surgeon and specializes in breast reconstruction, of course I wonder about that side of things for you. Of course, it’s not always an option or a desire, but now that I’ve read this, I’m all invested in your healthy, happy future and whatnot. (Side effect of blogging: strangers caring about you.)
Love and prayers to you…
Britt
Hi Lauri, I hope the op went well and wish you a speedy recovery. I have just come across your blog on freshly pressed. You are amazing, incredibly brave and I admire your openness. I had a bilateral mastectomy just over a year ago and have never looked back. I kept a brave face till I came round after the op and had a major break down but after a frank conversation with my partner I pulled up my socks and have kept moving forward ever since. You are not this experience, you are not your boobs, you are still the incredible woman that you have always been, nothing can ever take that away from you. It will feel strange and you will go through a lot of emotions, conflicting even from one day to the next but that’s okay. Your human and we are complex beings. There’s no genetic right or wrong way to deal with this, just your way because that will be right for you. Sending you all my very best wishes, Sarah x
Thank you for sharing such a personal side of your life. It helps me understand a bit more as I deal with friends in my own life going through the cancer struggle. I have the same authenticity issue that you mentioned, if someone compliments me on my hair for instance I feel the need to go on and on about how my sister did it or whatever. So I understand that need to be authentically you. God bless you in your recovery.
Best of luck to you. I’m also body-blogging about my upcoming heart surgery. I commend you on putting yourself out there for all to see. I hope your recovery is speedy and peaceful. http://www.robovalve.wordpress.com/
good
I’ve been out in the blogosphere for about two years now, and this is probably the most poignant and honest piece of writing I’ve ever read – I could tell you poured every last ounce of your heart and soul into it. I’m so glad you got FPed because your writing is going to have the ability to touch thousands of people now. There are so many women out there who are going to benefit from your bravery – you are allowing other breast cancer survivors the comfort of knowing that they’re not alone.
This quote from you hit me like a ton of bricks… “These parts of my body that are so personal and private to me, will first be taken to a lab to be coldly and clinically dissected for evidence of disease by someone I don’t know and wouldn’t recognize me on the street, and ultimately just be added to biohazard trash, along with needles, gauze, plastic bits of disposable medical equipment, etc. Someone who I don’t know is going to see and touch my breasts without me there to give permission, and then will throw them away…”
I don’t know quite what to say about it, except WOW!! It was such a raw, and heartbreaking perspective; one that I had never considered before. I’m truly sorry for your loss – you have every right in the world to grieve over the loss of your breast friends. I hope you allow yourself that right, and don’t let anyone to take it away from you. And whether your grief takes three months or three years to get through, you WILL get through it. Don’t rush it. I think when we try to sprint through the process, raw emotional scars don’t heal properly – and that’s when you find old wounds opening up when you least expect it.
I wish you all the best through your healing and recovery, and wish you many, many happy and healthy years ahead.
Take care,
Linda
Hope your surgery went well, speedy recovery! I’m a 6 yr cancer survivor, I understand everything you’re talking about. Your body and your soul will heal and make you a stronger person. Hugs!
Take baby steps on recovery. Yes, you are losing a part of our femininity but you are gaining your life. You can decide at a later date how you want to handle this. Right now just get past the surgery (which you have) and then make your decisions when you have had time to experience grief. That takes as long as it takes. You are strong you have already proved that so now take your time to do what makes you feel right.
Thank you for laying out such complex and difficult authenticity so clearly, expressing some very difficult and tender griefs. I hope that your healing, in every way, goes well
A friend of mine had to have her breasts removed, too. She was a little full figured – and they just rebuilt her breasts with her own body fat from down there – and it worked. Would that be an option for you, too? No “silicon mountains” – just your own curvy hillside rearranged …
Two months ago I had heart valve replacement surgery and wrote about it in my blog in three short posts, one of them a poem. I’m not sure but I think in the future those posts will not mean as much to me as yours will to you, because yours are fuller, longer, capturing more of your experience. Through them, we are really there will you (to an extent, anyway) and in the future, it will be, I think, a powerful experience for you to reread these. Thank you for writing them.
I hope your surgery went well. I chanced on your blog while checking freshly pressed today, and your blog really spoke to me, since I am dealing with something that has a lot of baggage to deal with as well. Mine is that I was progressing to cervical cancer, and recently had a large chunk of my cervix removed, and I started blogging to deal with some of the mental trauma. I can’t imagine dealing with losing my breasts, because dealing with what I have has been way too much. I really hope things improve, and thank you for writing this blog. We all need to speak up about these kinds of cancers, and how they affect us mentally.
I’m praying for your speedy recovery. I recently had my second bladder cancer surgery. No fun for me. I want you to be positive and keep your headup. Modern technology has come a long ways to making surgery and recovery life saving. Keep us posted!
Mr.MakingUsmile
Not sure where you are regarding your surgery, hope it all came out okay.
Thank you for being brave enough to share this. It is strange and unsettling how much of our identity is wrapped up in our appearances or our reproductive system. I had to have a hysterectomy in 2008 (at the age of 25). I was terrified and uncontrollably weepy beforehand, and I was shocked at how much I grieved afterward for a person who never wanted children anyway. There were so many mixed emotions surrounding my sexuality, my womanhood (whatever that means), and my identity.
I hope your surgery went as well as it could, and that your road to recovery is full of self-discovery and growth, even when it’s hard. Best of luck to you.
Hope you are recovering from surgery. I had a right-sided mastectomy in August and I do recognise a lot of your feelings of loss and grief. And your feelings about prostheses being fake (let alone reconstructions). Though I have started wearing one some of the time.
I am fully recovered from surgery and am very well physically, but still get sad jolts re my loss, though I’ve never been into make-up and beauty regimes and high fashion. I think it takes a long time —
All the very best. It feels and is lonely, but it does me good somehow to read of your experience so plainly put.
Reblogged this on One Lump or Two and commented:
Another blogger going through it who says it how it is — and the following is my comment to her:
“Hope you are recovering from surgery. I had a right-sided mastectomy in August and I do recognise a lot of your feelings of loss and grief. And your feelings about prostheses being fake (let alone reconstructions). Though I have started wearing one some of the time.
I am fully recovered from surgery and am very well physically, but still get sad jolts re my loss, though I’ve never been into make-up and beauty regimes and high fashion. I think it takes a long time —
All the very best. It feels and is lonely, but it helps me somehow to read of your experience so plainly put.”
thank you for sharing your experiences..
Wow! I hope your surgery went well and that you are recuperating well. I don’t really know what to say (I’m usually full of words) but please know that I care and I’ll say a prayer for you. May God give you peace that surpasses understanding in this tumultuous and uncertain times.
Thank you for sharing. Sending you
hugs and hoping you’re feeling well now after your surgery. X
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