I figured any changes to my right breast from radiation would happen in the first 6 months, as that is the basic recovery time for radiation treatment. When the initial six months passed with just some minor changes to my breast I thought to myself, I could live with this, I think. Now it seems I notice a new change weekly. As I was getting ready for bed, I yet again noticed how much smaller, my right breast is from my left breast. It continues to shrink a little more each passing week. I miss the weight of my breasts. Evidently, I had super dense breast tissue, which is why they had such a firm weight to them. Moreover, they still feel so foreign to me. Even the left breast, which is not nearly as numb as the right breast, feels strange, like it is no longer a part of my body. Lefty has small areas of numbness around the scar tissue from the reduction surgery, and I would think having more sensation in that breast would help in feeling like she is still a part of my own body. Alas, not all these positives about Lefty help. Lefty is a good cup size or more larger then my poor traumatized right breast.
As I look at them and contemplate the last 18 months, I wonder about all the decisions made along the way. Should I have opted for a mastectomy and forgone radiation treatment? I could have had full reconstruction then, and maybe my breasts would be closer to sisters rather than distant cousins. I would not be missing a chunk of breast tissue that creates the dimple in my left breast giving it a “W” look. I might not have to face a possible lifetime of tenderness and hypersensitivity on my right breast, and the little third boob off to the side, where according to Robert, the plastic surgeon and a million feet of drainage tube curled in there. I would not now be shoving two of the pads that came with my Knix tank bras into the right cup to try to make my breasts look even and prevent Lefty from pulling my tops askew due to the size discrepancy.
All this second guessing and wondering if I have the courage to face another surgery to try and fix this brings a tear or two (ok, maybe ten), to my eye. Then my little self-doubt demon starts running amok in my brain and reaches down to my heart with little jabs – you will never be in proportion again. You will never lose the weight you so desperately want to reduce. You will never feel sexy again. You will never be brave enough to be intimate with your husband. Then my self-pity pixie set in, right behind my eyes, and started pushing those damn tears out.
I fecking survived this betrayal of my body; it turned against me and tried to kill me, why do I still have problems with the battle scars? Why am I having the hardest time reconciling my new shape and being ok with my body the way it looks now? I would think I would have a harder time dealing with my diminished mental abilities. As frustrating as they are, I feel like I accept these new limitations to my ability to multitask, the speed at which I can figure out complex problems as well as my physical speed in tasks with less emotional effort.
I should be celebrating my battle scars. I should be proud that even though my boobs no longer look the same, are different sizes from one another, and one has minimal ability to feel touching sensation that I still have my breasts. I survived this battle, kicked ass in this battle. It tried to take me down, but I survived. Chemo – bring it on, surgery could not completely change the shape of my body, and radiation, sure, you have wrought changes I am not happy with, but I am alive and cancer free. So dammit you stupid demon and pixie, go back to your hidey-holes in my psyche, I am ready to be proud of these damn battle scars. No more feeling disfigured. No more feeling I am unlovable because of my new imperfections. No second-guessing the battle waged. I won, that is all that counts.
I am taking another stand on my road to where ever my new center resides. I am not there yet, but I am finding my strength and will to get me there. I will find my complete inner peace, where I can work with my dragon, demon and pixie in harmony. So we can heal the wounds that are still open, not continue to scrape and rub at them, keeping them raw and weeping.
I fucking beat a badass cancer that thought it had the best of me; I have the tools to heal from the battle.
Life is facing my demons