Fresh out of surgery!

But after my initial surgery in January, I honestly forgot about my second operation scheduled for April!  At least, I didn’t obsess on it like I did with my first operation, anticipating the pain and recovery every minute leading up to surgery time.

After all, I kinda grew used to to my temporary implants, despite all their quirks and abnormalities!  They really didn’t bother me very much, so I never dwelled on counting down the days until my exchange surgery.

Truth be told, these implants felt like half-full water balloons, which is kinda what they were.  There was also this rock-solid magnetic port on the top that my doctor used to inject more saline into the implant and make the implant (and surrounding tissue and muscles) grow – hence, why these call these bad boys “expanders”.

One night I actually tried to stick a refrigerator magnet to this spot on my boobs, hoping for a new party trick.  I mean, how funny would that have been??  Alas, the magnets at home don’t stick like the magnets in the doctor’s office.  What a bummer.

It also helped that my surgeon didn’t over-expand my temporary implants.  A lot of doctors need to make them them a lot bigger than the size you want in the end, so women end up with X-rated breasts before they can downgrade to their normal-sized permanent implants.  But my expanders were filled to about 375 cc’s of saline, which translates to a plump C-cup.  So they felt a little voluptuous but totally manageable.

I could even run several miles with my expanders, just like I used to before my surgery in January.  By mid-March, my chest no longer felt sore after jogging around the city.  One afternoon I ran past all the the beautiful Cherry Blossoms sprinkled throughout the national monuments in downtown Washington, D.C. and felt like the perfect picture of health – expanders and all!

Just as my body was back to its prime, I realized it was time for surgery again.  Ugh, ugh, ugh!  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was excited to get my permanent soft, squishy silicone implants.  But I was not excited to get cut open again, recover again and get back into shape again.

After all, I had the image of the first surgery stuck in my head.  I pictured myself cooped up in bed for weeks with nasty drains and a long list of heavy pain medication and stool softeners to take every other hour.  I imagined myself unable to leave my house alone, dependent upon the kindness of strangers to help open doors and lift groceries.  And strangers aren’t too friendly in my neck of the woods, especially for a young woman who looks strong enough to do everything on her own.  Man, I thought, this second surgery is really going to stink!

A few days before my operation, I called the plastic surgeon’s office to get any last minute details.  The nurse said the procedure would last about two hours, and I would probably need drains again.  What?!  I thought one of the perks of this surgery is that you don’t actually need drains!  It’s supposed to be quick and drainless!  Oh, hum bug, again.

So Wednesday morning finally rolls around, and it’s show time.  I wish I could say it was a blur, but I remember every little detail.  My boyfriend and I woke up at 5:00am so we could be at the hospital bright and early since my surgery was scheduled for 7:30am.

I was nervous all over again.  Before my mastectomy, the only other surgery I had was to remove one measly wisdom tooth.  I still have the other three.  Although this exchange surgery is allegedly pocket change compared to the mastectomy with initial reconstruction.  So I honestly thought I’d be calm, but I was wrong!  I was totally freaking out!

Before I got to the hospital, I thought to write down a laundry list of last-minute questions.  First and foremost, will I get fat?  I mean, seriously!  Last time I remember waking up from anesthesia, it looked like I soaked up the whole hospital’s supply of saline.  So I just wanted to get that one out of the way from the get go.  The doctors assured me they’d scale back on the saline for this quick procedure.  Okay, phew.

I also wanted to be clear about how the girls should look after surgery.  I wanted round implants, and I wanted D-cups.  My plastic surgeon took a few different sizes into the operating room to literally try on, so I wanted to make sure I contributed my two cents.  After all, I couldn’t look down and give any of the implants a thumbs up or thumbs down.  It was up to the doc to ultimately decide.

Lastly, I really wanted the anesthesiologist to knock me out.  Like before the operating room.  Last time she gave me a nice cocktail of anti-anxiety and pain medication before I ever entered the cold, sterile operating room with all the knives and scalpels.  The pre-anesthesia blend was so strong that I don’t remember any of this room!  It was amazing, and I wanted it again.  They said, sure, no problem.

So once the last consent is signed, the anesthesiologist turns to me and hooks up the cocktail.  My boyfriend gives me one last kiss goodbye, at least for a few hours, and I wait for the medicine to finally sooth my frantic nerves and put me to sleep.

Well, guess what, the cocktail didn’t work like last time!  As they wheeled me down the hall and into the operating room, I kept repeating, “I’m still remembering!  I’m still remembering! I’m STILL remembering!”  The medicine was supposed to calm me down, but the longer I had my senses, the more freaked out I became.  I probably had the highest blood pressure in the hospital by the time they asked me to scootch from the gurney to the operating table.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and told the doctor, “I’m really nervous.”  She said that was completely normal, just breathe through the mask.  I nodded and took a big whiff.  Lights out.

