After I had my mastectomy the breast cancer service did their best to match me with a volunteer in their peer support service but unfortunately the closest they could come up with was a woman who was 15 years younger than I when she was diagnosed, happily married and who had radiotherapy, not chemo like me. About the only thing that we had in common was that we’d both had a mastectomy.
She told me, of course it didn’t worry her that she’d lost a breast; her husband loved her anyway. Five years before my diagnosis my husband had walked out leaving me with our youngest child to raise. All I could think was that if a man left me when I was whole, what chance did I have of anyone else wanting me now I was mutilated?
The volunteer said that her teenage children kept her spirits up by including her in all their activities and that her parents had been a tower of strength, stepping in when her husband needed to go to work. Her sisters took her to the hospital and minded the children when her husband took her away for a week to a spa to celebrate the end of her treatment. My son lived in another city, my older daughter had a toddler to look after, my younger girl was born with a disability, my widowed mother was quite frail and my only sibling lived in New Zealand.
Five years down the track the woman I spoke to never thought about the fact that she’d had breast cancer, and life was ‘wonderful’. I felt guilty because I didn’t want to hear about how marvellous her life was when mine was bloody horrible.
I know she was trying to give me hope but at the time I felt as though no one wanted to hear how devastated I was; that my fears were foolish.
So I just got on with things, putting on a brave face. I told everyone that it was ‘only a breast’ after all. The important thing was that I was alive… wasn’t it? When I looked back on that horrendous year I could see that while I might have been walking around, I certainly wasn’t ‘alive’.
The other women in the breast cancer support group I attended were unrelentingly upbeat. The implication was that if you weren’t positive all the time you either wouldn’t get through it or the cancer would come back. It seemed no one wanted to hear how I truly felt.
At the end of my treatment I had a breakdown. I left town, sending my daughter to live with her father. It was a year before I was able to work again. My new oncologist referred me to the most wonderful support group. I was encouraged to express all the feelings I had about having breast cancer and how frightened I was that every ache and pain must be bone cancer and every headache a brain tumour. Their loving acceptance of exactly where I was at was the best possible medicine for me at that time.
It wasn’t until after reconstructive surgery that I realised that I’d never grieved the loss of my breast. I chose to have an operation where my new breast was made using tissue from my tummy – major surgery.
After the operation, I was felled by the most intense anger. I’d been so desperate to have the surgery that I didn’t really let myself think about how huge it was and how it could all have gone wrong. But now that it was over, I was consumed with rage about the fact that if I hadn’t had this **** of a disease and lost my breast I wouldn’t have had to put myself through three separate donations of my own blood in the weeks before the operation, ten hours of anaesthetic and micro-surgery, followed by the torture of being forced to lie completely still in the one position for 12 hours after I woke up.
Because I was studying counselling at the time I realised that this anger was actually grief at the loss of my breast. A classmate came to visit me and let me get all the tears, anger, hurt and pain off my chest – no pun intended!
My reconstructed breast is wonderful and despite the emotional agony I went through afterwards, I have never regretted having the surgery. I’m just sorry that I didn’t know how to grieve losing my original breast before I made the decision to have the surgery.
Today, I can believe that the volunteer was telling me the truth about her husband because I have now had a wonderful relationship with a beautiful man who wasn’t at all fazed by my battle scars.
www.janegillespie.net