Where the hell have you been?

 

 Well, in short, probably at work…!

But as some of you know, I have been quiet for a while. So I thought it was time to a) write and b) tell you how I’m doing. So, why haven’t I written…?

Work:

The overriding reason why I haven’t written is work. It has literally taken over my life in the last 2 months and my time-off post-operation seems like an age away. I like my job, but there are aspects that make me wonder how long I can physically do it for.

At times work can be so busy – from the moment you get in to the moment you leave you can honestly not stop – no time for Facebook, other people will get your lunch and you often forget to pee until your bladder starts prodding you, threatening to burst. In busy times this ridiculousness can start from 7.30am in the morning, through to 11pm at night and into the weekend.  This week I was writing emails on a cross trainer at 6am in the morning – I was another person I would generally refer to as a complete idiot.

The pressure can also be so intense. I work in a service industry of sorts (Public Relations) where you are tasked with meeting very high expectations set by other people. This can mean that the volume, nature and direction of your work load are out of your control and constantly changing. Combined with the fact that in PR, regardless of how hard you work, the outcome you want is not guaranteed means your anxiety levels can be at a constant high.

Finally, the last element of pressure can come from managing the team. I’m relatively senior and the welfare of my team is often my primary concern. This is great if they are doing well, but if they are not it involves having difficult conversations pretty much every day. Difficult conversations in a high pressure atmosphere is a fertile environment for tears – lots of tears! My team work really, really hard, but regardless, sometimes I still need to have difficult conversations that may upset people. These don’t sit easily with me and I regularly come home hating myself; conflicted between trying to a good job, but also being somewhat responsible for other people’s stress and unhappiness.

Don’t get me wrong- none of the above is a shock. I’ve done this gig for 10 years and am a big girl. I know what I do. But when the shit hits the fan I shut down. Social arrangements are non-existent, along with my relationship with my boyfriend.

Taking a respite from my tits:

The other reason I’ve been absent is that for the last 9 months to a year all I have talked about is my tits. Yawn. After a while this gets BOR-ING!

My last 2 fills were pretty painful and the day after my last one I got on a plane to Bali to go to a wedding.  This physical break has allowed me to take a metaphorical break from the subject of my artificial mammaries.

To be honest I think I needed it. There comes a point when over-talking and thinking about one thing for so long becomes counter-therapeutic. So stop I did.

I’m also not sure how I feel about my boobs and how they will look post exchange. I like them at the moment.  They are 400cc and nice and round. In tight tops they look sensational and they are pert as hell. However, they are nowhere as big as I would like them to be. Dimension wise they might be, but how they sit, they feel small. Then I keep on hearing how my exchange implants will sit differently and smaller. Well I don’t really know how I feel about that.

So while I am processing my expected disappointment, I’ve not really felt I’ve wanted to verbalise what’s going on in my head.

How am I doing?

Apart from my A4 moan above I am absolutely fine. Those who know me will know I like a winge so please don’t read too much into the above.

It’s two months before my exchange surgery and in preparation I am back on my healthy straight. I am cleaning up my diet again (it’s mostly pretty good – when I say cleaning up I mean I won’t be drinking 5 nights out of 7) and bringing yoga back into my fitness routine more regularly.

I have also started acupuncture to try and ease my stress levels and get my body back in balance again.  I have only done it twice but loving it.

I’m really looking forward to the exchange – perversely as I’ll have some time off work – and also so I can live a life where my boobs are not the most interesting thing about me.

Anyway, that’s me. How the hell have you lot been?

5th Expansion: 350 CC and at capacity

I had my capacity fill this week.  Come Tuesday and I was already nervous about this time round. 300CC had been tight and my boobs had never smelt so good as I repeatedly massaged cocoa butter into them through the day. Mr F finds this habit a little off-putting when I am in the middle of a conversation with him, but needs must. 

‘Pump me up’ Wednesday arrives and I jump out of bed at 6am to go to spin. By 9am I want my body to be numb to any external stimuli so I pop 2 Panadols. By 8am I am ready to get on the bus to the hospital and I pop 2 more. I proudly relay my strategy to the Silver Fox PS’s lovely nurse and she seems a little alarmed and tells me to prolong my frequency to every 4 hours. But SF PS isn’t too fazed.

