A - Z of Breast Cancer: BOOB JOBS AND MORE

Brand new boobs, yay! The great thing about breast reconstruction is that you can have it any time, even ten or fifteen years after your mastectomy. I was lucky enough to have one of the few surgeons here who do reconstruction so the whole process was offered to me and spelled out in eye watering detail. My initial reaction to reconstruction was ‘Yep, I’m having that’, but that was when I thought it was a simple as popping in a tooth filling. I thought I’d be ready for my bikini photo shoot in a matter of weeks. Jordan and Posh manage it, why shouldn’t I? Then I found out what was involved.

Reconstructive surgery is not cosmetic surgery:

it involves extensive and complicated procedures that move tissue from other parts of the body; sometimes it involves abdominal surgery too. And of course it prolongs the time you are under anaesthetic, means more sites for infections, more wounds, more drains, and yet I would recommend it to everyone if for no other reason than it says: Business As Usual. For me it was a way of reassuring myself that I had every intention of being around for a very long time and so I would need both boobs, thank you.

Ugly sister syndrome

I was however, concerned that I would have one brand spanking new boob, all nubile and pert, and one 45 year old boob, all wilting and tired but I needn’t have worried. If there is a noticeable disparity between the old and the new your surgeon may offer to reduce, enlarge or lift the other boob so it doesn’t look like the ugly step sister. They can, apparently, even realign nipples. Mind boggling.

Job satisfaction

This might sound a bit daft but another reason I decided to go for reconstruction is because I had this fabulous surgeon whose reputation preceded her, and I thought it an awful waste of her talents if she just did the mastectomy alone. I felt that any old Ordinary Joe surgeon could do that. And this will sound even dafter, but I remember thinking she would prefer and even enjoy the task of reconstructing. I felt like I’d be boring her if I had the mastectomy alone. I did say it sounded daft. I am not trying to pretend I had my reconstruction so as to give my surgeon some job satisfaction but I do remember thinking all of this as they were talking me through the intricacies of the latissimus dorsi flap (which uses tissue from your back to form the new breast) and the tram flap which uses tissue from your abdomen in the same way. In the end I opted for a tissue expander (see under T) which I considered the least complicated reconstruction available and the only one that did not involve the word ‘flap’ (unfortunate semantic problem there) and so denied my surgeon that professional challenge anyway.

weirder and weirder

The breast care nurse was quick to point out to me that breast reconstruction is about symmetry and how you look in a bra. It is not about the naked breast. Even so, it is possible to have nipple reconstruction to improve the appearance of the breast. This can be done by tattooing or by taking skin from a part of the body that most closely resembles the colour and texture of the nipple. The skin is taken from a place I don’t want to think about and I am too bashful to describe but if you do want to imagine it, then think of the part of your anatomy that has the darkest, purple-est skin and you’ll get the picture. Bleuch!.

B IS ALSO FOR BOOB CLUB

Yes I said, BOOB club, not book club. Before I went for my surgery the breast care nurse fully prepared me for the experience. I knew about everything from chest drains to how the TV worked. She did an excellent job. She also told me how the women on the ward bonded together to give mutual support and encouragement; a bit like the WI but without the cakes. So I knew what to expect but I did not relish the prospect. A disparate group of women would be forced together and we might have nothing in common except our impending or very recent breast surgery. I saw a made for TV drama unfolding with little cameos telling each person’s story. Somebody should write that. I’d watch it. I imagined us sitting round discussing our stitches and the sizes of our tumours and the whole sorry business, and I thought, No. I will not join your club. I would go on the ward and I would say nothing or pretend that I was in for an appendectomy or some other non breast related procedure.

Don't talk to me, I'm deaf

As it turned out I was on the ward less than twenty minutes when a woman called to me from the bed opposite asking what I was in for. I was mortified and angry and it showed on my scowling face. I wanted to turn from her, but I have this problem that means I can’t ignore people. If people ask me something I have to answer them, no matter what. I would be rubbish in Guantanamo, they’d only have to ask me one leading question and I’d fess up to anything. And that’s what happened on the ward, I wanted to turn from the woman pretending I was hearing impaired but instead I just stood there like a dummy and told her the truth. Instantly I had membership to The Boob Club. And I was right, we did discuss stitches and tumour sizes and the amount of fluid in our drains. And the nurse was right; we did support each other.

Read more at http://breastcancercares.blogspot.com/