Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Warning! Candor and Survivor Humor in the following post. Proceed with caution!
The past couple of years have held a lot of firsts for me. I had my very first mammogram nearly three years ago, and my first mastectomy two years ago. I've also had some lasts. My last time having my own breasts, my last time ever having a mammogram (kinda hard to have those if you don't have any thing to mammogram!), my last chemo, my last radiation, my last mastectomy, my last time ever wearing a nursing bra and nursing (even though I didn't know at the time that it was my last). Lots of milestones. Some bittersweet, some just plain ol' bitter.
This cancer journey has been long and hard, I admit. It has been a lot longer than I thought it would be, too Especially this last part. When I was first diagnosed in December 2011, I was told it would all take about a year to go through, but alas, the three year mark has nearly arrived. Today another “last” has come as well. My last day ever to wear my prosthesises (what IS the plural of prosthesis anyway?). Tomorrow I will be finally undergoing the first step of my breast reconstruction. I never thought I would ever have a transplant, much less one to help create a new breast for me! Who knew!
There is a funny part to all of this for me, and one that I will share in all the macabre sense of humor survivors develop, or at least should to prevent becoming cynical and bitter. I didn't receive my two prosthesis at the same time, because my mastectomies were a year apart. Therefore my two don't match. Now when I say don't match, I mean really don't match! A source of amusement to me.
Meet Hilda and Greta:
They have added five pounds to my total weight and drooped and sagged and wiggled their way to the middle of my chest and flopped and made me sweat these past two years, Hilda longer than Greta. They've made me look somewhat normal in clothes, prevented me from wearing a bathing suit top, tried to fall out of my prosthetic bras and been poked by my silly children.
I can seriously say I will not miss them and I look forward to passing them on to someone else who has need of them. I also hope to never have need of their kind again, meaning that I hope the reconstruction process goes perfectly well and the transplant “takes”. Goodby Greta and Hilda. Fare thee well and good riddance!