Hi Cleo
I’m so sorry you feel like this. It takes me back to 14 months ago. I was in a haze of misery. I was sore and uncomfortable from the surgery and, like you, was not going to look. I was hunched over, wore my husband’s shirts if I ever got out of my pjs and, again like you, only went out for medical appointments. However, I’d been warned the general anaesthetic and major surgery, as well as the emotional trauma of losing a breast, might make me depressed so I just went with the flow.
I didn’t look at my scar for quite a while. I flinched when dressings were changed. It got a cursory swipe with the sponge in the shower and I could just about bring myself to do the exercises.
I then had chemotherapy which turned me into a zombie and approached radiotherapy with great trepidation. It was that that gave me the confidence I needed to accept my scar and its two little dog-ears (one of which actually gives me some cleavage!). Massaging and moisturising it frequently, making sure I could stretch it out as was necessary, just coping with all that gave me a huge boost.
14 months on, I am quite happy with my scar. I’ve never hidden it from my husband. I have stripped in my gym changing room and ignored any eyes or frowns of disapproval. I simply don’t care. That breast was endangering my life and I am glad to see the back of it. I can look curiously at the scar and wonder why, after all these years, surgeons still can’t quite get it right, with lumps and bumps each end. I’m now struggling not with my prosthesis but the fortress bras that I’m expected to wear. First thing I do when I get in is remove my bra! I wish we lived in a world where single-boobiness was not regarded as some kind of freak show. I’m also, by the way, wearing exactly the same clothes and styles that I wore before surgery. Nothing has changed except I cant sleep comfortably on my front.
Right now you’re living with double trauma. Major surgery is hard enough but grief for yourself is intensified by your losses and the grief those bring. That’s a lot to contend with. It’s nothing to do with strength, resilience or weakness - these are natural feelings you must come to terms with in your own way. If that involves curling up in a ball of misery, do that. If it means cancelling Christmas, do that. Listen to your body and your emotions and, if it feels too much, why not ring one of the nurses here. I’m sure you won’t be the first woman traumatised by a mastectomy. As others have suggested, your hospital should have links with other services and charities (ask your breast care nurse) where you may find the support you may need to help you face your body and then face the world again. I found out such a lot was available on the final day of my treatment, a bit too late for some but I’m using some now, at the Haven and through Macmillan.
Much as I hate tripping out the tropes, they are true. Time is a great healer. A problem shared is a problem halved (well, almost). Just accept this is a tough time, there’s only so much one person can take at a time and reach out if you can - to your GP, to your breastcare nurse, a nurse here, anybody. You need some validation, someone to tell you it’s ok to feel like this and you can still emerge healthy and strong. Meantime, please be kind to yourself- you need it.
Jan x