I never went to the oncologist in between my mastectomy and diagnosis of cancer. I just wanted the surgery and recovery. I didn’t want to think about anything else. So when he told me I needed surgery my husband and mom listened to details I don’t remember. I did ask if I could have a double mastectomy. I was told no. Based on my biopsy. I didn’t push for it.
I was so incredibly sad that I was losing my breast. I didn’t know if I wanted reconstruction right away though. I just wasn’t sure yet. I wanted to keep myself. Mine. I deserved to be whole dammit. My brain was already battered and bruised. Now this. I gazed in the mirror for a long time the night before. When I changed before surgery I tried to avoid looking again. I felt like I had already said goodbye. My body. It had betrayed me again. I loved her so but was angry. Goodbye was done.
My surgery went well enough. I had become concerned when I was still awake in Operating room. My arms were strapped to the sides of the table and everything. I am thinking, hmmm, this is strange. I was having a conversation with the doctor and they thought I was going down. The anaesthesiologist was shocked. Recovery was incredibly painful for me. I think I have the so called “red hair Gene”. My dads side is all red heads. They gave me morphine and it didn’t do squat. I sat there. Feeling the red hot sear . Blinking and my eyes just felt like sandpaper. It was awful but I started to get loopy.