So far, so good.  I can now physically feel the needle puncturing my muscle on booth breasts, it is very tight and it feels that the saline has been replaced by lead, but it’s OK… tight as hell, but OK.

Until about 1pm.

I’m so dosed up on Panadol that I shouldn’t be able to feel a sledge hammer coming towards me, but it’s not the muscle discomfort.  My actual boobs are fine.  The sensation is partly the feeling that I am in a vice that has been tightened just enough to let me breathe. But only just enough.  On top of this is a nerve pain in my back and arms that is similar to the back pain I felt in hospital when I had my Seroma. It’s so intense, and a pain that has no location it increases my anxiety and feelings of discomfort tenfold.

I like to think of myself as a pretty tough chick.  Which is part of the reason I was probably single for a good chunk of my late 20s?  I never admit I need help and I can do anything I set my mind to, all by myself! I know that if the pain is too intense I can call my PS and arrange to go get some saline taken out- but for me, that = regression and I am a big advocate of progress.

But by 3pm when I find myself sitting at my desk sobbing, I at least decide to go to the chemist.

He gives me PanafenPlus which is a combination of ibuprofen to stop inflammation and codeine for the pain.  He says I can also double this up with Panadene if I’m still struggling.

All this would be enough to deal with, but I also have a work event scheduled for this evening. I know my team are completely across things, but the owner of the company has flown in from Russia and it really doesn’t look good for me not to be there, so I call my client and let her know that I’ll just be staying until everyone sits down for dinner.

By the time I get there the Panafen has started to kick in and the pain is less intense when I’m actually doing something so I crack on and decide to stay for dinner.

This is when I sit down and have a glass of wine…

Now I’m really sorry, this isn’t very PC or clever or anything that a medical professional would advise to do, or anything I would recommend for anyone to do.  i.e. PLEASE DON’T DO THIS BASED ON THIS POST.

But wow, the pain suddenly became bearable.  You can see why celebs get addicted to painkillers and a nice glass (or 5) of Shiraz. For the first time that day I don’t feel the anxiety, the pressure or any pain.

Anyway, wino advice over. This extreme pain has subsided.  I am waking up in the morning with the feeling that my breasts have been left out in the sun all night and the skin has tightened up over my angry expanders.  I also can’t sleep on my left side as both yesterday and today I have woken up with pins and needles all down my left arm which doesn’t abate until the afternoon.

This coming Wednesday I need to choose whether I want to try and over-expand the expander. The capacity is 350 but SF PS says they could try to push it further. For the sake of slightly bigger boobs do I want a few more days of pain and the risk of getting on a plane to Bali that evening with a load of pain killers and a face full of tears? We will see.

#thejoysofbuildingbreastsfromscratch.

 

 

 

Booby Dysmorphic Disorder™

Most of us who were small fry, pre-mastectomy, seem to want to be bigger post-chop. Never say never, but it’s unlikely I would have opted for a boob job BF (in the time ‘Before Foobs’), had I not found my deformed gene.

Some of you know my feelings about drawing comparisons between a prophylactic mastectomy and a breast augmentation. If wanting bigger boobs was my motivation, I could have found a load more pleasant means to get them… Eating lots of pies, chicken fillets and, if I really, really wanted them, a run of the mill boob job, which would have been a much more pleasant and less psychologically treacherous stroll in the park than the route I have chosen.

However, if I have had to have my boobs lopped off, one small payback is going to be the opportunity to increase the size of my love jugs.

I’m currently at 300CC in my expansion process.  This last fill has been the most uncomfortable to date. I wake up each morning feeling like my breasts might explode through my armpits and I have pins and needles where my bra straps would normally be on my back. They are also so hard I feel like I’m wearing a bra stuffed with shot-puts. (The irony is, and you can ask Mr F, I am very much not wearing a bra at the moment. Well, it hurts like hell! We now have a morning game where we anticipate how visible my nipples will be in the day’s choice of clothing… anyway, I digress)

My point is, even though they feel like the biggest breasts in the world, I currently have no real idea how big they are which is why I have diagnosed myself as suffering from Booby Dysmorphic Disorder™. Like the body version, I think my view of how big my boobs are, is pretty out of whack with how they actually look.

How big are my boobs?

