Category Archives: Treatment

Post Mastectomy Recovery

Posted in Bumpboobs, Treatment, Uncategorized by

It’s funny when they advise that mastectomy recovery takes 2-4 weeks, because  my mind automatically assumes that I’ll have this beat in one week, tops.  Four weeks of recovery? Sorry, but I don’t think so; not this girl. Didn’t you hear? I’m a fighter.

Destroying breast cancer

And I am a fighter. But one week post surgery I can now see this taking a while. Yes, I am out of the hospital, and yeah, I’m not falling asleep on the floor, but my side is still tight, my wound is still numb,  my energy is still low, my arm still aches, and the bandages won’t be removed till next Monday (aka my birthday).

Like I said before, it’s not a terrible pain but it is persistent. I’m all elastics that won’t stretch, and pulling gives that ‘about to snap’ sensation.  But there is my routine, thank goodness for small miracles. My routine, and my mother, are pushing me along.

So here it is, Catherine’s Feel Good Ready Recovery Mastectomy Routine – check it out and apply as needed:

Morning.

Wake up! It’s a good start to another good day. Your alarm clock will most likely be the postman with a delivery, a result of ordering way too much from Amazon because it’s hard to leave the house for over twenty minutes, and stir crazy = online shopping.  Wrap a bathrobe over your body and answer the door. Say hello, share a smile, and sign an electric pad with your scribble.

Eat! Now is the time to bulk-up that body.  Here is breakfast, here are the vitamins, and here is the protein shake that Mom has whipped together (after many rejected trials we have settled for a mixture of powder, orange juice, and carbonated water, sometimes she makes protein powder crepes, and those are the very best).

Exercise! There is a list of exercises from the nurses that must be done three times a day. They are as follows: neck rotations, chicken wing lifts, chicken wing circles, beach ball, spider, behind the back, and up the wall. You may prefer to forget about these exercises (a reminder that moving is difficult, plus they’re totally boring to do), but persist regardless. Apply mother’s insistance if necessary.

Walk! Get out of the house, even if only for a short time. Whether we just circle the street or have a drink at Tragos, getting out and moving has been exhausting – but day by day it is becoming much easier.

Relax! Aka, come home and crash into bed. Don’t move because the arm is swelling, pulling and threatening to snap. Lay still for twenty minutes till sensations subside. Then, read a book for twenty more minutes because you can, and why not relax while work has you signed off? I’m right in the middle of Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett and hate to leave it untouched for long.

WORK! Throw bombs, do visualizations, and try right-hand/left-hand writing. What do we want? All cancer to die! Who’s gonna do it? We are! What are we aiming for? The best news ever!

Next Wednesday is my consultation, a result of med students and treatment specialists putting their heads together and discussing whether it’s worth blasting the shit out of my body over the next year. And it’s possible, because I’m young, they’ll lean towards ‘yes’. BUT I’m putting all my energy into them changing their minds, because miraculously the cancer is dying and the margins are very safe and, my goodness Catherine, it’s disappeared all together!

We aim for the best. All I can do is take things one step at a time, and either I sit here in anxious anticipation of a terrible year, or I let my mind and body start fighting. So I’m fighting: throwing bombs and punches at any fear, doubt or preconceived notion that enters my mind.  A lot of bombs have been thrown. A lot of shrapnel has gone flying.

Rinse and Repeat! Do it again, wussy! Get up and hit those targets – afternoon and evening, with a few substitutions and a gradual tapering off of activity.I get sore the longer I’m active, and the miracle of caffeine only lasts a certain amount of time. But each day stretches further than the last, and that is so encouraging.

It’s taking time. I’m not out saving the world yet, or even riding my bike. But things are getting better,  and they’ll keep getting better.

I am a fighter – I am recovering – and I’ll keep doing both for however long it takes.



P.S. HAPPY CANADA DAYYYYYYYY — WOOOOHOOOOO! CANADA!!!! I miss barbeques, fireworks, body painting, and aimless downtown wandering while draped in red and white.  However I did set myself a goal on Canada day, which was to make it to a friend’s art exhibit opening. It’s inspiring when friends succeed, and giving them support brings us all further. So on July 1st I put on my too-tight recovery bra and a dress, went with my mom, Zsolt, Ulrike and Darren, and visited Ian Kirkpatrick’s Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger solo exhibit. Ian and his wife Sara have been good friends since we met in Gower, check out his exhibit details here (being shown till September in the Michael Andrews Building at Southampton Solent University); he has a very impressive graphic design portfolio. Actually, Sara also has an impressive archaeology blog. Look into the past here.

Anyhow, thirty minutes there and I was a cooked goose – couldn’t stand a moment longer with my arm throbbing at my side (I miss my lymph nodes). Zsolt touched my back during the opening speech and was surprised to feel sweat – yeah, I was sweating; being there was an effort, but a worthwhile one. After taking a tour of the work and chatting with the artist, we all piled into the car and took off back home where I popped two pain killers and went directly to bed. But it was worth it; my goal to visit the exhibit was achieved. So that was my Canada day, and it felt pretty good.

