For a good book on a personal experience with a mastectomy, read Betty Rollins' book, "First You Cry". I cried with her and yes, there was even one part of the book that brought tears of laughter to my eyes. (My husband couldn't see the humor. Only someone who had undergone a mastectomy would.)
Oh, how I wish I had a book like that when I had my mastectomy. I wouldn't have felt so alone.
Monday, March 16, 2009
6 weeks, the dressing disaster
As I said, at 6 weeks I could put my hand up over my head. I was so proud of the accomplishment that I decided to wear a pull over blouse with a zipper up the back to the surgeon's office for a checkup.
When I arrived, I proudly showed the nurse what I had done. She was proud of me, too, until we both realized that I couldn't get it off easily. My arm was tired and aching and just didn't feel like the struggle of getting the blouse off.
But struggle we did. Eventually it came off but only with the nurse tugging along with me. When the doctor came in the room, I showed him how I could raise both arms over my head. His response? "I knew you could." He had faith in me when I didn't have much in myself.
But I knew I could never get that blouse back on. The nurse let me borrow the hospital gown to get home. Must have looked a strange site but I walked out of the clinic as if everyone wore a hospital gown home. I never wore that blouse again.
When I arrived, I proudly showed the nurse what I had done. She was proud of me, too, until we both realized that I couldn't get it off easily. My arm was tired and aching and just didn't feel like the struggle of getting the blouse off.
But struggle we did. Eventually it came off but only with the nurse tugging along with me. When the doctor came in the room, I showed him how I could raise both arms over my head. His response? "I knew you could." He had faith in me when I didn't have much in myself.
But I knew I could never get that blouse back on. The nurse let me borrow the hospital gown to get home. Must have looked a strange site but I walked out of the clinic as if everyone wore a hospital gown home. I never wore that blouse again.
The answer? Exercise
The answer? Get that arm moving ASAP.
Thank God for the ladies from Reach to Recovery. Waldean and Dorthy saved the day. What did they do? They made me feel normal again. They taught me how to exercise the arm to regain full mobility again.
The first exercise was learning to crawl the wall with my hands. With my forehead placed against the wall, I placed my hands at shoulder level and slowly crawled my fingers up the wall. It didn't seem like much, but when you had one arm that didn't want to move at all, every inch was an obstacle. Each day, I aimed a bit higher. My goal was to have both hands over my head within 6 weeks. Waldean and Dorthy warned me that it might take me much longer. Four times a day, I crawled the wall.
The second exercise was easier. Dorthy had brought me a small ball similar to what was on a paddle ball. I held the ball in my hand, squeezing it slowly, beginning with 5 times each session. Four times a day (and many times in between), I squeezed the ball. I could feel the muscles pulling under my arm.
The third exercise involved tossing the ball. Oops! That ball on the end of the rubber band can be painful when it bounces back and hits the chest. Better aim differently. Four times a day.
The last exercise needed help at home. My husband tossed a rope over the door between two small nails. I would put the paralyzed arm on the lower end of the rope and gently tug the arm, higher and higher each day.
I wanted to move my arm. I wanted to show the doctor I could do it.
And I did. 6 weeks, I could hold my affected arm above my head. barely. But I could do it.
Thank God for the ladies from Reach to Recovery. Waldean and Dorthy saved the day. What did they do? They made me feel normal again. They taught me how to exercise the arm to regain full mobility again.
The first exercise was learning to crawl the wall with my hands. With my forehead placed against the wall, I placed my hands at shoulder level and slowly crawled my fingers up the wall. It didn't seem like much, but when you had one arm that didn't want to move at all, every inch was an obstacle. Each day, I aimed a bit higher. My goal was to have both hands over my head within 6 weeks. Waldean and Dorthy warned me that it might take me much longer. Four times a day, I crawled the wall.
The second exercise was easier. Dorthy had brought me a small ball similar to what was on a paddle ball. I held the ball in my hand, squeezing it slowly, beginning with 5 times each session. Four times a day (and many times in between), I squeezed the ball. I could feel the muscles pulling under my arm.
