Having made the decision to finally go ahead with tissue flap surgery, I had been thinking about (kinda dreading) how I wanted to tell my family and friends. I was certainly not going to have them discover my plans by reading this blog, although that certainly would be easier. (Like breaking up with someone on a post it note, though.)
I planned to broach the topic gently, beginning by reminding them that we always knew I would be going in for revision surgery at some point. I would slowly move on to laying out the new plan and my thinking behind it. But if you know me, you likely know that’s not how it went.
But first some context. Ever since I realized that revision surgery was not going to be enough, I had been wrestling with the “humiliation” of willingly going into another three surgeries; the first being a possibly worse recovery than my original mastectomy surgery, because of the procedures involved. The first surgery was to be proactive in my health, doing everything I could to prevent myself and my loved ones from going through what my mom (and we as her children) did.
But this second round now, well, now I’m just being vain, right? Perhaps that is what you’re thinking and I guess you wouldn’t be totally wrong. But I would argue, why shouldn’t I be when it comes to something so personal, something I’m so intimately familiar with and for better or worse, has some, albeit small, bearing on how I feel about myself? As I told the potential Dr. Right’s, I hope to have these “girls” for another 48 years; it’d be really nice if I liked them.
I’ve tried for the past two years to love them as though they were my own, but no matter how many positive affirmations I said out loud (replace every “i hate these damn things” thought with the more positive “at least they’re not likely to kill me”, they continued to feel like unwelcome alien invaders.
I had been worrying about bringing up what I was planning until the surgery was actually on the calendar and I was confident that I was making the right decision for me, but it obviously wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to having. Our family is close, but I feel like some of the more intimate details (ha, as if this whole topic isn’t intimate enough) could be testing those bonds of love. You try talking about boobs w/out talking about all that they entail and you’ll know why it’s preferable to keep some things a bit vague. And friends, well, not surprisingly there are some friends who it’s easier to have conversations with (lady folk) than others (men folk), of which my brother identifies as the latter. ;-D
So back to how and when the conversation happened. On a recent visit to my brother’s, during a commercial break on SNL, my darling husband just happened to bring up “your surgery” and damn if we weren’t off to the races. But of course, it did not go according to my meticulously thought out plan. Instead of taking it slow and working my way up to the news, I accidentally detonated the bombshell first thing; that I was going in for more than just revisions and basically in fact, almost starting over.
Do you know how difficult it is to discuss your upcoming “boob job” w/ your brother?! I sincerely hope you do not!
Me: So, yea, um, well, I’m basically planning on going under the knife again for an 8-12 hour surgery with a 4-5 day hospital stay to get these f’in “huge” gel filled, profoundly uncomfortable balloons out of my chest and going to have tissue and fat removed from my belly and moved up to my chest to sculpt new breasts. I will have a second surgery several months later to refine said “belly boobs” with further contouring and fat grafting. (Is that a thing…belly boobs should totally be a thing). A third surgery may follow depending on whether or not I need to have molehills sculpted from part of the new mountains to create new, well, you know…I’ll just leave it at that. Any tattooing, further fat grafting and any other minor revisions that I may need would take place during that third surgery.
My Brother:
Me: I know, I’m sorry. It’s a lot. I’m so sorry to be putting you all through this again.
Understanding Brother: No, I’m just sorry you’re having to go through it all again.
Me: Well, thank you, but I feel bad. I know this is a pretty serious pivot, but I didn’t want to say anything until I was absolutely sure that this was the route I wanted to go without a doubt.
Loving Brother: (I’m sure he said something super encouraging and lovely here, but damn if I can remember and I don’t want to put words into his mouth here anymore than I’m already doing.)
Me: Yea, the surgery is so long because it’s basically micro surgery where they have to reattach blood vessels to each other, often no wider than a human hair and work in tandem under a high powered microscope. It’s actually pretty cool and very few surgeons are trained in it and the ones I’m talking with excel in it. I’m lucky to have a couple of highly skilled micro surgeons in our area, but there are also a couple that are nationally renowned, in places like New Orleans and San Antonio whose primary focus are breast surgeries. Since these are complicated, specialized surgeries, many women actually end up traveling to see them and of course, the travel isn’t covered by insurance, but….
Kind Brother: (No words, but perhaps deer in headlights look on his face. I likely didn’t let him get a word in edgewise).
Me: Anyway, this was the surgery I originally wanted to do, but didn’t for many of these reasons/downsides and just decided that implants would be fine. NBD. That many, many women in fact went down that very route and were perfectly happy. But sadly, as much as I’ve tried to even just like them, ignoring how they look and more importantly, how they feel, just hasn’t worked out. These implants (and the damn expander experience to get them) and me were possibly always destined for a breakup.
Best Brother: I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this all again and we love you. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do.
Ok, so don’t hold me to this recollection word for word especially my family’s side. It was very late, had been a long, fun filled, but busy day, and we were all getting increasingly more horizontal on the couch while trying to stifle our yawns. But that was basically the gist.
I couldn’t be luckier to have people like my brother, dear sisters-in-law, and amazing husband in my corner. People who aren’t afraid to ask me the tough questions, but offer their encouragement and support with no strings attached. With them rubbing my shoulders, squirting water into my mouth and giving me the pep talks of my (their?) lives while they wipe the sweat from my brow, I feel as invincible as Rocky felt in the city of brotherly love. Cue his uplifting theme song that makes you want to run up the 100 million steps to the Philadelphia Museum of Art and pump your fists in the air!
It’s difficult to explain, but I also realize that I really don’t need to. Knowing in my heart that I’m making the right decision for me, knowing that it was incredibly hard decision to make, and also knowing that oftentimes the hardest, scariest, seemingly most monolithic decisions are the ones that can be the most life changing, usually in the right direction. Only with great risk comes great reward.
I don’t regret any of the decisions I’ve made leading up to this, even not just going w/ tissue surgery in the first place. Going through the initial mastectomy, the horrible expanders and finally, the awful, no good, horrible implants, I now know w/out a doubt that this is what I want to do and it will be worth all the blood, sweat and tears that may come.
I’ve come to realize that I deserve to have the best surgery experience, the best surgeon and the best possible outcome, for me. And finally really believe it.
I can’t and don’t expect anyone else to understand, but I do want people to know that I didn’t come to this decision lightly. Going through this process has already been worth it to me, but if sharing this small, private part of my life’s journey can help another woman feel supported and not alone in her own difficult decision, I’m forever grateful that I could help.
I’m not throwing in the towel or giving up on the belief that there is absolutely someone who can help me achieve my goals. It’s just round one.
Oh, well, that’s the round two bell…gloves are on and I’m finally ready to come out swinging.
Watch out, Rocky.
I love you, Andy!