All of the sudden I woke up.  Ah, yes, the post-op recovery ward.  I remember this place.  And, wait a minute, I’m not in that much pain.  My incisions hurt quite a bit, but it’s nothing like last time!  In January it literally felt like my chest had been flattened by a semi truck, and I struggled to take every breath under its crushing weight.  Even though there was no soreness, I told the nurse I was a 10 on the pain scale just to stay ahead of the pain.

I could also speak without any trouble, which was a great relief.  Last time when I woke up from anesthesia I couldn’t formulate my words because the breathing tube had been in my throat for so long.  Not a problem now!  I talked my nurses ears off, that’s for sure.

Then I realized there were no drains!  Praise the Lord!!  The nurse told me that the surgeon usually only uses drains on patients who choose the “gummi bear” implants, which are already shaped, unlike my round silicone implants.  So I was out of the woods!  Maybe this recovery wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Not after long, my sweet boyfriend reappeared.  He said I looked as if I woke up from a nap.  I wasn’t swollen from the saline drip, and my eyes were very awake.  I guess that’s all it was really, just a quick cat nap.  Although not every nap you wake up with new breasts.  Gosh, that was the best nap ever!

As the Vicodin and other pain medication kicked in, I felt more dizzy and nauseous.  Oh great, I was adamant with the doctors that I did not want to feel nauseous.  And here it was, the worst feeling in the whole wide world.  I guess you can’t expect your doctors to do absolutely everything!  The nurses quickly pumped me up with anti-nausea medication, which made me very sleepy but helped tremendously.

Then Lisa, my favorite nurse ever, came to visit me!  She is my plastic surgeon’s nurse, and you couldn’t ask for a better one.  Lisa explained that I received 550 cc’s in each side with 45 implants.  I knew I started with 375 cc’s in each side before my surgery, but with the mass of the expander included it was really like 475 cc’s.  So, wow, my plastic surgeon was able to get me a little bigger in the operating room!

But what in the heck does 45 mean??  My friend Elina showed me this nifty website that explained the difference between 10, 15, 20, and 45 styles of round silicone implants.  Basically, the 45 implants have a little more projection than the rest.  My surgeons describes them as the “stilettos” of the round implants.

Within a couple of hours, the nurses were ready to get me out the door and on my way home.  I asked my boyfriend to take me by McDonald’s, where I ordered a hamburger, medium french fry, and an oreo McFlurry.  All of these were gone within a matter of minutes.  Then I was back in my bed by 12:30pm.  Within seven hours, the whole ordeal was completely over!

The only pain I experienced over the next couple of days was where my incisions were stitched up and healing.  I took Vicodin for the first two days.  Motrin for the third.  And by the fourth day I was on absolutely no pain medication!

It’s been nearly a week, and my surgeon instructed me to massage my breasts every day for a couple of minutes to prevent any scar tissue from building up.  Although my incisions are still a little tender, so I have to be gentle with my massaging.  Nonetheless, I’m back to work tomorrow, only six days after the surgery, and I feel great!  I think I’ll even go to the gym tomorrow after work!

Today I perhaps got the most exciting news since the time I got an A in college-level Calculus.  My surgeon told me that I could finally buy underwire bras again!  In fact, he encouraged me to wear them as soon as possible to keep my implants positioned correctly.  Dr. Spear said sometimes the implants can head South, so an underwire bra should keep them right where they belong.

So I wasted no time booking it from the doctor’s office to the nearest lingerie store.  I couldn’t wait to figure out my new bra size and to finally wear something other than a nylon sports bra!  I’ve been wearing nothing but a razorback Gap sports bra since my surgery in January.  It was time to finally feel feminine and pretty again.

The woman at the lingerie store was wonderful.  She looked at my body and immediately said 32D, without a doubt.  Holy cow, I was just barely a C-cup before my surgery, this is awesome!  Just to double check, she handed me a long line of fine European bras to try on in the fitting room.

The first one fit like a glove!  I tried on lacy bras, demi bras, padded bras, you name it.  Whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw perfect, perky, voluptuous breasts enveloped by the most beautiful satins and laces.  I realized I traded in my hereditary cancer risk for a beautiful new body without sacrificing any of my pride in the process of loosing my natural breasts.  Take that cancer, look what I got in return?  Who is laughing now? Hah!

I dipped into my savings and made a very rewarding purchase.  Before my mastectomy, I told myself I needed to use my savings to buy new, pretty bras when all was said and done.  And now I feel like a million bucks.