The third exercise involved tossing the ball. Oops! That ball on the end of the rubber band can be painful when it bounces back and hits the chest. Better aim differently. Four times a day.
The last exercise needed help at home. My husband tossed a rope over the door between two small nails. I would put the paralyzed arm on the lower end of the rope and gently tug the arm, higher and higher each day.
I wanted to move my arm. I wanted to show the doctor I could do it.
And I did. 6 weeks, I could hold my affected arm above my head. barely. But I could do it.
Paralyzed
Most frightening of all was the inability to use the affected arm. The partial paralyzation of the arm was something I really wasn't prepared for. It wasn't a subject we had ever discussed.
I couldn't move my arm. I couldn't dress myself, at least not anything that went over my head or had a back opening. For anything that needed two hands, I only had one hand that functioned at full capacity.
I couldn't roll my hair with one hand. Pulling on panty hose with one hand was a real challenge. Driving a stick shift was almost impossible. Forget opening jars or lifting over my head. Wasn't happening.
I know many people must go through life without extremities and have learned to deal with the situation very well. I have been astonished at how well some have adapted. I was ashamed that I was grieving the loss of an ability that others never had.
I couldn't move my arm. I couldn't dress myself, at least not anything that went over my head or had a back opening. For anything that needed two hands, I only had one hand that functioned at full capacity.
I couldn't roll my hair with one hand. Pulling on panty hose with one hand was a real challenge. Driving a stick shift was almost impossible. Forget opening jars or lifting over my head. Wasn't happening.
I know many people must go through life without extremities and have learned to deal with the situation very well. I have been astonished at how well some have adapted. I was ashamed that I was grieving the loss of an ability that others never had.
The Look
Everyone is afraid of being left with IT. What is IT? IT is the mastectomy scar.
At first I was afraid to look at my chest. I didn't want to see that vacant spot where once I had a breast. My eyes avoided my chest whenever the nurses changed the dressings. If I didn't see it, it didn't exist. Right?
Realilty was a different story. The incision started at my shoulder and traveled down below the breast area. The stitches formed a neat little row. There was no muscle left. The skin stretched tight over the rib cage.
Because the nerve endings had been disturbed, for awhile I could feel hot or cold drinks as if the drinks were dribbling down the outside of my chest. That was a new experience and lasted until the nerves were healed.
The scar was only the beginning of the road I was to travel.
At first I was afraid to look at my chest. I didn't want to see that vacant spot where once I had a breast. My eyes avoided my chest whenever the nurses changed the dressings. If I didn't see it, it didn't exist. Right?
Realilty was a different story. The incision started at my shoulder and traveled down below the breast area. The stitches formed a neat little row. There was no muscle left. The skin stretched tight over the rib cage.
Because the nerve endings had been disturbed, for awhile I could feel hot or cold drinks as if the drinks were dribbling down the outside of my chest. That was a new experience and lasted until the nerves were healed.
The scar was only the beginning of the road I was to travel.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
First Ladies
I'll never forget the comment my OB/GYN said to me after my mastectomy. He stood by my bed and said, "Well, how does it feel to be a first lady?"
First lady? Let me explain.
Prior to my surgery, Betty Ford, First Lady of the United States of America, had faced the giant breast cancer. Happy Rockefeller, the Vice-President's wife, had also undergone surgery for breast cancer. I had joined an exclusive club. The club of breast cancer survivor.
Mrs. Rockefeller faced her breast cancer quietly. The press left her alone. Mrs. Ford had to be public with her breast cancer. Every move she made was scrutinized by the press and the public. We never allowed her the privilege to grieve her loss in private.
Mrs. Ford became my hero. Because of her loss of privacy she faced other demons. I find no fault with that. Yet, in spite of those demons, she set out on a path to help other people. Betty Ford took her pain and suffering and turned it around so others could get relief from the demons in their lives.
Thank you, Mrs. Ford. Thanks for being a shining example. Thanks for being my hero.
