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Well, it’s been a minute hasn’t it! A lot has happened since my last blog post. I finally finished chemotherapy (yayyy!) and had to prepare for, undergo, and am in the midst of recovering from a single mastectomy with immediate reconstruction breast surgery.
Let me just tell you I was pure shitting it for surgery, big style. Like, even more than I was for chemo big style. Other than having a few teeth removed as a child, I’d never been under any general anaesthetic before and I had no idea what to expect. I remember watching a traumatic episode of Grey’s Anatomy years back where the patient woke up mid-surgery, but was completely paralysed so none of the surgeons knew she was conscious – seriously, wtf? So, naturally, I was totally convinced this was going to happen to me too.
Why did I need a mastectomy?
For me, I always knew a mastectomy was my only option surgery-wise because not only did I have an invasive tit tumour, but this extra little bugger called DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ), which is essentially the earliest possible form of breast cancer. Although it isn’t actually cancer, it has the potential to turn into it, and since my DCIS was taking over a massive chunk of my boob, we knew we wanted that bitch out, pronto. Annoyingly, because of course I must be a difficult case, we didn’t manage to get every last bit of DCIS out and I’m booked back in for surgery round 2 on 23rd June. I also had a sentinel node biopsy to see if the cancer had spread beyond the breast to the lymph nodes.
The next decision I had to make was whether to go for reconstruction, and if so, what type. Women who undergo a mastectomy can choose to have a reconstruction of the breast shape, whether that’s with a silicone implant, or by using tissue from other parts of the body. Or they might decide to go completely flat. It’s such a personal decision, and certainly not an easy one to make.
I shared something on Instagram recently which I wanted to talk about again here. It was written by a woman who’d had a mastectomy about the frustration of when none-cancer folk refer to them as a ‘free boob job’. Let me make this verrrry clear – a mastectomy is nothing like a free boob job. Firstly, I never wanted this surgery done. I liked my boobs as they were. Secondly, my new boob is nothing like my old one. It’s beautiful, and I’m really happy with how it’s turned out, but I no longer have a nipple, I’m left with a large vertical scar down my breast, and have absolutely no sensation in my boob at all. So, although I’m pleased with it, let’s not kid ourselves that this surgery is anything but a fucking trauma and NOTHING like a boob job.
Being only 27, and previously a big fan of my boobs, it was a no-brainer that I’d get a recon. I personally love having boobs – they make me feel more feminine and sexier. I’m also naturally on the larger-chested side, so I had this vision of being lopsided and walking in circles if I only had one tit… not a good look.
Luckily, despite COVID, I was able to get immediate recon so it was all done during the one surgery.
The Week Before Surgery
Everything seemed to happen really fast. I’d been in to see my surgeon, confirmed my surgery date, and within a few days it was time to go into self-isolation for 7 days. This was no issue; it’s been my life for the past few months anyway. My boyfriend temporarily moved in, we chose to start Line of Duty as our binge-watch of choice (yes, I know we’re late to the party on that one) and the week of quarantining began. The only places I was allowed out to were a blood unit to get my bloods taken on Day 3 and a drive-through COVID test on Day 5. By Day 7, I was hit suddenly with the reality of my situation and panic began to set in.
The Day Before Surgery
I’d been given these absolutely repulsive drinks to have the day prior to surgery called ‘preload’. It’s basically a carbohydrate, calorific drink that comes in powder form that you mix with water. From about 2am the night before surgery, I wasn’t allowed to eat anything, and I was only allowed water up until 6am. Then I was in complete fasting mode. Good job I had severe anxiety and absolutely zero appetite.
This may sound odd, but I also made sure that the evening before surgery I took photos of my old boobs, so I’ve got the memories of how they used to look. I’d read this suggestion online somewhere and thought screw it; I never wanted to lose my boobs so young, so why not make a little boobie shrine to look back on?
The Day of Surgery
After a fairly restless sleep, I woke up completely bricking it, but ready to get this day over with and say farewell to my tit forever. I arrived at hospital at 7:30am, waited around with all the other surgery-goers of the day, before being ushered into a side room to meet with my surgeon. In no time at all I was stripped practically naked, into my surgery gown with my sexy compression stockings on, waiting for the next people to come in and check on me. All the staff were so lovely and caring, and totally put me at ease. I’ve never been so grateful for the NHS and how incredible they actually are. I had my vitals taken, another COVID test done, more blood tests, and even had to take a pregnancy test, which, when you’ve just had months of gruelling chemotherapy that fucks with your ~entire~ body, I can promise you was really not necessary…
All too soon it was time to go down to theatre. At around 9am, I was taken into the anaesthetic room, and it’s all a blur from there. I do remember asking if there was any chance I’d wake up mid-surgery like they did on TV and the team reassuring me that this absolutely wasn’t going to happen – it would be boring if everyone on TV had successful, everyday surgeries after all! A cannula went into my hand, they placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth and told me to breathe normally, but I was so anxiety-ridden at this point I felt as though I could barely breathe at all – which makes no sense now looking back, since oxygen was literally being pumped directly into me. Before I knew what was going on, I was knocked out entirely.
The next thing I remember is waking up, high as a kite, in the recovery room. The team were asking me where I’d had my eyebrows done, and somehow, I’d managed to let them know the Instagram handle of the girl that does my microblading despite being off my tits on drugs (no pun intended) – I should make commission from her tbh. Then I was wheeled onto another ward where I fell back asleep.
When I woke up, I texted my family to let them know I was alive and feeling good, albeit drowsy AF. It was about 1pm. The nurses brought me a big jug of water, helped me hobble to the loo, and gave me some biscuits and a cheese sandwich since I hadn’t eaten all day.
The rest of the afternoon was spent drifting in and out of sleep, having my blood pressure taken every 30 minutes or so. Eventually, the nurses helped me change into my own clothes and gave me a post-mastectomy bra and a bag to keep my drains in. Drains are small tubes placed in the incision that help to remove any extra blood and fluid during the healing process. They’re rather grim, and far from ideal if you’re a queasy person. My surgeon came in to see me to let me know how the surgery went, and to confirm she’d removed 3 lymph nodes in total to check for cancer, but that they all looked normal to her. The nurse then gave me instructions on how to care for my drains, with a chart to measure the volume every day, and a list of arm exercises that I needed to do 3 times a day. By 8pm, I was able to go home.
The Week After Surgery
Overall, recovery was way easier than I ever imagined it to be. Obviously, this is purely based on my own experience and I know other women that have really suffered. But for me, I had a fair bit of pain over the first few days’ post-op, and trying to sleep with those god-awful drains was a nightmare, but after a week or so I was feeling great.
Today
It’s now been just over two weeks since my surgery and I feel so good. The drains are out, my new boob is still bandaged up but looks amazing – I’m shocked at how natural and similar to my other one it is! I’ve been able to go for walks, go to the shops, and even have a pub lunch in the sun. My post-surgery results were great – despite needing a 2nd surgery, my lymph nodes were negative and clear of cancer, my tumour responded really well to chemo and better than I expected, and I won’t be needing radiotherapy! I’ve explained my results in more detail in the video below too. For the first time in months, it feels like my life is finally getting back on track and to some sort of normality – whatever that even means anymore – and it’s a fucking fantastic feeling.
You can follow more of my cancer journey on Instagram here.