Tomorrow I’ll return to work and my life as normal.  It feels a little anticlimactic, to be honest.  Shouldn’t there be an award ceremony, like at the end of Mario Kart?  I envision myself standing on the 1st place pedestal with the confetti flying all around me and a big golden trophy floating ahead.  Instead, I’ll get to the office, check my email and rush out a few projects that have piled up in my absence.

At least I have my breasts and my life as my prize.  I can now live everyday more fully since breast cancer is not longer in my pursuit.  And I can finally go on living my life, going to work and counting my blessings every moment of the way.  Thank you, Memamma, I love you.

My name is Tamara Weinmann and I currently live in New Jersey.  I am 33 years old, married and a mother of a 6 year old boy and 2 girls, ages 4 and 1.  I recently underwent my prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction (March 21^st, 2011) and am still fresh on my journey to full reconstruction.  I am BRCA negative, but have a strong family history and have had many of my own breast ‘issues’ over the years!  I wrote this letter to my breast surgeon and plastic surgeon just last week.  It contains all my feelings and emotions and best describes where I am currently at.  If anyone would like to speak with me, I am open to sharing!  There have been so many wonderful, supportive and honest women that I have met and spoken with during this journey.  Please see my letter below.

Tamara Weinmann

Dear Dr. DiGioia and Dr. Hall-

I have thought a lot about what I want to say to you and write in this note, and I am sure I still won’t even be able to get close to saying everything that I feel.  Firstly, a very big thank you.  Thank you to you and Dr. Hall for performing my prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction (Dr. hall – we’ve still got a ways to go!). Dr. DiGioia, I want to thank you for welcoming me in your office all those years ago when I was just 21 years old.  I will forever be thankful to Dr. Brescia for recommending you to me!  Thank you for not turning me away, for not saying I was too young to have all these breast issues. Thank you for taking me, my concerns and my breasts seriously all these years – for not dismissing any concerns or thoughts I had.  You have monitored me closely, guided me through biopsies, lumpectomies, encouraged me and said it was ok for me to have more babies – my breasts would be ok in the meantime!  You have been my biggest supporter and advocate and I cannot thank you enough for that.  There are no words to describe how I feel for what you and Dr. Hall have done for me.  I know I said this in recovery, but you two will forever sit on a pedestal in my heart. You have given me relief, freedom of constant fear of breast cancer.  I no longer walk around with a huge weight on my shoulders.  I’m no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I no longer think about this disease 24 hours a day!  You have given my children a childhood free of a mother who is dealing with breast cancer.  You have given my husband a sane wife, who is not constantly paranoid about her breasts.  You have given my parents, and especially my mother the knowledge that I will not suffer as she has and is.

I thank you for all the time you have given me.  You both have always been so generous with your time – seeing me countless times, answering every detailed question I had.  Dr Hall, thank you for being patient with me and explaining everything as I went back and forth between nipples and  no nipples, small breasts and larger breasts!  You two are one of a kind!

I want to share with you what my husband wrote to me this year in a valentines card he gave to me: “I especially can’t wait to talk to you after the first surgery is complete.  I’m sure there will be tears of joy similar to having one of our babies!”. That is the feeling you have given my husband and I!  There really are no words to describe the place you will hold in my heart and life forever.

Thank you.

Tamara

This was a big one because it would affect how I’d look for, well, the rest of my life.  The stakes were pretty high, and I felt a lot of pressure to make the right decision – whatever that meant for me.

Nipples or Fipples?

First, before anything, I had to decide whether or not to keep my nipples.  This was a really tough one.  A couple of buddies my age decided to get rid of their nipples and reconstruct them later.  They were incredibly happy with their new breasts even before they had a chance to get new nipples!  They figured they might as well eliminate all of their cancer risk if they were going so far as to lie down on an operating table and sacrifice their breasts.  And fake nipples (or “fipples”) look amazingly realistic, so what the heck, why not!

That was also my mindset in the beginning.  If I was going this far, I might as well do it all!  I was adamantly convinced that I needed to lose everything to save my life.  Keeping my nipples was simply never an option.

Then I met some other young women who kept their nipples, and they were equally relieved and happy with their decision.  They explained to me that even though their risk was slightly higher, it was still around 1-3%, which sounds a whole lot better than 90%!  I mean, the lifetime risk for your average woman is approximately 13%, so you still come out with better odds than Jane Doe.

Great, what do I do now?!  Do I remove my nipples and the last teeny tiny remaining risk of cancer, or do I take the chance and keep them as a token of defiance against a disease that threatened to take everything away from me?  But, seriously, what’s the big deal anyway?  My nipples are only small little pieces of pigmented skin!  Why do they suddenly mean so much to me??