I don’t know? But they are definitely bigger. I put on a shirt the other day and for the first time in my history (apart from when I’m carrying a little holiday weight) the buttons were in danger of taking out a few eyeballs. Then I also almost got stuck trying to get my sports bra over my Foobs, which was quite embarrassing as I was with a relatively new colleague. It was so tight that when I took it off my right boob was a squashed oblong (I swiftly reached for the cocoa butter and began to desperately massage it back to ‘normal’).

But as head to my final fill next week, I’m a little sad not to keep going. Maybe if they were squishy and pendulous they’d feel more substantial?  I’m also worried that when I make the exchange to the softer, more realistic implants, I’ll lose some of the fullness that my current shot-puts provide. After everything you go through, I really don’t want to feel ‘deflated’ (pardon the pun) with the final result.

But… will they look ridiculous? I’m only 5’3” and a UK 8 – 10. In reality am I modelling myself on Barbara Windsor? Who knows? I am suffering from Booby Dysmorphic Disorder after all.

Post-Op Follow-Up with Silver-Fox Plastic Surgeon

Yesterday I had my first post-op appointment with the silver fox, plastic surgeon.

I had no expectations for today and quite frankly, just expected them to look at my baps and be done with it.

We arrive and the lovely nurse cleans my stitches. We take off the plaster on the recently butchered, artist formerly known as the total eclipse of the nipple (TEOTN) and all looks well. We give that a clean too and that was pretty much it.

However, what the appointment lacked in activity, it made up for in information. So here goes:

–          I can shower! My current washing routine involves me inserting one leg in the shower, removing it, inserting the other leg in the shower, removing it and so on. The ability to have a full on shower without the aid of ‘bath in bed’ wipes is amazing news.

–          As soon as I feel comfortable, I can drive. The nurse’s quote was “as soon as you can be sure you won’t run over a child because you’re worried your boobs hurt then you can drive.” OK, kids over boobs. Got it!

–          I have been told I can go on a stationary bike. I took this to mean that I can go to a spin class. Mr F said that I have grossly misinterpreted this sign-off and there is a big difference between a stationary bike and sweating my new tits off in a spin class. I have another appointment on Monday. I can wait that long to check.

–          Oh yes, I have another appointment on Monday. Filling station number 1 (the process in which they make the new boobs get bigger). I didn’t think they’d start so soon, especially with TEOTN, but it soon begins. I already have 100 cc of saline in there so, come next week, it will be 150 cc on each side and I will be back to my 17 year old rack, once again (I was a late developer).

• For the inquisitive among you, here is a short and pretty straightforward video about how the plastic surgeon goes about filling your expanders with saline. I’ll explain more next time. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esHztsX-uFE

So this may not seem like an exciting appointment, but for me it was ace. Oh, and silver-fox plastic surgeon has a new beard. It really suits him.

Establishing Routine In Recovery

Those who know me, and those of you who don’t will probably have guessed, I’m not a person who finds it easy to sit still.

Before I left London I had a pretty full on job, with a decent commute, a busy social life, I taught seven fitness classes a week and trained for a marathon. I left the country to try to chill-out, which relatively, I think I’ve achieved. Even so, I still have a decent social life, I exercise 5-6 times a week and I have a pretty full-on job, in PR.

For those of you who are not familiar with PR, it is a job that has no completion. Your to do list will never be done, many outcomes you desire are out of your control and it was recently voted one of the most stressful jobs in the world.  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2256652/Want-easy-life-Dont-firefighter-PR-exec-enlist-military-reveals-new-ranking-stressful-jobs.html

I do urge some caution as this story was probably developed by people who work in PR. However, with this reputation it successfully attracts stress junkies like me, who may moan about being busy, but don’t know what to do if they’re not.

It is in this context I present myself to you as a patient in recovery. It’s probably obvious that I don’t like to sit still and left to my own devices and my mind will run riot. This is why, now I’m home, it’s important for me to set some sort of loose routine. Each day I have committed to do 3 things to help focus my mind, give my day some sort of purpose, and to help track my progress; Meditate, walk, and stretch / exercise.

Meditate

I talk about meditation a lot on here, but I’m not a person who finds it easy – and generally I will cry it off if I can. I know lots of people say ‘I physically can’t meditate’. This is essentially bollocks. I find it difficult, but I taught myself how to do it and the more you do it, the easier it becomes.