First lady? Let me explain.
Prior to my surgery, Betty Ford, First Lady of the United States of America, had faced the giant breast cancer. Happy Rockefeller, the Vice-President's wife, had also undergone surgery for breast cancer. I had joined an exclusive club. The club of breast cancer survivor.
Mrs. Rockefeller faced her breast cancer quietly. The press left her alone. Mrs. Ford had to be public with her breast cancer. Every move she made was scrutinized by the press and the public. We never allowed her the privilege to grieve her loss in private.
Mrs. Ford became my hero. Because of her loss of privacy she faced other demons. I find no fault with that. Yet, in spite of those demons, she set out on a path to help other people. Betty Ford took her pain and suffering and turned it around so others could get relief from the demons in their lives.
Thank you, Mrs. Ford. Thanks for being a shining example. Thanks for being my hero.
The Surgeon
It has been almost 34 years since the first time I walked into the surgeon's office. I didn't know him. I had chosen his name from a list. I thought I could hide the fear behind a bravado spirit. I was young and in those days, didn't have a clue what to ask and I didn't know enough to be afraid.
Were there such things as chemo in those days? I really don't know. I don't remember ever having that conversation. While my outside was calm, my insides were in a turmoil.
I remember after the surgeon examined me, he took a look at the radiology report that said the lump was a cyst. His comment was, "That is no cyst. That is a lump and if it is cancer, I do a radical."
Radical? I knew a little bit about that. The church pianist at my father's church had undergone a radical. In those days, no one talked about breasts. Breasts were a secret topic. Did society think the disease would go away if no one talked about it? or that women would be less afraid if they knew nothing?
By the time I checked in for surgery, I had already heard the comment from the GP about lumpectomies and had that to chew around a couple of weeks. I didn't ask anything else.
I went into surgery, believing the doctor knew what was best for me. He had a calming voice. He knew the path I was facing. I was at a fork in the road in my life.
The surgery lasted over four hours. The initial lab work identified the lump as malignant. I lost a lot of blood during surgery and the surgeon fought to keep me from going into shock. The result was a radical.
Later when I woke up, I saw the blood dripping into my veins. I saw the IV and felt the heavy bandage on my chest. The drainage tubes were tight under the skin, pulling and hurting. Around me, nurses were talking quietly as they tended my needs. I was aware, but not awake enough to tell them I could understand their conversation.
A friend who worked in the lab at the hospital came in to check on me. I had not been awake enough when the surgeon came in to discuss the surgery. But, from the nurses' conversation, I knew something frightening had happened during surgery. I looked at my friend and said, "When did you know what had happened to me?" Believing I knew, she said she knew as soon as she got to work at 9 that I had lost a lot of blood and they were fighting to save my life.
My friend went to the employee lounge and overheard the GP asking my surgeon if I knew about the mastectomy. That was when my friend learned that the surgeon had not been able to talk to me and I had trapped her into telling me the truth.
After my friend left my room, I dozed off. The next time I awoke, my surgeon was sitting on the side of the bed, patting my face, calling my name. I opened my eyes. I saw the tears slipping down his cheeks as he said, "I am sorry. I am so sorry. I had to take it all." For 34 years, I have not forgotten his tears. He cared. The surgery he performed that day was not done out of some wish to butcher a young woman. He performed the mastectomy to give me the best chance at life possible.
From the list of five surgeons, I am so grateful, God led me to this surgeon. From the jungles of two tours of duty in Vietnam, to the halls of Walter Reed and now to civilian life, the toughness he showed with his decisions were softened by the heart of God.
The following months and years were difficult. Yet, through it all, my surgeon was there to make me mad enough to fight for myself. Fight to want to live. He never let me forget I had value. I was important.
There was a reason God allowed me to face breast cancer and a radical mastectomy 34 years ago. He knew the journey I faced. He placed me on this journey to share with other women and their families.
Today, what is my choice? Today my choice is life. I would rather be flat chested and live than keep the breast, have my immune system destroyed by chemo, burned by radiation and have my life shortened.