Out of no where, I felt myself getting really nostalgic about my nipples and missing them even though they hadn’t gone anywhere.  Every time I looked in the mirror they seemed to stare back at me with the same desperate, pleading look as someone stepping up to the guillotine.

That’s it, I really can’t take this anymore!  I was so stressed out that I wanted to grab a quarter and just throw it on the ground in frustration, not caring whether it landed on heads or tails.  After all, George Washington was a mighty good decision maker.  I’ll leave this one to him.

Then one day the decision was made for me!  On a warm, early summer morning in June, my mom and I ventured into the Big Apple to go to my first consultation with a breast surgeon.  Within minutes of our meeting, before I could say anything, she said she was putting me down for a nipple-sparring mastectomy.  But, wait, uh, well, I guess, okay alright!

This breast surgeon said that the residual cancer risk by keeping my nipples would be so minuscule that it was not really necessary in order to successfully previve breast cancer.  Anyway, she said, I was so young that I should just keep them and feel good about my body and my decision.  When she said this I was surprised by my relief!  I was also surprised and relieved that someone finally made a decision for me!

Then my breast surgeon at Georgetown, Dr. Shawna Willey, further confirmed everything for me.  She reminded me that the nipple-sparring mastectomy is still a relatively new thing and that’s why some doctors are a little hesitant to recommend it.  But Dr. Willey mentioned that the surgeons at Georgetown pioneered this technique, so they’ve been doing it a little longer than everyone else.  They’ve got this type of mastectomy down to a science, literally.

In fact, Dr. Willey even said that her team is working on the first ever long-term study on nipple-sparring mastectomies!  They’ve included nearly 200 patients who had this procedure at the hospital – most of these women had the mastectomy preventatively but a few patients kept their nipples after a cancer diagnosis.  Their first patient even had the preventative nipple-sparring mastectomy in the 1980s!  And, Dr. Willey said, none of these women have developed cancer occurrences or recurrences.

That’s when I was 110% sold.

Breast Reconstruction – One-Step or Two-Step?

Unfortunately, the decision making did not end here.  The next thing I had to decide before my surgery was how to actually reconstruct my breasts.  Though many, many more options exist, I basically had two choices on my plate:

First, there was the magical option of the one-step procedure.  This is when you go in for your mastectomy and wake up with all the reconstruction completely done – hopefully.  The surgeon doesn’t insert temporary expanding implants directly after your mastectomy while you’re still on the operating table.  Instead, he puts in the permanent implants, zips you up, and you’re good to go!

This sounds perfect, right??  It actually is pretty awesome!  But, alas, there are a few complications (and a few more decisions) involved.  Since the doctors need to make you flawless during that one surgery, the stakes are very high for everyone involved.  Your’e usually on the operating table longer, which can make you more prone to infection.  And sometimes it doesn’t come out as perfect as you would have liked.

My plastic surgeon often says that in order to make you look as good as possible he needs to work with a few drafts.  I liked this analogy since I write a lot.  I need more than one draft to produce the best piece of writing.  Sometimes you accidentally don’t catch a few glitches with the first draft – glitches that you’d want to revise later.  Well, he said, same goes for breast reconstruction.

You also have to know what size you want to be before your surgery.  There’s no room for trial and error, and I wasn’t really sure how big/small I wanted to end up.  You also need to know what kind of implant you want before you go under the knife, and (again) I wasn’t sure about this either.

That all being said, I have a few friends who went with the one step and could not be happier with the results!  It was perfect because they got what they wanted in one fell swoop and didn’t need to go in for multiple “expansion” appointments and then a later “exchange” surgery.  They’re busy mothers and busy businesswomen.  They didn’t have time for all the follow-up and needed it to be done at once.

Unlike a lot of women, I have a very understanding job and no children at home, so I could consider the second option – the two-step with expander implants.  This is where you go in for your mastectomy and, during the same surgery, the plastic surgeon inserts temporary expanding saline implants instead of permanent ones.  Then the doctor injects some saline in them during your surgery so you don’t wake up flat-chested.

Over the next few months, you visit the doctor a few times to get “expanded”.  This is when your surgeon injects a little more saline into your implants and you can literally watch your breasts grow!  Once you reach the size you like, you schedule a quick out-patient exchange surgery when the doctor swaps out the “expanders” (aka temporary implants) for your permanent silicone or saline set.

The whole two-step process can take as little as three months, but a lot of women need about four to six before they can have the exchange surgery and finish everything up.  It’s definitely a process, and the expanders are not always comfortable.  They can be bumpy, hard and totally motionless.  One woman commented on a previous blog joking that she calls her expanders “sponge bob square boobs”.

