M-Day (Mastectomy day)

Five days I woke up in the morning with my own breasts. At the end of the day I went to sleep with new ones. This is my story.

Nerves and nightmares had gotten the better of me the week prior to surgery so I'd helped myself sleep with a little medication. If it hadn't been enough to deal with the thought of loosing my breasts, leaving my baby in the care of my family topped everything off.

My loving husband fixed me a coffee that I couldn't drink. I sat and sort of pouted while he had his breakfast. I was allowed clear fluids... so I had to live vicariously through that glass of juice. The rest of my morning consisted of a long shower (it would be a while until I could scrub down again), packing my bag (if there were complications and I ended up in hospital, I wanted a few comfort items) and tying up loose ends.

At 10:30, we arrived at JPOC with my photo ID/health card in hand. I was told to bring it so that they could verify my identity. My irrational mind said,"Right... cause lots of other young ladies would want to steal my identity and have their breasts chopped off!"

I changed into the bag of hospital blues and greens that I was given making sure to do up the gowns in the appropriate directions (again... that wouldn't matter once I was on the table) and sat and waited for the nurse to call my name.

Having mastectomies and a stage IV diagnosis has given me a few perks. One of them was that I didn't have to return to the waiting room with the others in their hospital blues & greens; instead I was allowed to remain in my curtained off lounge chair area.

My IV was started by a special nurse and one by one I got to see the people who would be present in the OR. 

- The OR nurse... yup, I'm still Krista. Yes, that's my signature. Yes, that's the surgery I'm having done. 

- My plastic surgeon (never thought I'd have a plastic surgeon)... I sat still while he drew on my chest with a purple marker and took a pre-surgery photo. Tried a little humour but it didn't work out so well. P.S. It's a little awkward to have a man draw on your bare chest and take photos while your husband sits and watches.

- My general surgeon... she was the one who diagnosed me and has been an advocate in being able to have this surgery. Took another look at the purple marker lines and extended them a bit with her green marker.

- Anesthesiologist: the guy who was going to give me the good drugs so that I would be breathing but not waking up through the procedure.

And when all of this was finished, back to the OR nurse. I gave my husband a chance to say goodbye, a quick hug and kiss for me, and a long walk past the Restricted Access signs to the "Penthouse Suite" OR according to the nurse -- a beautifully, big expanse of a room with lots of windows and natural light and bustling people in their OR greens. I chose not to process big windows + breast surgery at that time.

Following instructions, I lay down on the table and made sure my two requests were voiced prior to going to sleep:

1. To my Anesthesiologist: please tape my eyes shut carefully... it's been a while since my eyelashes have been this full (even if they're short) and I'd hate to have them torn off carelessly with your pieces of tape.

2. To the OR nurse: can you please remind the General Surgeon to take a picture of my tumour? I don't want a picture of my breasts in a bowl. I just want to see the tumour that has tried to kill me.

A couple injections later and I'm asleep.

I wake up in the recovery room in pain. After a little pain medication and a quick clean up from the pink soap, I'm wheeled back to where I started my day. This time instead of a comfy chair I'm on a hard gurney.

My memory at this point isn't quite as clear as pre-op. I was very thankful to have my husband (one very relieved man) by my side. He'd been keeping people updated and waiting anxiously to see me. He could finally see I was ok... sore, but ok.

When I'm awake enough to know a little of what was going on I get a chance to look down. Under the warmed blankets is a pinkish, purplish binder -- basically a corset or really tight tube top enclosed by Velcro. Underneath my binder I have bandages which the nurses occasionally are checking on -- hi stranger! Want to take a look at my cleavage no longer? And underneath the bandages I have two drains which helps my body not have to deal with blood or fluids that would otherwise just gather at my wound site. I also have tissue expander/implants that have replaced where my breast tissue and tumour once were.

My goal at that moment was simple: to have no complicatons & get home in time for Survivor. While this may seem to be completely silly, that was my goal.

After some very uncomfortable moments, a failed attempt to get dressed and having my drains emptied a couple times, Xhevat finally gets me into the wheelchair to take me home. A quick stop at the doors to surgical daycare and some vomiting didn't stop me from achieving my goal. And after some more vomiting, I settled into my couch to watch my TV show. My body had other plans & I fell asleep.

I've had five days of recovering. My binder is still on & drains are still in. I had pain but was thankful for pain meds. And on that note, I apparently would not be a good junkie. I have learned that my body likes to be nauseated and vomit from even the weaker narcotics. After 48hrs of not tolerating much by mouth, I decide to switch to trusty over-the-counter products. My nausea goes away and I'm able to regain an appetite (fried rice was my craving Sat night). 

Another perk of being a stage IV is that a home care nurse came to check my wounds yesterday. And I had a chance to see myself without my binder on. It was a little emotional but didn't look as bad as I'd thought.

I've learned that my emotions are much like my chest right now. Wounded. Bruised. Tender. Numb. Needing an emotional binder to be supported & held together. For the first time in over a year, I have no large cancerous tumour on my breast. I am thrilled by this. But I have been hurt in the process and its going to take some time for my emotions to heal.

In my comfy chair before surgery

What do you bring to a friend who's just had mastectomies? A boob cake, of course! (I have the best friends!)