I am so grateful. Thank you doc, for healing me.
Were there such things as chemo in those days? I really don't know. I don't remember ever having that conversation. While my outside was calm, my insides were in a turmoil.
I remember after the surgeon examined me, he took a look at the radiology report that said the lump was a cyst. His comment was, "That is no cyst. That is a lump and if it is cancer, I do a radical."
Radical? I knew a little bit about that. The church pianist at my father's church had undergone a radical. In those days, no one talked about breasts. Breasts were a secret topic. Did society think the disease would go away if no one talked about it? or that women would be less afraid if they knew nothing?
By the time I checked in for surgery, I had already heard the comment from the GP about lumpectomies and had that to chew around a couple of weeks. I didn't ask anything else.
I went into surgery, believing the doctor knew what was best for me. He had a calming voice. He knew the path I was facing. I was at a fork in the road in my life.
The surgery lasted over four hours. The initial lab work identified the lump as malignant. I lost a lot of blood during surgery and the surgeon fought to keep me from going into shock. The result was a radical.
Later when I woke up, I saw the blood dripping into my veins. I saw the IV and felt the heavy bandage on my chest. The drainage tubes were tight under the skin, pulling and hurting. Around me, nurses were talking quietly as they tended my needs. I was aware, but not awake enough to tell them I could understand their conversation.
A friend who worked in the lab at the hospital came in to check on me. I had not been awake enough when the surgeon came in to discuss the surgery. But, from the nurses' conversation, I knew something frightening had happened during surgery. I looked at my friend and said, "When did you know what had happened to me?" Believing I knew, she said she knew as soon as she got to work at 9 that I had lost a lot of blood and they were fighting to save my life.
My friend went to the employee lounge and overheard the GP asking my surgeon if I knew about the mastectomy. That was when my friend learned that the surgeon had not been able to talk to me and I had trapped her into telling me the truth.
After my friend left my room, I dozed off. The next time I awoke, my surgeon was sitting on the side of the bed, patting my face, calling my name. I opened my eyes. I saw the tears slipping down his cheeks as he said, "I am sorry. I am so sorry. I had to take it all." For 34 years, I have not forgotten his tears. He cared. The surgery he performed that day was not done out of some wish to butcher a young woman. He performed the mastectomy to give me the best chance at life possible.
From the list of five surgeons, I am so grateful, God led me to this surgeon. From the jungles of two tours of duty in Vietnam, to the halls of Walter Reed and now to civilian life, the toughness he showed with his decisions were softened by the heart of God.
The following months and years were difficult. Yet, through it all, my surgeon was there to make me mad enough to fight for myself. Fight to want to live. He never let me forget I had value. I was important.
There was a reason God allowed me to face breast cancer and a radical mastectomy 34 years ago. He knew the journey I faced. He placed me on this journey to share with other women and their families.
Today, what is my choice? Today my choice is life. I would rather be flat chested and live than keep the breast, have my immune system destroyed by chemo, burned by radiation and have my life shortened.
I am so grateful. Thank you doc, for healing me.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Harsh Words/Or Were They?
Before I went in for my possible mastectomy, I had a physical by a GP who was a member of the clinic where I was to undergo my surgery. Although my surgeon had told me he would do a radical, I really never expected it. No one in my family had ever had breast cancer at that time. I was the first.
Just a few weeks before, Phil Donahue had a guest surgeon from PA on his show. The discussion was about lumpectomies followed by radiation. This was a new procedure with no studies on success rates but his manner was so convincing. Listening to the surgeon, it sounded like a good idea to me. I was young. No history of BC in my family. Why not?
So, I asked the good doctor about other choices for surgery, especially the lumpectomy. (I had heard nightmare stories about radiation treatments at the big hospital in Wichita.) He said, "Well, we could sew you up and let you die." That statement shut me up. I didn't ask any more questions.
For years I thought that statement was harsh and even cruel. But, you know, sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Sort of like Simon on American Idol. Gotta say it like it is.