Nonetheless, I was tired of making so many decisions and wanted some more time to sort it all out after my mastectomy.  I just needed to get past that big surgery before I could focus on anything else.  And I really liked Dr. Spear’s draft description.  I wanted my new breasts to be absolutely perfect, and I know how many little typos and flaws I overlook in my rough drafts.

Rebuilding and Expanding my Breasts

When I woke up from surgery, I’ll never forget how wonderful I looked!  I know it sounds really funny, but my breasts were the same size (if not a touch bigger) than they were before my mastectomy.  They were suddenly very perky and round.  Even though I was a little bruised and unbelievably sore, I was totally digging this!

I also couldn’t believe that I was no smaller than I was before I lost my breasts.  Surgeons like to talk about breast size not in Victoria Secret lingo but in terms of volume, so I woke up with 275 cc’s of saline in each breast implant.  To give you some sense of what in the heck that means, I was probably a voluptuous “B” when I woke up in recovery.

My plastic surgeon, the witty and incredibly talented Dr. Scott Spear, does things a little differently than your average surgeon.  A lot of my girlfriends woke with about 180 cc’s in each expander (aka, in normal cup-size language, that comes out to a nice “A”).  Even with the one-step they can’t get you too big, because your peck muscles can only stretch so far at once – and it’s your pecks that are stretched out over the implants and hold them in place.

But Dr. Spear likes to pump you up as much as possible during your first surgery that way you don’t need to get “expanded” seven or eight times before your last and final “exchange” surgery.  Instead, he gets you to about the size you were before the mastectomy, so you wake up from surgery around the same size!  Then you come in to see Dr. Spear once maybe twice to get expanded.  He also doesn’t need to over-expand your breasts like other surgeons, who will leave you looking like Dolly Parton before you can swap out your exchange implants for the permanent set of nice B or C size boobs.  So if you’re shopping around for a good plastic surgeon, Dr. Spear’s the man!

Now, here comes the fun part, the actual expansion process!  I’ve been expanded twice now – the first time about two weeks after my surgery and the second (and last) time on Valentine’s Day, approximately four weeks after my mastectomy.

I was really nervous for my first appointment.  That’s actually a huge understatement – I was terrified.  Women told me that the process was pretty simple.  The doctor literally takes a big needle, pokes it in your boob and injects a small amount of saline before removing the needle and calling it a day.

Listen, I’ve never been a fan of needles!  Getting the flu shot every year is a big ordeal.  I have to spend the day mentally preparing myself for the trauma I’m about to endure.  In fact, the first time I ever drew blood was for my genetic test at 21 years old, and I thought I was going to stroke out when I saw what the nurse was about to do.  The thought of a needle that size going in my arm, let alone my fake boob, was more than I could bear.

To my surprise and great anguish, the needle used to draw blood for my genetic test was dwarfed by the epidural-like needle used for my expansion.  It was attached to a big syringe that looked like the one I use to inject my Thanksgiving turkey with lots of flavorful seasoning.  Instead, this one was going into my bosom!

Right before my worst nightmare was about to happen, my surgeon’s fellow, Dr. Rotman, swung a little yellow magnet over my chest like a ticking clock pendulum.  It immediately dropped and stuck firmly to the top of my breast.  How strange!  Turns out, there’s a metallic port on my implant where the saline can be injected.  I can actually feel the port – it’s super hard and feels about the size of a silver dollar.  Dr. Rotman then took a black sharpie and drew four lines directing towards where the magnet struck down on the launch pad.  It was as if he was drawing lines on the runway so the pilot knew where to touch down.

Then Dr. Spear walked in the room, armed and ready to go.  He saw me squirming on the table and laughed.  Relax, he said, stop being a baby, it’s really not that bad.  Then he handed me a small bag of saline that was attached to the syringe epidural needle.  This bag looked like an IV saline drip meant for the smallest of babies.  Since I was acting like one, I guess it was appropriate.

Then touch down.  I felt the prick of the needle and the slight tightening of my peck muscles as he pumped 50 cc’s of saline into my right breast.  Within five seconds it was all over!   And, better yet, when Dr. Spear poked the needle into my left breast, I didn’t even feel it!

The reason I even felt the poke of the first needle is because parts of my chest became hyper-sensitive after my mastectomy.  Dr. Willey snipped away all the nerves in my breasts while removing the boob tissue, taking away my sensation along with most of my cancer risk.  It’s a small price to pay if you ask me, but the site where she did all the snipping caused the skin above my breasts to feel very tender, as if I got a terrible sunburn.  It’s kinda funny to feel sunburned in the dead of winter, but eventually my poor, bewildered nerve endings calmed down and now my chest feels normal again.

