The Reconstruction Question

Recently I read my blog all the way through for the first time. So many times I found myself reading, 'Now THAT's something I'LL never do.'

When faced with the reality of breast reconstruction, my first thought was to agree wholeheartedly that reconstruction was the only possible choice. After all, my belly is big and droopy (it's my biggest part) and I'd been promised that this belly tissue and skin would be used to build me a new tit. When I spoke to close friends and family about it, I had a whole routine which made everyone laugh, something along the lines of, 'I'll get a flat belly and a new rack and I'll be good as new!' Be sure to add lots of gestures when you play this is your head.

Of course all of this was before my diseased breast was actually lopped off from my chest. It turns out that the process of healing went awry, although my surgeon absolutely denied that fact. The drain which was put into my chest after surgery was supposed to stop draining in a few days, at which point it would be removed and I'd be on my way to a complete recovery.

But it continued to drain, and after 2 or 3 infections and one new drain after another, it seemed I had developed a small cavity in my chest which was permanent. As it was explained to me, when fluid fills up inside the chest but outside of any organ, the body eventually naturally encapsulates it. To resolve the healing for me, pure alcohol was injected into the cavity, the alcohol was removed a few hours later, and it left the cavity completely dry so it could close up.

I guess it closed up as expected, but I can still poke myself in that spot and feel the empty cavity. Kinda gross no matter how you think about it.

Radiation followed soon after, and even though I was extremely careful to anoint myself as often as possible with the best stinky Chinese herbal burn ointment, I was left with, among other things, a bad burn on all the skin that was exposed to radiation. It's been 5 months since radiation ended and evidence of the burns remains.

So while I was recovering from the mastectomy I was given a temporary prosthetic garment to wear. It provided no support for the healthy breast, which got to hang down towards my navel more and more, and as I lost the few pounds I'd gained during my treatment I noticed that the stuffed-animal-like prosthesis no longer matched my natural breast. And the irritation of radiation made the garment unwearable. I found myself going without any undergarment, read: flat chest on one side, real breast on the other.

I've been walking around this way for months. Yes, I'm something of an iconoclast, and yes, I was daring people to stare or ask questions or look away, revolted. But then I got over myself and just went about my business every day.

Thinking back to my only meeting with the plastic surgeon, I remember him telling me that he could do the surgery but that I shouldn't really lose any weight. Now I'm 5'5" and 195 lbs., much as I'd like not to be, and I'm working hard to regain good health, flexibility and strength.

Here's how I see the issue: If I want to have a nice new breast fashioned from my belly tissue and skin, then I dare not lose any weight (or gain any, either). If I'd like to lose more weight then I should put off reconstruction to avoid mismatched boobs.

But if I lose the weight I want to and believe I can lose, then there's the possibility that I won't have enough of a belly to use for reconstruction. I promised myself I would not have any foreign objects put in my chest, so if I can't use my own tissue then I won't have a new breast.

If that is, indeed, what will happen, at that point I will look into having a real prosthesis made. My HMO will pay for most of it, but I only get a new one every two years.

I'm quite comfortable now walking around with half a rack. And the bras I'm wearing are compression bras - they hold up my natural breast and simply hold tightly to my skin on the flat side.

Of course there's the question of any intimate activities, and from what I've heard there's more of a chance that I'll be hit by lightning twice on the very day that I win the lottery than a chance I'll find someone who will overlook my itty bitty deformity.