After the mastectomy

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Today is Zsolt’s 29th birthday. He’s a fine kind of man and getting better every year. In the morning I serenaded him with  multiple rounds of happy birthday, followed by some birthday crepes (made by Zsolt with my help), presents, and a game of football. England vs Germany – at this point things aren’t looking hot for England because Germany just scored their fourth goal. Brutal.


Later today Zsolt will make us some birthday quesadillas while I cheer him on, and we’ll have some cheesecake that my colleague’s wife bake especially for Zsolt. It’s looks really delicious and is sitting in the fridge just waiting to be eaten.  Overall this isn’t the birthday we expected, but to be together is enough.

Tonight my mom flies out from Ottawa and will land tomorrow morning at Heathrow. She’ll be here  early afternoon-ish. Thank goodness for that; I can hardly wait to see her. Processing this away from home can distance me from those sad emotions, but not being able to hug my family sucks.

So – after the mastectomy, as promised. If you don’t want to read a long post I’ll give you a quick, poetic-type summary:

After the mastectomy – short version, by Catherine

Groggy, sleeping, blood pressure, needles, pills, waking, washroom hurdles, drinking, vomit, drinking, needle, waking, talking, sitting, bored, sleep, Zsolt! taxi, bed, painkiller, painkiller, numbness, stiff arm, stiff neck, missing breast, don’t look, look, don’t look, look and finally get up, get out, get on. And eventually back to bed, because I’m still a little tired.

After the mastectomy – long version, by Catherine

So it’s been okay. Thank goodness I’m out of the hospital.  Did you know it’s nearly impossible to sleep in a hospital? Forget about sleeping well, every moment of dreamy bliss is quickly taken away by an alarm, a neighbouring patient, or a visiting nurse. Of course, they’re just doing their job and considering how low my blood pressure was, I very much appreciate that.

After Zsolt was asked to leave the ward I drifted off, but was woken soon after for a blood pressure check. Attached to my catheter was a drip, which helped me stay hydrated because I couldn’t keep anything down. It was a slightly messy night with details I won’t mention, but I must give a shout out to Lou in the bed opposite who pulled my curtains shut and handed me a tissue when the nurses couldn’t attend.

The staff was busy, but still very supportive. And thank goodness for that midnight shot in the butt. It was a big needle, but stopped my nausea cold. I don’t even know the name of the nurse, but I really appreciate her care.

The following morning I had a visit from one of the surgeons. She didn’t do the operation, but she had been there to assist. Apparently everything went smoothly; I should have one neat scar across the right of my chest. Actually, she was very friendly and informative.

Then I was visited by one of the breast care nurses. She explained my upcoming appointments (consultation in 2 weeks, they’ll examine the lumps and see how weak/strong the cancer is), and gave me a little additional information. I’ll be fitted with a silicone breast in about 6 weeks time, after the scar has healed more.  Also she warned me to moisturize my arm and hand, to wear gloves around chemicals, and not to get any cuts in my right arm because without the lymph nodes I’m at greater risk of illness in that area.

Finally Zsolt arrived, and we were both visited by another nurse who checked out my bandages, which I didn’t look at, and gave me some exercises. Also I received two comfys, which are soft fluffy forms to slip into my bra. Frankly, a bra is totally unappealing at the moment but it’s nice to know I have spare boobs available.

Pain wise it’s not bad. There is a numbness beneath my arm (because they removed the lymph nodes) that is slowly changing into a tingle. But no – I’d say a paper cut with its shocking sting is more painful, though less constant.  However this is my fucking breast so ultimately a paper cut doesn’t compare; stupid example.

Point: it’s not too painful.

Comfort wise it is different. I feel like something is constantly pulling on my side and the numbness is a bit disturbing. Also there is a drain in my chest, which leads into a long tube, and down into a container which Zsolt empties once a day because I can’t stand to watch. I’m leaking fluid and blood. Gross.

Body wise it’s a shock. At the hospital I never looked down. At home I was crying when Zsolt helped me change shirts. The uneven slant of cloth across my chest is bizarre. I miss my perky peaks; now it’s all downhill.

However, today I didn’t cry, and I didn’t freak out. This is my chest and I’ve got to accept that. And I think that once the discomfort stops, I’ll really be able to adapt to my new look. I still look forward to visiting the beach, and I still look forward to wearing pretty dresses with v-neck tops.

Bottom line: I still love my body.

That is after the mastectomy, as promised. Anyone about to undergo the procedure – all I can say is have a chat with yourself, know it’s the best and just get through. Everyone reacts differently to losing a breast, but we all come through it. And it’s better on the other side. This cancer is out of my body, and even if anything remains  – I’m going to blast the shit out of it with treatments to follow.