But the area where he did the poke was right on the patch of tender skin on the top of my breast.  The pain was sharp but incredibly fast and short-lived.  Once the needle was in my implant, injecting saline, I felt nothing!   I’ve got to be honest, after all my nervous anticipation, this felt very anti-climactic.

My expansion appointments were always super quick.  I was in and out of the doctor’s office within 20 minutes, tops.  Once I left, it felt like I was wearing a skin-tight sports bra even though I wasn’t wearing a bra at all!  My expanders are already pretty motionless and hard, and after my expansion I felt like I had two large softballs strapped firmly to my chest.  Other than that, I felt just fine.  So off I went lugging my heavy Marry Poppins-like purse and bulky gym bag out of the doctor’s office like a pack mule.  On with the day!

Waiting for the New Girls

Well, expanders, it’s been real.  Even though these temporary new breasts of mine feel incredibly awkward, I find myself beaming when I look at my new body in the mirror.  I don’t know what I’m more proud of – my framed college degree hanging prominently in my bedroom or these new rock-solid boobs.  I definitely invested a lot of blood, sweat and tears into both of these accomplishments.  It’s a close call.

I think my proudest moment was when I went to the gym for the first time after my surgery.  It was almost four weeks out, and I decided to go for a light jog on the treadmill.  My boyfriend and I went in the evening after work, so there were lots of people jammed into this tiny gym.  I managed to find a free treadmill and jumped on.  Slowly, I cranked up the speed and started to move from a quick walk to a leisurely jog.

I’ve been running for years, so the rhythm felt very natural and soothing that first time back on the treadmill.  Though I sometimes dread lacing up my shoes and taking that the first step, I always feel much more invigorated and healthy after running.  What I wasn’t used to was running with two wide, motionless breasts that stick out just enough in every direction to interrupt my rhythm.  It took some adjusting, but now it feels just as natural as before.

My first 5K after my mastectomy with the amazing "Monday Runday" girls!!

As I trotted along, I kept looking around me at the sweating people focusing hard on their workout.  HELLO, do you see me???  Do you realize what I’m doing right now?!?  I just had a mastectomy and now I’m finally getting my old routine and my life back into place!!!  I worked so hard to keep the tears back.  With each step, I felt more and more victorious.

When I got back in the car, my boyfriend switched on the radio.  All of the sudden, I recognized the song, it was unmistakable.  ”We are the Champions” by Queen played through the car stereo.  Again I felt the knot in the back of my throat and tried to fight the tears as I cranked up the radio and let the song sing out all of my overwhelming emotions.

I still can’t run as much as I used to before my surgery.  My chest gets really sore after three miles and then I have to throw in the towel and wait a couple of days before I try again.  But I feel so healthy and happy it doesn’t even matter!

Now I’m just waiting to get those permanent silicone implants!  Dr. Spear expanded me to approximately 375 cc’s in each breast, and he’s ordered a few implants that range from 450 cc’s to 600 cc’s.  He explained that the expander implant usually takes up some space in and of itself, so you have to account for that when you decide on your final size.  And he ordered a few sizes so he can experiment in the operating room and see which implant works best.  I guess it’s like trying on shoes, instead I’ll be trying on breasts while I’m under anesthesia.  Kinda strange but works for me!

There are a few different types of silicone implants you can choose from.  I decided to go with your standard round implants.  There are some other implants that look a little more natural and have a tear-drop shape.  Surgeons refer to these as gummi-bear implants.  But I decided that the round ones are the way to go for me.

My exchange surgery is scheduled for April 20th, and I couldn’t be more excited!  I know my silicone implants will feel and look much more natural.  They’ll have some give to them – how I long for giving breasts!  And once I have this surgery, it’s the last step in my reconstruction, so everything will be DONE.  The only thing I’ll need to do is visit my breast surgeon once a year for an annual check-up – no mammograms or MRIs necessary.

So, once again, the count down begins!  I now have 45 more days until this journey will finally be complete and I can close the chapter on this part of my life.  I’m almost there!

The First Week

It all begins with the first week after my double mastectomy.  To be honest, it’s kind of a blur.  For four days after the surgery, I was on all sorts of strong medication.  Between the Vicodin and the Dilaudid, let’s just say I was in a very relaxed, happy place.  My chest was never in serious pain, but I had a lot of recovering to do.  And the first step to recovering is sleep – lots and lots of sleep.

Sleeeeeep

Even though I was wired at the hospital, talking to everyone about everything for hours and hours, fatigue quickly caught up with me when I returned home after my one night stay at the hospital.  When I wasn’t asleep, I was barely awake.  My body was consumed by healing, working night and day to make me better.  It guzzled sleep like a car guzzles gas to keep its engine revved and running, and the generous flow of narcotics helped a lot.  The whole process ran very smoothly.