I first started mediating during my testing  for the cancer gene: BRCA. Combined with being made redundant, looking for a new job, moving house and temporarily breaking up with the love of my life, I thought I might have a nervous breakdown. I swear meditation saved me from this and I emerged from this period stronger and more cantered than I think I’d ever been.

So now, it’s more about keeping me balanced. I have a lot of time to think, so softening that for a bit helps me keep focus. And by that I mean, not looking at my boobs and imagining loads of stuff is going wrong with them, or convincing myself that my nipple is still going to fall off, or that a sneeze = infection.

I am using these meditations from Oprah and Deepak at the moment – because for a short time they are free, but they are pretty good, and not too long!

Walk

As a self-confessed exercise junkie, I have been surprisingly OK with not going to the gym. Being perpetually tired and stuck in hospital helps. However, since I have been home I have committed to going for a walk each day. There’s a park round the corner and if I go first thing I can reward my return with a cup of coffee.

The commitment helps my day have some kind of purpose, and going just a little further every couple of days gives me the feeling of progress.

What’s more, early autumn in Sydney is my FAVOURITE time of the year. It’s sunny but not too hot and, touch wood, it doesn’t rain as much as it does in Jan and Feb.

Stretching / Exercise

I call this stretching  / exercise as it’s really not exercise, but ‘exercises’ to help me get the strength and range of movement back in my arms.

My prophylactic, nipple sparing mastectomy with expanders involved the surgeon inserting the expanders underneath my pectoral or chest muscle, which protects the expanders, and in turn, will need to stretch as they expand, ready for the implants.

If you can imagine, the pain feels as though you have done 100,000 press ups, morning and night. This then means you use your arms less and so your range of movement invariably becomes a little more limited.

So doing the exercises each day is important. Again, it provides purpose, but they also stretch out my very bruised and tight Foobs and as the exercises become a little easier each day, I have another way of measuring my progress. The hospital gave me some exercises while I was there as well as a DVD called‘Strengthen Your Recovery: Pilates program following breast cancer surgery’. It’s really very good. And whilst I can’t wait to get back to the spin studio, it is a great resource for aiding my recovery.

 

The Patience of Being a Patient

I went for a walk today and felt something smeg-like on my arm. I looked at my arm pit and I had a mini freak out that my right drain – the previously well behaved one – had fallen out.

I pegged it back to the ward and no, it hadn’t fallen out, but it had come out a bit from where it should be and has stopped sucking the smeg out of my right breast cavity.

The Dr tried to plug this up but it didn’t seem to work. This would be OK if my drain amounts were low enough not to worry. They weren’t. There are several potential outcomes as a result of smeg-gate:

a)      My body fixes itself and gets rid of this waste by itself and all is well with the world

b)      The fluid builds up in my cavity and they have to drain it with a needle

c)       The fluid builds up in my cavity and they have to go in and drain it with an operation

How will I know which one will happen? I can’t. I simply have to be patient.

None of these things sound too bad, until you get to the potential sub-outcomes of b and c. You see, both b and c increase the risk of infection and if I get and infection, the likely sub outcome is, they have to remove my expanders, I am fully boobless (even more so than now) for some time and I have to come back in and have another, stage 1 operation, and new boobs are quite a way off.

How will I know if this will happen? I don’t. I just have to be patient.

So that’s smeg-gate. Combine this with drain-gate on my left side, which doesn’t seem to be abating…

Me: Hi plastic surgeon. If after 10 days, if my left drain is still going, what happens?

Plastic Surgeon: Nothing

Me: I’m not getting out of here for ages am I?

Plastic Surgeon: I’ll get you out of here within a month

INSERT > EMPTY SILENCE

The Power of Patience

For me, the boobs were the easy part, something in my control that involved action. This part however, that I have no control over and as an otherwise healthy and able person, just have to let it take its course, is taking me to limits of my puny patience.

With even more time on my hands I decided to look at the definitions of what it means to be ‘patient’, versus what it means to be ‘a patient’, to see if I can pick up any pointers on how to be better at both.

Patient

Definition 1. Bearing or enduring pain, difficulty, provocation, or annoyance with calmness.

Trisha’s Patient Barometer: Trisha is enduring pain, difficulty, provocation from her annoying drains and smeg and the annoyance of being in hospital with limited calmness.

Patient Verdict: Fail.

Definition 2. Tolerant; understanding: 

Trisha’s Patient Barometer: Trisha is tolerant to pain but shows very little understanding for the fact that the body will do what the body will do.

