winter flowers.

I simply do not like, nor do I understand silk/plastic flowers.
It was the final pre-surgery office consultation with my surgeon when I was escorted to a small office with two nurses to further discuss surgery and possible reconstruction options. The moment I received my diagnoses I knew a mastectomy would be in order. I knew my history. I was no longer a candidate for conservative surgery, also known as a lumpectomy often followed by radiation. I had elected this option three years earlier. I was informed at that time that if cancer reoccurred in the same breast radiation would not be an option and a lumpectomy is rarely performed without some kind of adjunct therapy such as chemo or radiation. So, when the diagnoses hit, I new there were very few, if any decisions to make.
I had just sat down when a huge black binder was pulled from the shelf. Inside were polaroids of women with bodies that were vaguely familiar, they had existed only in my imagination until that moment. Things got a little overwhelming and I began to cry. I asked that my husband be retrieved from the waiting room. He'd want to be in on this, i thought. not the decision of reconstruction. But I know him, he'd want to support me, whatever I decided and the idea of being in that room alone, without him, with these images simply felt lonely. Immediately I was deeply sorry and apologized for my reaction to the photos. These were strong, proud women who were further along the same journey I was now only beginning. My reaction jolted me into a perspective that was both humbling and empowering.
Even before my surgeon explained the procedure of reconstruction to me I was over 90 percent sure that I was not going to have an implant. And after the explanation- I was over 99 percent certain. The idea of stretching my breast muscle with a temporary saline implant for several weeks was alarming. Not to mention that my muscle and skin had a high risk of tearing with slow healing since it had been weakened from the radiation treatments. After three months or so of stretching and repairing the muscle I could've had a nice perky new saline or silicone breast with a tattooed nipple. But the idea of having a brand new perky breast on one side was completely too foreign to me. Philosophically it made no sense.
I have never been emotionally or psychologically attached to my rather small breasts (I don't even know my bra size- medium, 32-34B think). I wasn't necessarily freaked out about losing my breast as I was losing it to cancer- the fake breast would just as easily be a reminder that cancer dared trip into my life as no breast at all. So the attempt to look "normal" as in "never having cancer" or "fake it" factor was not an option for me. To move forward, post-surgery, as a single breasted woman was, I can say with deep honesty, a natural, somewhat gentle decision for me.

an idea for a t-shirt:
"there are worse things than LIVING with one breast".