Reconstruction

I’ll be honest, when I first heard the word mastectomy I freaked out.  Apparently what I envisioned --a completely flat, scarred chest on one side—is not at all what is done anymore.  In fact, if there’s any part to this whole experience that has surprised me in a good way, it’s the plastic surgery angle.  I realize my Playboy days are over, but at least I’m hopeful that I won’t look completely freakish.  Once my surgeon is done removing the breast tissue, and whatever lymph nodes she needs to take during the operation, the plastic surgeon tags in and starts the reconstruction process.  He’ll put an expander in, which he fills partially with saline, and then every week he will keep inserting small amounts of saline to stretch out the new tissue until it comes close to matching the other side.  Kind of like braces in reverse.   

Once that “pocket “ is created there are two options for filling it – an implant or a tissue transplant.  Even before my consult with the plastic surgeon, I was leaning toward implant.  I know some people like the idea of using their own tissue and having the added benefit of a tummy tuck, but honestly, I don’t see the point of cutting up another area on my body and having double the recovery time.  It seems like “robbing Peter to pay Paul”, as they say.   From what I’ve read, the Diep flap procedure doesn’t take as much muscle tissue from your abdomen as the Tram flap one does, so you’re less likely to have trouble, but I am still envisioning doing a sit-up and having my gut rip open.  As it turns out, the plastic surgeon said I’m not a great candidate for the tissue option anyway, unless I bulk up on fat between now and the surgery.  A milkshake and Five Guys binge?  Tempting…but I’m going to stick with the silicone, for now.  

It was such a surreal experience sitting in that beautiful plastic surgeon's office in my white spa robe, thinking I could be another client sipping cucumber water and casually discussing my upcoming botox treatment. The spa day that wasn't. I was tearing up even while filling out the health forms at the front desk, and I wondered what a strange mix of clientele they must experience. Certainly not a place I'd ever thought I'd find myself, but happy as hell I qualify for reconstruction, even if I'd rather be getting a pedicure.