There was only one complicating factor – I like to sleep on my belly.  And guess what, that is impossible after a mastectomy.  With my four drains, tender muscles and fresh incisions, I found it very hard to get relaxed.  My family friends invited me to recover at their house, and I could not have asked for a more comfortable recovery bed.  The pillows were all fluffy and the fleece sheets felt like heaven.  Still I woke up countless times throughout the night kicking my legs in frustration.  I could not get comfortable on my back to save my life.

If this didn’t wake me up then the rising discomfort in my chest would rouse me from sleep.  Like I said, I never felt any serious pain, surprisingly enough.  When I thought of surgery and recovery, I always imagined excruciating, sharp, shooting pain.  Instead, my chest just felt very sore, tight and tender.

This tightness and tenderness was not actually from the mastectomies but from the reconstruction.  After my breast surgeon finished scooping out my breast tissue, the plastic surgeon removed my peck muscles from my chest wall and stretched them up over the implants that now serve as my breasts.  That stretching of the peck muscles is where you feel the ouch.  It’s like you went to the gym and overdid it big time with your bench presses.  So when the tightness would wake me up from my narcotic-induced slumber, I’d take more Vicodin and Valium, kick around in my golden fleece sheets and drift back to sleep.

While the medications helped me more than I’ll ever know, they definitely came with some side-effects.  First off, I’ve never been so itchy in my entire life.  I was afraid I was going to itch the skin right off my back.  But it felt so good, I didn’t really care.  The backs of my knees and my other joints also itched uncontrollably.  This lasted for a few days after my surgery and eventually went away.  What a relief!!

The other thing I wasn’t expecting was constipation.  Actually, about a week before my surgery, the nurses warned me this might be a side effect.  What?!  Constipation sounded worse than the actual mastectomy, surely I would have recovery super powers and I’d defy the odds again.

Wrong.  This was actually a very serious problem.  One night my mom finally pulled out the big guns.  She walked into the bedroom holding a glass of thick, purple rat poison and pleaded me to drink it all.  Actually, it wasn’t rat poison, but it sure tasted like it.  In this glass was cold prune juice, which is meant to torment your body and all of your insides into suppression.  That’s right, it’s cruel and unusual punishment from the moment it hits your lips.  As I plugged my nose and gulped for air in between sips of this deplorable cocktail, I gasped that this was the worst part of the entire experience.  In retrospect, I realize that prune juice may not actually be worse than a mastectomy, but it’s a close tie.

Me and my grandparents at the hospital the day after my surgery!

So this divine moment came about two to three days after the surgery.  My mom’s dear friend Karen Miller came to nurse me back to health that first week.  I honestly don’t know what I or my mother would have done that first week without her! She’s an ICU nurse, so I could not have been in better hands, especially when it came for shower time!

A lot of thought and effort went into this production.  My mom brought a patio chair into the bathroom and placed it under the shower head.  Once the water was warm and steam started to rise, Karen carefully crept into the shower with me.  She took all four of my drains and safety-pinned them to her shirt.  I already felt that Karen and I had become one unit during the week – now it actually happened!

The hot water came down strong and pounded on my back.  With the pain medication making my back so itchy, the strong water pressure soothed every itch and relaxed my tense, cramped muscles.  In fact, I was so relaxed, I felt as if I might slide right off the patio chair and form a puddle on the shower floor.  I already love showers, and this one definitely takes the cake as the best shower I’ve ever, ever taken.  Hands down.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t much after the hot, steamy shower when my back started to hurt again.  My poor back really took a beating through the whole ordeal.  I think all the stress from the mastectomies was transferred to my back, and it ached so badly that first week after the surgery.  Every night I was sleeping on it, and I could feel the muscles tighten up as I wiggled in frustration to find a comfortable position.  Then when I was on my feet, my back was on over-drive trying to support my body since my chest was out of commission.

After four days I stopped taking my narcotics, and that’s when my back really pitched a big, bloody fit.  One day I finally couldn’t take it any more and broke down in tears in my aunt’s living room surrounded by all my family.  No matter how much my mother or my boyfriend rubbed my back, my muscles still felt tighter than my tender, over-stretched, shell-shocked pecks.

In the most comfortable bed in the world!

In desperation, I finally called a local spa to see if there was any way they could pencil me in for a nice, long back rub.  Too bad masseuses don’t have tables with holes in them for your breasts just like they have holes for your faces.  Now there’s an idea!  Needless to say, they didn’t have any such table, and I was plain out of luck.  Finally, finally after two weeks my back surrendered the fight and started to relax again.