So here’s to the first step. And here’s to Zsolt, my new carer and 29 year-old hunk. Happy birthday Zsolti, I couldn’t have managed without you.

Cheers!

Before the mastectomy

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Okay, I love writing  – (I also love yogurt, which I’m eating right now) – and through writing I can clean my system. Plus, it’s a great way to share information.

So I’m going to write up two posts: before the mastectomy, and after the mastectomy.  And I’m going to start immediately, here, now.

The morning of my mastectomy I woke up at 6.50, ate a piece of toast and crashed back into bed. Zsolt and I slept in till nine, then rolled around the apartment till ten. My acupressure must be working, because even with the operation looming I was able to sleep soundly.  There was writing of emails, watching of Zsolt (he was eating and I was fasting; I couldn’t help salivating as he ate a late breakfast) receiving of letters, and prepping of bags. I used basically nothing that I packed, but it was still good to have it all there. For the most part things stayed ‘cool’, until I received two letters – one from Sandie and one from Laura, which were both very touching and helped me cry a little. Light crying is a good thing.

Eleven o’clock and we caught the bus to the hospital.  I kept looking down at my boobs, that happy couple sitting side by side, and would hold up my hand to cover the right one.

About ten to twelve we arrived at the Princess Anne, and we found our way to D level, day surgery. This is the area for people who are having surgery but leaving the same day. I guess they are getting things taken out, bits sliced off, etc. All the while I waited for them to take me away. One woman had to say goodbye to her husband in the lounge area and I burst into tears. How ridiculous is that? It’s not like this was a movie scene where the couple says a final goodbye; they didn’t even seem to mind. But still, the tears were rolling down my cheeks.

After my little scene, we kept on waiting. A lovely nurse came into the room – she was round, with big hair and a smiling face – and called out a list of names, on which I was placed third. She said that there were not enough beds, so we had to stay in the waiting room while the prep went on, and we’d go off and return one at a time. This was fantastic news for me – because Zsolt was in the waiting room and so long as he was there, I was happy.

Another hour passes by. Zsolt and I visit with my Anaesthetic Doctor (Nick) and he explains what we’ll be doing to knock me out.  I’m given robes to change into. Then it’s back to the waiting room.

Around 3.20 the nurse comes and asks if I’d like to sit on a bed to wait. “I’d rather stay with my husband,” I reply. And she says, “No problem, he can come with you.”

No problem? He can come with me? What was that pre-assessment nurse telling me two days before?

So! There you have it! Zsolt came with me. We sat in a small curtained off area, I was on the bed and he was on the chair. By this point in the day the patients were tapering off and the nurses seemed to  relax. They began to sing ‘all things bright and beautiful’ on the other side of the curtain, which I had never heard before. One nurse said it reminded her of a funeral, but another – the smiling nurse from earlier – said it reminded her of home; it reminded her of festivals and how people would walk down the street singing aloud. It held a lot of memories for her. So she sang it again for them. Zsolt and I listened through the curtain. It was lovely.

Eventually a nurse popped her head round our curtain (just past 4 pm) and asked if I was ready. Ready… well, I was willing. Can you ever be ready? A quick goodbye to Zsolt, I pulled myself together and was wheeled to the prep room.

Touching is such a comfort. All this nurse had to do was touch the side of my face and I felt supported.

We wheeled into this small prep room that somehow reminded me of high school tech classes. It seemed too small – not large enough for operating. But, of course, it must not have been. Before me were two grey doors, and I have a feeling the ‘theatre’ was on the other side.

There was Nick, the man who’d give me drugs, and he put a catheter into my hand. I frigging hate needles.  But in it went. He asked me what my favourite drink was . . . hmmm, water filled with ice cubes? (the question as an answer response, very Canadian).  He had meant an alcoholic drink, because what I was about to feel would be like two gin and tonics poured into my veins (maybe that’s his favourite drink).  Earlier he had told me it’d loosen me up, make me giggle. Nope, no giggles. I started to cry instead (a very common theme for the day). But good old Nick and my nurse did their best to distract me. “Where’s your favourite place for holidays?” Hmmm, Lake Balaton in Hungary? I answered (again as a question, because I wasn’t sure of anything at this point).  “Sounds great” he replied.

And then I was dreaming about Zsolt’s colleague’s German accent in conflict with someone else’s accent.

And then I was waking up, and realized that I was moving – being rolled, and Nick was there in his blue outfit, and the nurse (name forgotten, sorry!) was there with her pink ribbon and I asked if it had been okay – yes it was okay – and had they gotten it all out – yes they’d gotten it out.

And on we rolled into recovery. The rest was a dream with ins and out. I think I arrived in recovery around 6, and I know I arrived in the ward around 8.40. Zsolt was there after a day of waiting, and I was so tired I could barely stay awake.

But that’s after the mastectomy, and this is about before.  I’ll write the rest later. For now this is enough.