The Scoop ~ Reconstruction, Surgery, Oncotype

Luke, Dom and I made the trip to Dr. Pitts' office in Wellesley on Wednesday for expansion #3 of 4. I seem to have guessed correctly all those weeks ago, when Dr. Pitts said that "normally, it takes a course of 8 expansions" to prepare (stretch) the skin and muscle properly for the exchange surgery, during which time the temporary saline expander is removed and the more permanent silicone implant is inserted in its place, and I asserted that it would take only HALF of the normal 8 to fill me up. We've already established that there is nothing normal about me. 8 expansions? I would surely burst, and spew spalls of expander throughout the universe.


I made a big deal out of being lopsided after my last expansion, as Luke has pointed out, but as is the case with this process (and so many others), my sense of being over-inflated is, perhaps, over-inflated, and the feeling of imbalance eased with each passing day--chalk it up to the expander doing its job (stretch, relax, calm down), and my own ability to assimilate, adapt.


But now, well, I am feeling lopsided again, as my last expansion was the first of two OVER-expansions that will make sure there is plenty of elbow room in and around the left "breast" for taking that rather unwieldy expander out and putting the softer implant in. I feel as if I have a water balloon behind my chest wall, and each time I am expanded, the pressure and tightness increase, the skin grows more taut, and, well, it just may burst one of these days. One little poke...No more running with scissors.


My left girl fills out my new B cup bra with panache; my right girl--my true girl--enjoys ample breathing room, and is feeling a bit unremarkable. Perhaps she'll feel better after a lift.


Speaking of...my exchange surgery has been scheduled for morning of June 17th at Newton-Wellesley Hospital. I'll be having my final over-expansion in another ten days, and then, somehow, I'll make my way around summertime tank tops and bathing suits with one C cup and one A cup. It'll be hilarious.


I heard from my oncologist today. Dr. Ryan reported that the Oncotype DX test yielded only results consistent with the pathologists' findings: I will not need chemo. This is great news. I cried a bit in relief. Somehow, I need to really feel this one, let it sink in. There is a victory here. And sometimes, those little triumphs go unnoticed or unheralded, and walk on by only to be trounced by the more vociferous, cantankerous set backs.


As of Tuesday, I'll start up on Tamoxifen, but I can dance as vigorously as I want to. I can lift my fat cat and carry her on my shoulder. I can chase my Daisy dog and try to wrench the stick from her grip. I can play badminton with the boys. I can ride my bike along the hills of Gill. I can lose myself in a weights-yoga workout, do a Downward Dog and start restoring the fire power to my guns (those would be my arms, and if you have ever seen my skinny pipes, you'll understand how ridiculous I am being). I can get to all that work in the yard and garden that's been waiting for my golden (yeah, right) touch all these weeks. I can look forward to completing this reconstruction process without having to break for the destructively wide swath that chemo would have cut. And for now, I can drop the quiet puppy act, and get on with doing more than just wagging my tail.


And finally, on this rainy Friday evening, I bid you happy weekends all. With gratitude for reading, listening, and checking in, I wish you the eyes to see even the tiniest of triumphs, the hands to catch them, and the spirit to weave them into your heart.