Patient Verdict: Fail.

Definition 3. Persevering; constant.

Trisha’s Patient Barometer: Trisha is constantly persevering (to try and go home).

Patient Verdict: Pass (questionable).

Definition 4. Capable of calmly awaiting an outcome or result; not hasty or impulsive.

Trisha’s Patient Barometer: Trisha is incapable of calmly awaiting the outcome of drain and smeg-gate. She is hastily trying to behave like a normal person and impulsively crying.

Patient Verdict: Fail.

Being A Patient

Definition 1. One who receives medical attention, care, or treatment.

Trisha’s Patient Barometer: Trisha is definitely receiving medical attention, care and treatment.

Being a Patient Verdict: Pass.

Definition 2. One who suffers.

……

According to the above I am rubbish at being patient but really good at being a patient. So, with my prognosis unclear and my exit date, within this month, I have decided to seek guidance and motivation from the Dali Lama. He says:

“The practice of patience guards us against losing our presence of mind. It enables us to remain undisturbed, even when the situation is really difficult. It gives us a certain amount of inner peace, which allows us some self-control, so that we can choose to respond to situations in an appropriate and compassionate manner, rather than being driven by our disturbing emotions.”

Roger that, Dali. What’s another week between friends, eh?

Oops, much better now: Day 4 Day and Day 5 Morning

Right, so you’ll be pleased to know, I am in much better spirits today. As I also was yesterday afternoon so apologies for that little dent in my spirits as I hit the wall of the Macquarie ward.

After pouring out my soul yesterday I had a nice visit from my two, no frills friends. This is not an insult to them or anything to do with their appearance. It’s due to the fact that they are two of my friends I know I don’t even have to speak to when they come or make any effort, so in short, no frills. They took me for breaky on the grass and we watched patients, hooked up to their IVs, puffing away on their cigarettes in the hospital amphitheater.

I am not one to judge, especially as when life throws you a hundred curve balls, sometimes a cigarette is the least of your worries. However, I am glad I knocked my once social habit on its head years ago. Especially as smokers have more chance of their nipples failing post-surgery due to poor blood circulation. (you may pick up that as well as bowel watch, I am also on my own private-ish nipple watch)

I then slept for a couple of hour’s yesterday afternoon.  The first time in the day, since surgery.  Bliss! Even on waking, with eyes full of smeg, I felt a heap better than I had that morning.

My two friends, northern K and German K came to visit in the afternoon. They brought with them a lovely zebra plant with the famous last words ‘you can’t kill this plant’… I have killed every plant that has been introduced to me in this way. Then more importantly, German K washed my hair and plaited it. This is important because:

I smell;

It’s been a good few days and I’ve only been able to wash with these wonderful, Bed in Bath wipes. They are essentially like baby wipes on speed. Massive! The packaging says, ‘for a complete bath’, which is a ‘complete lie’. Until the drains come out I can’t shower, so I have been festival washing any skin that hits the air. I still have the surgeon’s marker pen on my chest, as well as the black sticky marks where plasters have been. I have been wearing the same surgical socks for days, and whilst, as you know, I have been changing my pants daily (yesterday was luminous orange, today, turquoise) I am starting to hum. Thanks to the pesky drains coming out of my pits I can’t use deodorant and I’m too scared to try and shave them in case I catch something (small mercies that this is definitely wouldn’t be one of my breasts.)

Before the op I worried about how attractive my boyfriend would find me sans boobs. I hadn’t taken into consideration this might be mainly because I’m gross. A fact, which Mr F confirmed last night.

Bowel watch:

Day 5 and there is still no sign. This is now, the main question anyone is asking me. My pain is well under control, and so it seems, are my bowels.  Victorian control! Despite laxatives, multiple walks round the car park, stomach massages and a couple of squats, there is no movement. My stomach is so swollen it is now more prominent than my deflated chest. However, whilst I’m still able to breathe and not in pain, I’ll resist the urge to double dose on the laxatives.  Do not fear – I’ll keep you updated.

Drain gate:

Whilst it’s a bit minging, I fear it’s difficult for anyone to really understand what I mean when I say I have drains coming out of my armpit, so see below for a graphic visual. These lead into the cavity of my chest, where all the potentially cancerous tissue and fat has been removed and where my expanders are currently sitting behind my pectoral wall.