If I knew where that doctor was, I would thank him. It WAS a harsh statement, but women facing surgery for BC should have someone get their attention without sugar coating everything. Get the facts. Choose life.
I'll get into the "HOLY GRAIL" of breast reconstruction another time. Those are promoted by surgeons with dollar signs in their eyes, women who have never had one done but want to be sure BC women have a "choice" or by BC women who are still in the honeymoon stages after the reconstruction. None of them address the real damage those surgeries from hell cause patients.
My surgeon chose a radical mastectomy FOR me all those years ago. Knowing what I know now, after reading many obits of women who chose lesser surgeries with treatments that ended up shortening their lives, I am glad he made that choice for me.
Women are only making partially informed decisions. Surgeons don't have the guts to give them the whole story about survival rates. If women knew a radical could give them 30-40 more years of life, don't you think more of them would choose to be flat chested and alive than dead in five. I like that. "Flat chested and alive, rather than dead in five."
Just a few weeks before, Phil Donahue had a guest surgeon from PA on his show. The discussion was about lumpectomies followed by radiation. This was a new procedure with no studies on success rates but his manner was so convincing. Listening to the surgeon, it sounded like a good idea to me. I was young. No history of BC in my family. Why not?
So, I asked the good doctor about other choices for surgery, especially the lumpectomy. (I had heard nightmare stories about radiation treatments at the big hospital in Wichita.) He said, "Well, we could sew you up and let you die." That statement shut me up. I didn't ask any more questions.
For years I thought that statement was harsh and even cruel. But, you know, sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Sort of like Simon on American Idol. Gotta say it like it is.
If I knew where that doctor was, I would thank him. It WAS a harsh statement, but women facing surgery for BC should have someone get their attention without sugar coating everything. Get the facts. Choose life.
I'll get into the "HOLY GRAIL" of breast reconstruction another time. Those are promoted by surgeons with dollar signs in their eyes, women who have never had one done but want to be sure BC women have a "choice" or by BC women who are still in the honeymoon stages after the reconstruction. None of them address the real damage those surgeries from hell cause patients.
My surgeon chose a radical mastectomy FOR me all those years ago. Knowing what I know now, after reading many obits of women who chose lesser surgeries with treatments that ended up shortening their lives, I am glad he made that choice for me.
Women are only making partially informed decisions. Surgeons don't have the guts to give them the whole story about survival rates. If women knew a radical could give them 30-40 more years of life, don't you think more of them would choose to be flat chested and alive than dead in five. I like that. "Flat chested and alive, rather than dead in five."
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Saddened
My heart grows sad when I read the obits of young women who have lost their brave battle against breast cancer. I wonder how they made the decision for the journey they traveled.
Three times this month I have read obituaries of young women (under 55, one was 39) who died within a few years of diagnosis of breast cancer. Each had "breast saving" surgery, followed by chemo and/or radiation.
How much time was cut out of their lives because of these choices. Yes, I know. It WAS their choice. Our society is all about freedom of choice.
Why don't we call it like it is. Freedom to die sooner than reaching for life by taking a more radical approach to fighting breast cancer. This freedom of choice based on incomplete information is killing women. My opinion.
Why is the information given women incomplete? The medical professionals aren't tracking the radical mastectomies. We don't exist on their radar. We aren't acknowledged because our survival rates would screw up their stats.
My radical mastectomy was over 30 years ago. I was young, so yes, I know what the emotional trauma of being diagnosed with breast cancer is like at the ripe old age of 27. The two Reach to Recovery volunteers who came to visit me in the hospital had undergone their radicals over 20 years previously. As far as I know, both lived another 20 years.
Before women are seduced into these lesser surgeries, give them the "whole truth, and nothing but the truth" about their chances.
Folks, I am flat chested. Somedays I totally forget I have no breasts. My prostheses are stored away and only taken out for special occassions.
And when I die, I don't want the obits to say I have fought the battle against breast cancer for over 30 years. I have survived.
