Breasts
"The trouble about always trying to preserve the health of the body is that it is so difficult to do without destroying the health of the mind." ~ G.K. Chesterton
When I had my blood tests, mammogram, etc. last week, I also had the opportunity to see my plastic surgeon who will be doing the reconstruct. He's fairly young and very funny. That's good because it was one of the most uncomfortable medical exams I've ever had. They always send their minnions in first to break the bad news to you. And yes, there was indeed bad news.
One of his guys (I can't remember what his title is) informed me that they will probably have to reduce the size of the right breast after they commit surgery on the (previous) left breast. By a cup size. It turns out that I have more breast than tummy. Who knew this would ever be a bad thing?
The whole process is suppposed to go on for about a year. First reconstruction of the breast itself. Then, after about six months, they will craft a nipple. (I think I know where this tissue comes from, but I hope to god I'm wrong.) After that heals, they will tattoo the color on to create an aureole and make the nipple look normal.
Then, as I said before, they may have to do a breast reduction surgery on the other breast. And, to top it off, they may need to do some corrective surgery on my stomach. Just in case the tummy tuck looks weird. They may have to liposuction. How many people do I know who would love to have liposuction? Tons. I, on the other hand, just want this whole business to be over with. Liposuction be damned.
As usual, I have absolutely no control over any of this. I'm almost over the depression this contributed to my ongoing depression which has been ratcheted up by the death of my beloved huskie. Life continues to suck.
Oh, so back to the exam. The nurse who led me to the exam room gave me a pair of "photo panties" to put on. They were just a tad more than a thong. I steeled myself for photographs. The surgeon came in and took a look at the place where my breast used to be, then he told me to stand up on a little pedestal attached to the exam table. He made me take my gown off and studied the rest of my body. Then he made me turn around so he could look at the back of my body. It's been years since I've had something like that happen. Usually it was associated with quite pleasurable experiences. This time, not so much. I was prepared for photos, but not standing there in front of several people while way too little clothing on.
I was looking forward to seeing my surgeon who I would divorce my husband for in a second if given the chance. He seemed tired. I've never seen him even look a little winded; he's the surgical equivalent of the energizer bunny. I have to wonder if he lost a patient. He not only specializes in breast cancer, but skin cancer as well. Lots of those folks don't make it. We just don't pay enough attention to the spots that arise on our bodies until it's too late. Then there's always the breast cancer mortality rates to consider--every 13 minutes, a woman dies of breast cancer. I adore this man. I hope it's only fatigue and not grief.
Well, enough of this. I have to go to radiation. Have I mentioned lately how much my life sucks? Well, it does. A lot.
America held hostage day 1595
Bushism of the day:
"I'm going to spend a lot of time on Social Security. I enjoy it. I enjoy taking on the issue. I guess, it's the mother in me." --Washington D.C., April 14, 2005
P.S. I can't believe Karl Rove isn't being indicted.
