When cancer happens, doctors say things will move very quickly. Doctors lie. My first big appointment at the Cancer Center was June 23rd. I met with my Breast Nurse Navigator, general surgeon, medical oncologist, and radiation oncologist. They all assured me that I would definitely need surgery and radiation, maybe chemo. I tried to talk my way out of radiation, to no avail. My mastectomy was scheduled for July 6th, but my surgeon wanted a biopsy of one palpable lymph node. That stupid lymph node was positive for cancer, so I had to have a PET scan. We needed the results back before deciding if I would need chemo BEFORE surgery. I received the call on Tuesday night that we would proceed with surgery Wednesday morning. Although we had agreed on having both breasts reconstructed, my doctors decided that I should lose only Hot Cheeto Titty at this time, and worry about the other after treatment. I still don't understand this rationale. I just went with it. They seemed to know what they were talking about.
I woke up Wednesday after surgery in PACU to my blood pressure being taken on my left arm (big no-no, never should I ever have a blood pressure taken on my left arm again....worsens the risk of lymphedema). I felt good. I checked out my bandage and my JP drain. Not too shabby. I spent one boring night in the hospital with very little pain. When my husband came to get me the next day, I had put on makeup and brushed my hair. I put on the bra I wore into the hospital and stuffed my drain into the empty 36DD cup. We popped into the PICU to say hello to my co-workers on my way out. I was a shiny, happy person. On the way home, we stopped at my bff's restaurant and had lunch. Everyone said I looked great. I felt great!
Once I got home, I took off the bandage and really looked at my incision. Then I did the unthinkable. I stood in front of the mirror naked and looked at my one giant, saggy breast next to the sad, wrinkly place where HCT used to live. My right breast seemed to be pointing further to the right, like she couldn't stand the hot mess that was now occupying my left chest. I lost my mind. I cried. I wailed. I threw a huge hissy fit. My daughters laughed at me. They thought I was being dramatic. I was so emotional. My husband used adhesive remover and gently scrubbed all the leftover tape from around my incision as I bawled like a small child.
A week before surgery, I had been "fitted" for a special mastectomy camisole. It comes with breast pillows to fill out the empty side, has inner velcro pockets for JP drains, and a front zipper. My insurance paid for two of these fancy shirts, but would not allow me to pick them up until the day of surgery. John went and got them while I was in the OR.
I put on the camisole and cried even harder. It was huge. Ridiculous. There was no way this cami was going under anything. 
I sent photos to my sisters of me next to the chic modelling the shirt. THEY WERE PISSED!
Why does the model have 2 breasts? Who fitted me for this shirt? Who can we bitch-slap for this mistake? Unfortunately, the store where we had "purchased" the cami is an hour away from our house. John had already signed the insurance paperwork. I felt defeated. I just took 2 Norco and wore the damn shirt to bed.
Now I am 2+ weeks post-op, and I have learned to deal with getting dressed. Michigan is hotter than Hades right now, with humidity like a wet blanket. I can't wear a real bra as my underarm area is still swollen and my JP drain exit is located there. I bought some cheap sports bras that I can handle wearing for a bit. I stuff batting into my velcro JP drain pocket that came with my cami and form it to match my remaining breast as best as I can. I wear blousy shirts. When I see people I know, they all look straight to my boobs. The asymmetry continues to fuck with my psyche. If I could go back, I would have had a double mastectomy from the start.