Three times this month I have read obituaries of young women (under 55, one was 39) who died within a few years of diagnosis of breast cancer. Each had "breast saving" surgery, followed by chemo and/or radiation.
How much time was cut out of their lives because of these choices. Yes, I know. It WAS their choice. Our society is all about freedom of choice.
Why don't we call it like it is. Freedom to die sooner than reaching for life by taking a more radical approach to fighting breast cancer. This freedom of choice based on incomplete information is killing women. My opinion.
Why is the information given women incomplete? The medical professionals aren't tracking the radical mastectomies. We don't exist on their radar. We aren't acknowledged because our survival rates would screw up their stats.
My radical mastectomy was over 30 years ago. I was young, so yes, I know what the emotional trauma of being diagnosed with breast cancer is like at the ripe old age of 27. The two Reach to Recovery volunteers who came to visit me in the hospital had undergone their radicals over 20 years previously. As far as I know, both lived another 20 years.
Before women are seduced into these lesser surgeries, give them the "whole truth, and nothing but the truth" about their chances.
Folks, I am flat chested. Somedays I totally forget I have no breasts. My prostheses are stored away and only taken out for special occassions.
And when I die, I don't want the obits to say I have fought the battle against breast cancer for over 30 years. I have survived.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Vanity
Ladies, we all have been led to believe that the number ONE killer of women is heart disease, followed by breast cancer.
Not so!
You heard it here.
THE Number One killer of women is vanity.
Yep. You read it right. Vanity.
What else would cause thousands of women diagnosed with breast cancer each year to choose breast saving surgery, followed up with chemo and/or radiation?
What else would make women choose to shorten their lives, choose to die?
Vanity, thy name is vanity.
Wouldn't you rather live longer, a bit scarred maybe, but live to see your children grow into adults, rock those grandbabies, go to graduations and weddings?
The choice is yours, choose life.
Not so!
You heard it here.
THE Number One killer of women is vanity.
Yep. You read it right. Vanity.
What else would cause thousands of women diagnosed with breast cancer each year to choose breast saving surgery, followed up with chemo and/or radiation?
What else would make women choose to shorten their lives, choose to die?
Vanity, thy name is vanity.
Wouldn't you rather live longer, a bit scarred maybe, but live to see your children grow into adults, rock those grandbabies, go to graduations and weddings?
The choice is yours, choose life.
A Hunting I Went
OK, it has been a few days since the last post. I thought I would give medical science one more chance to post studies on long-term mastectomies. One more chance. Finding one is like finding a hair on a duck's back.
Medical science, IMHO, doesn't want those studies to be found, IF they exist. Why? There is money in tissue saving breast surgeries and treatments. There is NO big money in radical or modified mastectomies.
Ladies, look in the mirror. Do you love yourself? Does your husband or significant other love you? Is it a real love or a conditional love where you are loved only as long as you have two perfectly formed breasts.
Take a look ladies. Choose to live.
Medical science, IMHO, doesn't want those studies to be found, IF they exist. Why? There is money in tissue saving breast surgeries and treatments. There is NO big money in radical or modified mastectomies.
Ladies, look in the mirror. Do you love yourself? Does your husband or significant other love you? Is it a real love or a conditional love where you are loved only as long as you have two perfectly formed breasts.
Take a look ladies. Choose to live.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Thanks Doc
I look back on my days in the hospital following my mastectomy as a vacation in comparison to today’s approach to women’s surgeries. I stayed in the hospital for nine days. I didn’t go home until my surgeon, a veteran surgeon to our troops in Vietnam (two tours of duty in a MASH unit) said I should go home.
This blog won’t end today so I’ll eventually get to my unvarnished opinion of what I believe is the best chance for women who are diagnosed with breast cancer. But, I’ll give you a hint. The radical mastectomy saved my life. My surgeon, with his choice of a radical, gave me another 34 years of life. That is more than the majority of my R to R patients have had with their more simplified surgeries and treatments.
Thanks, Doc, for all these years.
