Cancerland

Tomorrow I'm walking back into Cancerland by choice.

I am meeting with a new plastic surgeon to discuss my options for corrections. By my own standards, my current reconstruction status is a mess, and I hate it.

There. I hate it. I said it. When I look at it, I'm reminded of the events of last October, and the emotional fallout of that experience.

So tomorrow I'm going to consult with another PS to discuss what is and is not correctable. If corrections are possible, I would like to proceed in the spring to get it over with.

I have a lump on my eyelid along the incision and it itches like mad (and has since surgery in October). My right, prophylactic side, has scars that I can't explain and they're jagged and rough. My areola on that side looks like a wound, and it's in pieces. The nipple is non-existant. There's a weird divet in the middle of it all, and some pitting in the skin.

My left side aerola looks more normal/as I expected, but the nipple area is actually lower than the rest of the breast. There's a weird puffiness on one side of the breast. And worst of all, that breast is shaped like half of a canteloupe, and it's significantly bigger than the other breast. (Do NOT chime in here that all women's breasts have some assymetry. I know that. I am not talking about norms here, I'm talking about something beyond that.)

Because I told myself that getting this work done would be a symbol of my ability to move on....I feel like I'm bogged down by the symbol. When I see my breasts, I hate them. I don't want to hate my own body. I don't want to see betrayal, torture, pain, ugliness when I look at my chest. I don't expect beauty, but I don't want to feel so....deformed. Artificial.

I don't know if it's correctable. I don't know what the PS will say. But I'm going to try this again.

And it makes my stomach hurt. It makes me want to cry. I hate surgery. This will be number 9 in three years....averaging once every four months for 3 years. I assume it's "minor" surgery.

But I hate it.

Please pray that I don't have a total meltdown as a result of this experience. I brought out my massive medical binder to show my reports, implant sizes, etc. to the new surgeon, and just the sight of that hot pink blender has my stomach in knots. There are a lot of awful memories in that binder.

I just want to put this - all of it - behind me. And I have work to do before I can do that.