Feeling Up

An hour after surgery, absolutely begging for a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.

It’s me again! Your favorite BRCA1 carrier and frequenter of Mount Sinai hospital! Thanks for joining me today. A wee little update: On Thursday I underwent my second surgery on this long process of breast reconstruction. This was a pretty quick procedure, one I was way less scared of than my mastectomy. I try to say that word as much as possible now that I can say it without vomiting, and instead say it with pride.

The hours leading up to my mastectomy were obscured by an Oscar-worthy meltdown. I stayed up on the phone all night with one of my best friends as she distracted me with stories about her family drama right until I pulled up to the hospital at 6AM. The nurses and Josh tried to keep me in good spirits by joking about how one day I’ll have a wrinkly 80 year-old body but my boobs will look 25. The distractions worked until the anesthesiologist came to talk to me and I freaked out. I believe I cried into more than a whole box worth’s of tissues in the span of 15 minutes. I don’t remember walking to the OR, getting the IV, or counting down from 10. I do remember crying and demanding that all doctors, nurses, assistants, and anesthesiologists, take their masks off for a quick second so I could see the faces of everyone who’d be in the operating room. They could see me naked but I couldn’t see their faces? Seemed unfair, though they obliged.

But for this last surgery? No tears. No insane demands. Easy peasy. I was clear-headed enough to notice they were playing Whitney Houston in the OR. I sang “Higher Love” to the nurses as I faded. I was home by noon.

Four days later and I feel fine. No pain, just sleeping a LOT. But I’m moving and grooving and overall pretty mobile (don’t tell my boyfriend who’s been sympathetically doing the dishes all weekend). I felt the need to post today as I’ve been resting, reflecting, and feeling myself up.

My boobs feel different. Fine, but different. I’m spending a little time thinking about my new body, and a lot of time thinking about how scared I was leading up to my mastectomy. How terrified I was that I’d never be able to look in the mirror again, or that I’d feel like less of a woman, or even less of a person, all mutilated and whatnot. Compared to how I feel today: Bouncy, squishy, and… dare I say… I… feel… great? Like, GREAT great.

I understand that everyone copes differently with news about their health, and I took my own news about as terribly as one could, but I might have fared better had I gotten a sneak peek at myself today. I keep having flashbacks to earlier this year, when I would break down in tears just about every single day between January 23, when I found out I have BRCA1, until August 23, when I had my mastectomy. And not a day since. (JK I cried several times unrelated watching Dancing With The Stars.)

Admittedly, it took a while after my mastectomy for the anxiety of breast cancer to completely leave me. I didn’t think it could be so easy to evade such a terrible fate. It felt like I was in Final Destination. I escaped death one way, but it’s bound to come for me in an even more shocking, gruesome and horrific way. I’m still a little bit on high alert, steering clear of log trucks, scaffolding, and phthalates. Either way the anxiety is nothing like it was before. I’m possibly less anxious than I’ve been in recent memory, even pre-BRCA.

I so wish that eleven months ago I had known I would feel this good, but the internet world of BRCA is pretty bleak, lemme tell ya. Much of what I read failed to frame it the way I choose to frame it now: Breast cancer was coming for me, but I came for it first. What could be bleak about that?

I hope the narrative can change, so I’ll start here. If you’re in a similar situation, or at the very least worried you might have a genetic mutation, or wince at the very thought of having to do anything like this, I want to let y’all know that while a prophylactic s̶u̶r̶g̶e̶r̶y̶ mastectomy is not ideal, it can be as empowering and positive an experience for you as it was for me, despite what the internet’s troves of tragedy porn would have you believe. I feel a little guilty going as far as saying that I’m kind of having fun designing my own body, but I can’t lie to you, not after everything I’ve told you!

I love you. Thank you for following me on this journey. Couldn’t do it without you.

CTRL + F Mastectomy = 7