Diminished Fire

My consultation with the plastic surgeon went very well. He reviewed all the reconstruction options and asked if I had any questions. I raised the topic of resensation. At that moment, I watched him draw a breath in, drop his head for a split second, and then look at me and say, “Tell me what you know about that.” I told him what I knew, and he filled in the blanks. He then said that it wasn’t something he offers patients but because I asked for it, he would do the procedure. It felt so good to hear that. Then, he examined what he was working with, squeezing my tummy fat, this way and that way, to make sure he had enough to relocate to my breast. He said you have some but not a lot to work with; you carry your fat on your back. I laughed and said I carry it everywhere. He made some measurements, and confidently suggested he could do a direct to implant reconstruction. He recommended it and said that there was no reason why they would need to cut me more than necessary. He also clarified that there is no such thing as one-and-done with reconstruction and that I would be getting to know him very well over the next couple years. At one point he also said the team wasn’t there to just help people live, but to give patients a reason to live. I left that consultation feeling seen and heard, and trusting I was in capable caring hands.

Leading up to the surgery date, I received a few check-in calls from the Plastics nurse and the Breast Health Clinic social worker asking how I was doing, availing themselves to answer any questions I had, and putting me at ease before surgery. I felt warmly supported.

On surgery day, September 22, I was handled with efficiency and kindness by a team of capable staff. One staff member from Plastics came to draw markings on my breasts with a black Sharpie marker and said the plastic surgeon would be in to see me for a moment. He came in, examined the markings and as he did this I thought, remember, sensation is important to me and so is looking amazing naked -not just with clothes on. You got this right? But I felt shy and vulnerable, so I didn’t say anything. I just let him shake my hand and leave. I wish I had said something.

When I woke from surgery, I felt so much pain. I remember lying there weeping. Tears streaming out of my eyes, filling my ears and soaking my face. I thought I would wake up feeling that yummy, anesthetized state of calm and deep relaxation underneath those wonderful, heated blankets one gets after being put under. Unfortunately, that was NOT my experience. No deliciousness. Just pain. Neither of the surgeons stopped by to see me after surgery.

After a few hours I was sent home bandaged up, with a surgical drainage tube sewn into my side. A nurse gave me a paper that detailed what I needed to do over the next few days at home and the planned follow up appointments. I would have a follow up appointment with Plastics over the next month to have the tube removed, and I would hear from the general surgeon in three weeks once the pathology report was completed.

The following six weeks were hard. Sleeping was the most difficult. It hurt so much to move in and out of bed, I slept in the recliner for the first four weeks. I just want to add that my surgery date was September 22nd, and the buyers of our home took possession October 31 and in between, we were moving into our new place in the city. As a result, physically, I was doing more than I had any business doing which didn’t facilitate healing or pain relief. Bad timing.

I didn’t receive any calls from Cancer Care staff to check in on how I was doing post surgery. I wished they did call because there were many strange and scary sensations happening to me that I didn’t understand. My two follow up appointments with Plastics were brief and technical, focussed on maintenance and removal of my surgical drain. When I broached topics of concern like, it feels like I have a broken rib, or what do you make of the hot sparks of pain shooting around my breast, or my breast is completely numb to the touch, they just said, “It’s normal”. I didn’t feel any empathy from them, and they didn’t take the time to explain what was going on inside of me. I didn’t have the strength to assert myself. I was just surviving at that point.

I remember talking about this with a friend and she said that when you have a baby, there are so many people in our circle of women who know what you are going through. Who have been there, done that. It is tremendously reassuring. In hindsight, the fact that the staff in Plastics were not concerned was probably a good thing. If they didn’t find any cause for concern, then perhaps that should have been a signal to me not to worry. However, despite no expressed concerns from the medical staff and, the devotion and support of so many loved ones in my life, I still felt scared and alone. It seemed what I needed most, was someone to say, I know what you are going through, and you are going to be okay. Looking back, this was one the darkest and loneliest part of my journey.

By the end of week four, I experienced a major shift. The pain had subsided enough for me to sleep in my bed and I felt exponentially better with each full night of sleep. I was also feeling a bit of my fire back, and I was ready to ask the medical staff for what I needed. The first on my list of requests was feedback on how the resensation procedure went. It seemed odd to me that I didn’t hear from the surgeon on this matter following the surgery, given it was outside of the norm to perform. At my next appointment date, I asked the intern who was assigned my file that day. She indicated that there were no notes on the file about resensation and that I would have to speak to the surgeon. She said she would see if he was available to stop in to see me but after 20 minutes of waiting, I got dressed and left. As I passed the intern in the hallway, I asked if she could give a message to him to follow up with me when he had time. Between you and me though, I didn’t leave. I fled! I fled because I was afraid. I was afraid he forgot to do the procedure and I was afraid of what he would tell me. I was afraid of being let down because my gut told me something wasn’t right.

After waiting a couple weeks and not hearing back, I forced myself to follow up. This time, a different person from the office returned my call on behalf of the doctor. And the outcome she relayed on his behalf was that he was unable to find a nerve. That’s it. That’s all she had to say. I was hot! I asked her to relay the message to the doctor that I would have expected to hear from him sooner and directly if the intended procedure was not successful. To which she responded that she would relay the message for his consideration. That call came approximately two months after my surgery.

Now, I am aware that there are a multitude of reasons the Plastics team could give for why the chain of events occurred as they did. I have dreamt up many reasonable explanations on their behalf. But the truth is, it’s January, nearly four months since my surgery, and I have not spoken with or seen the plastic surgeon. Moreover, they do not schedule patients back to see them until after all the cancer treatments are completed. Therefore, there is no reason for him to reach out to me and as each day goes by that I don’t speak with him about my concerns, I grow more and more frightened to see him.

Right or wrong, my actual experiences coupled with the stories I told myself have eroded my trust in him. And if I want to attempt to restore trust, I am going to have to talk to him. Like really talk to him – full disclosure. Why? Because I think he would want to know if I was upset about how things played out from my perspective, and I think he might want to have the opportunity to explain his perspective. At least I think he would. Regardless, I still need him. I need him to finish the necessary updates that typically get done with breast reconstruction and I desperately want him to finish the work in the most beautiful possible way.

Despite my paralyzing fear of opening up about my concerns, I have to fan the embers of my courage and set up a meeting. Otherwise, I risk avoiding the whole matter and pretending what happened didn’t upset me. Not acting in integrity with my truth, will surely impact the quality of what will transpire between us going forward and that will be on me. Still, when fear gets her grip on me, I can slow to a tortoise pace or retreat into my shell and almost disappear.

The one thing about the turtle though, they also have determination and perseverance.

Thank you for being here.

With so much love,

Shannon Rae