BRCA JOURNAL: CHAPTER FIVE

Couni stayed with me. In a druggy haze, I watched Grey’s Anatomy and dozed off.

At around midnight I was woken up by the nurse to take my vitals, so I got up to go to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. I studied my face and with a sense of resolve, decided it was time. I pulled down my gown, unfastened the surgical bra and looked into the mirror. I felt my throat start to close. I looked down directly at my breasts to take a closer look. I was horrified. It became difficult to breathe. The sharp taste of regret was caught in the back of my throat, blocking my airway. My eyes welled up, but I refused to let myself cry. There was no going back. I told myself that I would just have to make the best of a very bad situation.

My breasts had been reconstructed with temporary implants called expanders. A few weeks following surgery, I would return to my plastic surgeon’s office once a week to have the implants filled until my breasts reached my desired size. Eventually, I would have a second surgery to replace the expanders with permanent silicone implants, but the expanders were needed to stretch my chest wall so that my pectoral muscles would be able to hold the permanent implants in place. Eventually, I would have perky, no-bra-required, beautiful boobs, but what I saw before me was grotesque. Intellectually, I knew that it was all part of the process, but I wasn’t prepared for what I was seeing. My breasts were shrunken and deformed.

After a few deep breaths, I put my bra and gown back on and opened the bathroom door. By then, Couni was sitting up in her cot.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I made a mistake.”

That is all that was said. Couni didn’t argue with me; she just quietly helped me back into bed and kissed me on the forehead. I squeezed back the tears that were burning the corners of my eyes and hit the button for another dose of morphine.

Not Ready Yet

Drains had been placed in each of my breasts to collect excess fluid. The drains would have to remain in place for about two weeks. It turned out that the drain on my right side was hitting a nerve and causing disabling pain. They could not move it or re-insert it; I would just have to deal with it until it was time for it to come out. Though I was expected to leave the hospital after two nights, I had to stay an extra day until I could get the pain more under control. Truth be told, I didn’t feel much better on day three, but I was definitely ready to escape the dreary walls of my hospital room.

Fortunately, before my surgery I had made arrangements to stay at a hotel for two more nights before returning home. I originally made the reservations because I didn’t want my kids to see me if I was feeling terrible. I had gone back and forth on whether to keep the reservation, but in the end, I was very glad I did.

Couni and my dear friend Rose stayed at the hotel with me.

They helped me take my first shower, figure out a system to hide my drains (I was obsessed with making sure the kids couldn’t see them) and got me on a pain med schedule so that the pain was under control by the time I returned home.

They also helped me mourn. I had experienced a real loss with the surgery and needed to grieve. They never offered any hollow attempts at consolation. There was no “There, there, it will be okay” or “Don’t worry, it will be fine.” They listened to me (at all hours of the day and night) and reminded me why I had chosen to have the surgery in the first place. We wound up having some great laughs amidst it all, and eventually they got me to a place where I could accept my situation.

Time to go Home

Five days after my surgery, I returned home. My brother had taken the kids out for a while so that I could get situated before they saw me for the first time. When they returned, hearing that I was back, they ran to me and immediately began competing for my attention. They were all speaking at once and handing me pieces of candy to unwrap. “Open this, mom.” “Here, mom.” “Here’s my wrapper.” They were completely unaware of the emotional and physical hell I had been through. To them I was the same.