Blood coming out of the drains is a good thing because if blood collects in the cavity I have to go back under to open up my wounds again and the risk of infection is high. Also, as the Dr’s keep saying, it’s better out than in. However, before I can go home, and essentially before they can start filling up my expanders and giving me new boobs again, the drains need to run dry.

It is this area that is causing the delay. My right side is doing OK and the volume of blood and serum that collects in the bag each night (that they change at 12am) is decreasing. My left side on the other hand remains pretty heavy and the blood is darker. There is nothing wrong per se, as long as it’s draining out, but it does have to do its course before I can continue with mine.

Infection = bad! Especially with expanders as if this happens, they have to remove them and it could be a while before the reconstruction process can begin.

Day 5

So a day 5 begins my aims are as follows:

• Walk
• Read – I usually love reading, but have been too hyper until now to settle down with a good book
• Meditate
• Keep on an even keel…

Day One: Surgery Day

Mr F has told me that I’m only allowed to write a very short blog due to the fact that since I have come out of recovery, I have not stopped and have been bouncing off the walls.  So as he’s been amazing and I need him to do quite a lot for me, I am going to listen to him and limit this blog post to the highlights of today:

• 5:50am: Alarm call – read messages on Facebook, cried
• 6:45am: Got to hospital, paid $270 to get a room on my own – it’s more expensive than a posh Travelodge (p.s. I don’t actually have my own room at the moment despite this – but can’t be bothered to write about it)
• Get changed into my gowns, me and Mr F debate whether I should wear pants for surgery or not. He wins, I put my pants back on
• Go down to theatre and sit on a bed. About 3 mins later it’s time for Mr F to leave. This is much sooner than we thought. We say our goodbyes, he looks more worried than me. I am wheeled off
• Starting to get hooked up when my plastic surgeon comes down to tell them he hasn’t marked me up yet.  I walk to a little room, protecting my modesty at my derriere, conscious that I wore terrible pants today. He marks me up with those really toxic pens that people in Merthyr Tydfil use on the weekend… The drugs begin
• 8am: I’m back and a very charismatic, Maltese anesthetist comes to pump me up. He’s shouting at people to get all number of drugs and, before I know it, unknown substances are pouring into my body, via my hand
• 08:10am: In the theatre, it’s freezing! It is now that I have a little ‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME’ moment. I have been the most positive patient in Randwick all morning so this is a contrast.  Have a pep talk with myself, which is aided by the anesthetic.  We debate whether I’m going to Miami or Cardiff… I choose Miami … OUT COLD
• 12ishpm: Wake up in recovery and want to see Mr F. They won’t let me leave until my heart rate goes up – it’s at a worrying low level – I inform them that I am incredibly fit and so my resting heart rate is amazing, and low. After a while they buy this and move me to the ward
• 3pm: Mr F is waiting for me, he expects me to be woozy, I’m high as a kite and so excited to see him.  Have my first glass of water in 17 hours. The water goes through the gas tubes in my nose
• I have a support bandage on my chest – looks like one of the boob tubes I was fond of wearing to Astoria when I was 17. Two drains coming out my armpits. A morphine button to my left – ACE
• Mr F sets me up for any eventuality – WI Fi hot spot, iPad, Heat magazine, mobile phone, laptop

• 5pm: I get a little Hangry. It’s been 20 hours since I’ve eaten anything. I also start telling Mr F that for breakfast tomorrow I’d like a skimmed latte with fruit and yoghurt for breakfast. He sighs – this is going to be the cue for when I push it.  Note to self, don’t piss off the carer
• 5:45pm: FOOD! Chicken soup (reminds me of uni), small cheese sandwich, vanilla slice and a cup of tea. Mr F has a sandwich and half the vanilla slice
• I crash for a second. Food had made me realise pain.  I cry for 2 seconds, press the switch of pain relief love, am happy again
• 6:30ishpm: I decide to write a blog post. Mr F is not that impressed. My breast surgeon comes to see me. He is impressed, for him, this is a positive thing. He’s going to check on me over the next few days to see if my nipples look like they’re going to survive… Good luck nipples!
• 6:45pm: I tell Mr F to leave as a) I want to write my blog post and b) I feel bad, he’s been here a while and has done at least 48 patient duties – which he has excelled at I might add
• Mr F goes to leave and I start crying. Oh

And here I am. Nearly 12 hours with no boobs and everything is OK. I feel like I’ve done one million push ups and my range of movement is really limited, but my head is good and at this moment in time, there’s no regrets.