The one other area of complaint was my big drain by my right breast.  All together I had four drains – two on each breast – two small and two large.  Under each arm pit I had one big drain sewn in by one stitch, then below it I had a small drain stuck in to collect any other wound fluid that might come about after surgery.

Oh, and I also had two little wires weaved into the incisional area on each breast.  These wires were connected to a big medicine ball, which my surgeons aptly referred to as the grenade.  And inside the medicine ball was a little piece of heaven – lots and lots of pain medication.

Basically I felt like a Christmas tree for the first week after surgery, with lots of fancy and expensive ornaments dangling from my body.  But this one stupid drain on my right side was the biggest headache.  Not only did it collect the most wound fluid – it was the last one they could remove after 13 days – but it was stitched in such a way that it felt like it was constantly tugging on my skin.  When that drain finally came out, I was weak with relief for more than one reason, let me tell you.

So beside the sore chest muscles, constipation, prune juice, achy back, and nagging drain, I really have nothing to complain about!  After all, my biggest fear was nausea.  There is absolutely nothing worse than the repulsive, debilitating feeling of nausea.  I demanded to my anesthesiologists that they give me every anti-nausea drug in the medicine cabinet, there was no way I was going to feel sick after overcoming my greatest fears and defying my destiny of breast cancer.  This moment was going to be too cool, I didn’t want it ruined by even more of my insides coming out in addition to my breast tissue.  But the drugs worked, and I responded well to the pain medication, so I was extremely lucky to have never felt sick through the entire process.

After one week, I finally felt like I was returning to the land of the living from my narcotic-induced state.  My surgery was on a Tuesday – by Saturday/Sunday I took my last Vicodin and by the next Tuesday/Wednesday I took my last Valium.  The exact days still evade me – those drugs were pretty darn powerful and toyed with memory – but it wasn’t very long before it was just my Motrin and my antibiotic (to prevent infection) that was left on bedside table to take every day.

After 6-7 days, I was asked out on a date!

Although, who am I kidding, what just happened to me was so abnormal that I felt like a glaring misfit.  Certainly I would stand out like a sore thumb.  People must immediately recognize what I just went through a matter of days ago.  I was wrong, again.  No one stopped and pointed me out from the crowds.  The only time I got some stares was when my boyfriend had to gingerly help me back into my big, heavy winter coat.  Even though I looked young, I was moving like an old lady.  Maybe this table of girls at the restaurant just weren’t used to seeing a guy act so sweet towards his date.  Either way, I was okay with the stares.  If only they knew I just did the coolest thing by saving my own life.  How many people can say that??

My grandmother, Irma Schnier, died of breast cancer in 1985.  I was only 2 at the time of her passing and knew her only from pictures and stories.  To me, for most of my life, that’s what cancer was – pictures and stories.  However, what I recently found out would truly change my perspective – and my life – forever.

Because of my grandmother’s breast cancer, my older sister Alyson encouraged my father to take the genetic test after looking further into our family history.  It turns out that my great grandfather was one of 13 children and sadly all seven of his sisters died from breast and/or ovarian cancer.   My father had inherited the BRCA1 mutation from his mother and soon we would find out that he had passed it on to us.

Jodi Kreizer

After a year of researching and obtaining valuable medical opinions, I made the decision to reduce my breast cancer risk by 98% by having a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy.  I can honestly say that making a strong, yet extremely difficult decision about my health was the best choice I’ve ever made.  I recently finished my breast reconstruction in April and every time I look at myself in the mirror I feel a complete sense of relief.  I sometimes can’t even believe that I had the strength and courage to go through with it.  I’m not going to say that the past months or years have been easy, because it hasn’t, but I keep reminding myself that I did everything in my power to prevent myself from ever being diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

Throughout my journey I have found a wonderful support group for young women in there 20’s and 30’s called Bright Pink.  Their mission is to empower young women with education and support; and in this effort, they have created an amazing and welcoming sense of community.  These girls have been my life support and friends throughout my journey.  They have shared their own personal stories with me, and have thereby provided me with a deeper and broader perspective on life.  Their stories and their support have truly made my life better.

It’s now my turn to share my story and help other women going through the same thing.  It’s a club that no women aspires to be a part of, but is nonetheless a sisterhood that will support and stand by you every step of the way.  I have made it my life’s mission to bring education and awareness to young women of all ages.  To share my story and provide comfort to any woman who is facing a similar fate is the most powerful thing that I can do as an individual.

The truth is that having a strong and positive attitude, which took time and support to achieve, has had a tremendous impact on how I’ve dealt with my risk.  Instead of feeling like a victim, or even trying to understand, “why me”, or “how did this happen?”, I’ve decided to be thankful that I’m here today sharing my story with all of you.