This blog won’t end today so I’ll eventually get to my unvarnished opinion of what I believe is the best chance for women who are diagnosed with breast cancer. But, I’ll give you a hint. The radical mastectomy saved my life. My surgeon, with his choice of a radical, gave me another 34 years of life. That is more than the majority of my R to R patients have had with their more simplified surgeries and treatments.
Thanks, Doc, for all these years.
In the good old days!
I underwent a radical mastectomy. That was the surgery of choice in the good old days. Choice meaning, the doctor’s choice and a woman’s only option. In the good old days, women checked into a hospital the night before surgery, underwent blood and other lab tests, signed an almost blank medical release form (we trusted our doctors then) and left herself to the tender mercy of her surgeon. We were allowed to remain in the hospital until our surgeon was ready to release us. A Reach to Recovery (R to R) volunteer would come in and offer instructions on arm exercises, bra fittings, prostheses options and give emotional support.
Today is a different story. Women get to the hospital shortly before surgery. All lab work and x-rays have been done before arrival. Women are placed on the hospital’s conveyor belt, slid into surgery, out to recovery and the floor, just in time to be released before the staff has to change the sheets again. No time for an R to R volunteer. The new breed of doctors may not even be aware there are volunteers to help the patient. The new breed of doctor is valiantly hanging on to what little bit of authority the big insurance companies have left him or her.
In the good old days, an R to R volunteer was called the day after surgery and knew she had 2-4 days to get there. By the time I had my last R to R patient in 1983, I got the call during surgery and the patient was dismissed the next day. The well-informed ward clerk who called me said the patient had surgery the previous day and was due to go home the next. I quickly rushed to the hospital, only to find a patient who was barely awake enough from surgery to know I had arrived. But, yes, she went home the next day.
What was the difference between my own surgery and time in the hospital? None of the patients I served during my five years as an R to R volunteer had undergone a radical mastectomy. Most had simple mastectomies with a few modified radicals. By not removing muscle, there was no longer any need to keep women in the hospital for longer recovery.
What about their emotional status? Who cared? Insurance companies had now taken control over patient stays and doctors no longer could keep a patient in-house when the little snip at the insurance company call center said the patient had to go home. It didn’t matter if one more day would have allowed the patient to be more focused and aware of her surroundings. The extra time would have allowed family members and friends to plan ahead for meals, child care, errands, and other events the patient would have to face. Insurance companies just plain don’t care. The snip on the phone is supervised by a superior who gets a bonus for all those extra dollars not spent on patient care.
Today is a different story. Women get to the hospital shortly before surgery. All lab work and x-rays have been done before arrival. Women are placed on the hospital’s conveyor belt, slid into surgery, out to recovery and the floor, just in time to be released before the staff has to change the sheets again. No time for an R to R volunteer. The new breed of doctors may not even be aware there are volunteers to help the patient. The new breed of doctor is valiantly hanging on to what little bit of authority the big insurance companies have left him or her.
In the good old days, an R to R volunteer was called the day after surgery and knew she had 2-4 days to get there. By the time I had my last R to R patient in 1983, I got the call during surgery and the patient was dismissed the next day. The well-informed ward clerk who called me said the patient had surgery the previous day and was due to go home the next. I quickly rushed to the hospital, only to find a patient who was barely awake enough from surgery to know I had arrived. But, yes, she went home the next day.
What was the difference between my own surgery and time in the hospital? None of the patients I served during my five years as an R to R volunteer had undergone a radical mastectomy. Most had simple mastectomies with a few modified radicals. By not removing muscle, there was no longer any need to keep women in the hospital for longer recovery.
What about their emotional status? Who cared? Insurance companies had now taken control over patient stays and doctors no longer could keep a patient in-house when the little snip at the insurance company call center said the patient had to go home. It didn’t matter if one more day would have allowed the patient to be more focused and aware of her surroundings. The extra time would have allowed family members and friends to plan ahead for meals, child care, errands, and other events the patient would have to face. Insurance companies just plain don’t care. The snip on the phone is supervised by a superior who gets a bonus for all those extra dollars not spent on patient care.