Back tomorrow. (p.s. this blog aint short, sorry)

ANSWERED: I’m not going to have any boobs – do I really need a bra?

Some of you may remember my post that asked the question, if I’m getting my boobs lopped off, do I really need a bra? http://www.imgettingmyboobsoff.wordpress.com/2013/03/05/

Despite having done quite a lot of research, at that point I did not have a definitive answer. So as I went to my last pre-op appointment with my plastic surgeon, I was keen to get the answer.

I like my plastic surgeon, as much as anyone needs to like their plastic surgeon. He’s pretty straight up, honest and seems to have my best interests at heart. As a result, I trust him and that’s what’s important for me. However, am I going to invite him and his family over for dinner? It’s unlikely. Does he laugh at any of my ‘I’m a really positive patient’ jokes? No. Not even one.

I arrive at my appointment with my bra questions printed out on a piece of paper and wait for my cue…

Plastic surgeon: “So Trisha, do you have any questions?”

Me: “Yes, do I need to wear a bra after surgery?”

Plastic surgeon: “No”

Me: “Oh, I thought you might give me one?”

Plastic surgeon: “No”

Me: “Oh, I see. I read somewhere that I won’t ever need to wear a bra ever again?”

Plastic surgeon: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “I’m not sure about how I feel about that. I quite like wearing a bra.”

Plastic surgeon: “You can choose to wear a bra, but you don’t need to.”

I probably cracked a bad patient joke here and that was that. I’m not going to lie, I was a little bit disappointed. As we have discussed before, whilst I haven’t been the best lingerie buyer to date, I was keen to treat my new boobs a little better. So I left with the answers to my questions, but a little despondent.

That was until I received a call a few days later from one of the breast nurses at the hospital. She was calling to introduce herself and let me know that she’ll be getting me a bra to take home with me from the hospital.  HURRAH!

She explained that whilst you don’t need to wear a bra, lots of women want to, and so they get you a bra for when you’re ready to wear one. What’s more, as I’ll have the chest of a prepubescent girl during the beginning of the filling process, they also give you some soft foam to fill the bras with to give you some shape and confidence until the new boobs come into play.

With the encouragement to go forth and wear a bra, regardless of whether I need one or not, I am ready to go lingerie window shopping again.

Post Surgery Bra Shopping

Before you start, this article is a good checklist for what you need to bear in mind when buying a post-surgical bra. http://breastcancer.about.com/od/lifeduringtreatment/tp/bras-camis.htm. Key points are, focus on comfort and look for wide bands on the shoulders and beneath the breast.  Underwires are a no no until your surgeon says so, avoid seams and choose front fastening, especially for the months immediately following surgery.

Across the pond, the great British institution that is Marks and Spencer, has pulled together a video lingerie guide to post surgery, which is good to watch before you buy anything:  http://www.marksandspencer.com/MS-TV/b/311612031?intid=emtv_2_42_1375671779001

They have quite a good range of bras, very reasonably priced, but their post-surgery ones do look a bit like my grandma would wear. It might be worth looking at some of their non-wired options, which are much prettier, for a bit further down the track.

I like this Carefix Post-Op Bra, Alice that I found on http://www.undiewarehouse.com.au (which has loads of options BTW). It does up at the front, is wireless and recommended for post-operative stage, immediately following surgery.

Another one from Carefix that I found on Westfield is also pretty cool. Again it does up at the font, holds dressings in place and says it’s great for use in the recovery stage after breast augmentation, reduction, reconstruction, mastopexy, lumpectomy or radiation. Sounds pretty comprehensive to me? http://www.westfield.com.au/au/search?sq=post+surgery+bras

This Berlei wirefree post-surgery cotton bra looks a bit ‘surgical’ and asexual, but I like Berlei and you can trust they’ll probably be good. It has both front and back opening and cotton inner pockets to accommodate prosthesis. http://www.berlei.com.au/bras/shop-by-range/post-surgery/

Finally, another great site for Aussies is Zodee http://www.zodee.com.au/search/?w=Post+surgery. They start from just over $25 for a basic wire free bra, and go up to around $60 for something more special.