My thoughts in August

Aug 15

I met with the local plastic surgeon on Monday. The news was not good. I don't have enough body fat to donate to build a breast. Reconstruction would have to be with an implant and the two breasts will never look symmetrical. It would involve a long series of surgeries to achieve in the end what would be one fake breast, with no sensation and an augmented one possibly also with no sensation. Not what I wanted to hear.

I found a psychiatrist here in town that would see me. Hopefully we can get my panic attacks under control without interfering with the Tamoxifen.

Tomorrow, I drive the 70 miles into Orlando to meet with the doctors at MD Anderson. I report to financial at 9:00, see the plastic surgeon at 10:00, oncologist at 1:00 and the surgeon who will do the lopping off at 3:00. So much for the "team" approach.

And to think I postponed treatment on the premise that I would be signing papers on the house last Friday. How ironic. The house deal is not dead, but it is very, very sick. If I close at all it will be a while longer. The dispute is between the sellers and my lender. It has nothing to do with me or my credit worthiness. I will spare you the details, but it is a mess. And I have no Plan B.

Every medical professional says, "YOU CANNOT WAIT. YOU CANNOT WAIT". Whether I get the house or not is immaterial at this point. I don't want to be stupid and loose my lymph nodes, too. I have to make a decision where to go and do this right away. All I can tell you is the mere thought of waking up to see a gaping void on my chest where my breast used to be and a huge scar is unbearable.  I will probably end up recuperating at my brother's house. Poor Tim!

I am extremely disappointed they caught this early. Extremely disappointed. I wish it were so advanced that there was no hope for a cure and it would  kill me in 6 months. I am not afraid of dying. But I don't want to live this way. Unfortunately, I have no choice.

Once I get it behind me maybe I can find a new normal. There will never be a "pre-cancer" Amy again. She is dead and gone forever. There will only be a "post-cancer" Amy. I am terrified of losing my sexuality. It is extremely important to me and I am not ready to give it up.

But everybody says I have face up to it, get used to it, and get over it, to not set my expectations too high because I will surely be disappointed. I have to come to grips with the fact that I am not going to be the same as before. I never will be.

This is my own personal tragedy. I am devastated beyond words. There is nothing good about it. Nothing.  I will never look at my body again without grieving.

Once I get it behind me, in the next week or two, depending on when they can schedule me, then I can stop fearing the pain and the mutilation. I can start the healing process with all the physical and psychological scars that entails. I will never be happy about this. Never. It will alter my life irrevocably and if I had a choice I would choose not to live my life scarred, maimed and disfigured. I have to find opportunities and set goals for my future, even though I am skeptical right now. 

When I look down at my right breast it is my way saying goodbye. Everyone else may as well say goodbye, too.

Aug. 20

One of the things I have learned about blogging is that you really have to be careful what you say. People out there are reading what I am writing and I have already hurt some feelings.

I would apologize but then it really is all about me. I am completely consumed with everything that is happening to me and all my feelings, all the terror, all the anger, all the sorrow, the grief and the loss.

Of course, I realize that other people are also dealing with issues in their lives; aging parents, health concerns, finances, etc. And you know what? I don't care. I am indulgently immersed in my own problems and for that I am to be forgiven.

So many people are dealing with elderly parents at this time. It gives us a common circumstance that we can use to relate to each other. It's just that my situation is compounded by so many things.

 
I wish everyone all the best with their parents. I know what they are going through. Maybe one day we can all get together when all of this is behind us. It could take up to a year before I am put back together again. The doctors say it will take a minimum of three surgeries and even then I will never be the same. For the rest of my days I will have to go around with fake boobs, dead plastic bags of silicone hammered to my chest with no feeling, no sensation. Is it any wonder that I don't want to live?

Aug 23

According to one of the plastic surgeons I consulted 15% of augmented breasts lose sensation. The other plastic surgeon put it at 5%. Either way, I have no choice. I don't have enough of my own tissue to construct a breast. My only option to be put back together is an implant. And as much as I find them abhorrent, the alternative is to go the remainder of my life with nothing on my chest at all. I would find that unbearable.
This means a third surgery 6 months down the road to augment the left side. Because it is free and clear of cancer there is no benefit of doing a bilateral mastectomy, not even for prophylactic reasons. But they will never look the same. The reconstructed breast will always be big and hard and in your face whereas the real breast will age naturally. There will never be symmetry. I can never hope for that. All that can be done is to mitigate the difference by opening up my cheat and inserting a plastic bag filled silicone on the left and risk losing  sensation there, too. You can see why I say there are no good choices.

The breast/sexual pleasure relationship is MOST DEFINITELY REAL! Sure the brain is involved; but I am also hard wired that way. The thought of losing that puts me over the edge and plunges me into the depths of despair.

Aug 29

I'm sorry for my friends are going through challenges with their parents. I guess we are not alone in dealing with intransigent elders. We are going through a rough patch. I can only hope that a year from now things will be better.

Some may ask what is next for me. I am trying to figure that out, "Am I a psych patient, or am I a cancer patient? Am I a cancer patient or a psych patient?"

Aug 29

Once I get all this behind me all of the craziness, the fear, the terror, the anxiety, the anger, the dread will go away. It's the waiting and the anticipation that is torturing me. These next two weeks will be like agony. I just want that stranger to lop it off as quickly as he possibly can. And have that other man shove a dead plastic bag of silicone in my chest so I can get on with my miserable life.

I am not going to change my breast size.  I love the way my breasts look and I think they beautiful just as they are. But they will never again look the way they do now.  One is going to be a dead piece of plastic sticking out, never falling naturally, hard and firm with no movement or bounce. The other one will be soft and age naturally but propped up from underneath by another plastic bag to simulate symmetry, which is unachievable.

I will go on with the rest my meaningless, despicable life a miserable, abnormal, deformed, lop-sided freak. Maybe not all the craziness will go away after this long, drawn out process is over. Remember, this going to take a minimum of 3 surgeries over a long period of time and cost thousands of dollars. At the end I will be worse off than I was before. I will never be happy with the results and how I will look.

Maybe the anxiety and the fear will go away, but the sadness never will.
Now who in his right mind would want to be around a woman like that?