This blog is not for the faint-hearted or someone who wants to read the feel-good stuff. This blog is about the reality of breast cancer and surgeries, as I know it, as I have experienced it. This blog is about saving a woman’s life, not bowing to the vanity crowd and the “I gotta have boobs” mentality.
Any comments on this blog are not intended to be medical or legal advice. If you want the medical spiel on breast cancer and surgical options, there are credible medical sites for those. If you want legal advice, call your county lawyer referral service. The comments you read here are based on 34 years of experience. No, I am not a surgeon, nor am I a nurse with limited education in the field. I am a breast cancer survivor. After 34 years, I can announce, “I HAVE SURVIVED BREAST CANCER.” I am not recovering. Been there done that. I AM RECOVERED! I AM A SURVIVOR!
Any comments on this blog are not intended to be medical or legal advice. If you want the medical spiel on breast cancer and surgical options, there are credible medical sites for those. If you want legal advice, call your county lawyer referral service. The comments you read here are based on 34 years of experience. No, I am not a surgeon, nor am I a nurse with limited education in the field. I am a breast cancer survivor. After 34 years, I can announce, “I HAVE SURVIVED BREAST CANCER.” I am not recovering. Been there done that. I AM RECOVERED! I AM A SURVIVOR!
Unvarnished-Mastectomies
First, let’s identify the options women have today once they hear the big C word…CANCER.
A: Radical mastectomy
A radical mastectomy was the surgery for women with breast cancer in days gone by. This required the removal of the breast, pectoral muscle, all lymph nodes under the arm and sometimes other fat and tissue. While this surgery used to be for everyone, today this surgery is reserved for women with more advanced breast cancer. This surgery may be done in conjunction with chemo or hormone therapy to shrink the tumor prior to surgery. One positive about this surgery is that you will be able to see your ribs for the first time since you hit puberty.
B: Modified Radical mastectomy
This surgery removes the breast and some of the lymph nodes while leaving the chest muscle intact. Doctors like to use this procedure to allow the patient the opportunity of breast reconstruction later.
C: Simple mastectomy
Remove the breast, leave the muscle and lymph nodes. Another surgery to give the patient the opportunity for breast reconstruction later.
D: Skin sparing mastectomy
Save the skin, by using a small incision around the areola to remove the tissue. This reminds me of scooping the goody out of a pumpkin. This surgery leaves an opportunity for breast reconstruction, too.
E: Subcutaneous mastectomy
Leave everything but the breast tissue. The skin, muscle, lymph nodes and nipple remain. Opportunity for breast reconstruction. Sounds simple, at least, doctors make it seem so.
F: Lumpectomy
Remove the mass, may be followed by radiation.
A: Radical mastectomy
A radical mastectomy was the surgery for women with breast cancer in days gone by. This required the removal of the breast, pectoral muscle, all lymph nodes under the arm and sometimes other fat and tissue. While this surgery used to be for everyone, today this surgery is reserved for women with more advanced breast cancer. This surgery may be done in conjunction with chemo or hormone therapy to shrink the tumor prior to surgery. One positive about this surgery is that you will be able to see your ribs for the first time since you hit puberty.
B: Modified Radical mastectomy
This surgery removes the breast and some of the lymph nodes while leaving the chest muscle intact. Doctors like to use this procedure to allow the patient the opportunity of breast reconstruction later.
C: Simple mastectomy
Remove the breast, leave the muscle and lymph nodes. Another surgery to give the patient the opportunity for breast reconstruction later.
D: Skin sparing mastectomy
Save the skin, by using a small incision around the areola to remove the tissue. This reminds me of scooping the goody out of a pumpkin. This surgery leaves an opportunity for breast reconstruction, too.
E: Subcutaneous mastectomy
Leave everything but the breast tissue. The skin, muscle, lymph nodes and nipple remain. Opportunity for breast reconstruction. Sounds simple, at least, doctors make it seem so.
F: Lumpectomy
Remove the mass, may be followed by radiation.
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