The Mastectomy That Changed Her Life

S.M. Jones is a former Wayne resident who still works in Radnor.

She didn’t think she disliked anything as much as she did the mammogram; especially the one that gave her the dreaded news. 

It had been two years since she had one and the post card reminder she received prompted her to go ahead and schedule one.

She loved that statement that is repeated over and over again to you by the technician.  “Hold your breath.”  By that time, all you can do is not breathe as the technician has basically squeezed the breath out of you already.

She was told to go wait in the waiting area and that they would contact her shortly.  Her first suggestion was to make those wrap-around cotton robes, which are as far from a fashion statement as you can get, in larger sizes.  Sitting there in a small waiting area pretending to read out dated magazines until women are called feels like the longest wait in the world. 

One by one, she watched as women were called and told to “Go ahead and get dressed, you may leave now.”  When she noticed several women leaving who had arrived after her, she became worried.

“That’s odd.”  She muffled under her breath. 

“What’s that, honey?” An older woman sitting next to her asked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud, but I’m a bit concerned.  The last two women that left came out of the exam room after me.  I thought they read the pictures as you finished with them.”  She responded with a question in her voice.

The woman’s voice changed a little bit, one of a little more concern.  “Well, um, maybe they have several doctors reading the tests.”  With that she lowered her head and continued to read the two-month old magazine.

That created the first turn of her stomach.  A technician appeared at the corner of the room and called her back for more pictures, giving her the excuses that a picture was fuzzy or perhaps she had moved.  How could she move?  She was clamped to the machine.

More pictures were taken and a short time later she was escorted into the reading room, which looked like something out of a photography studio.  X-Ray pictures all over the place and the radiologist standing there with the largest magnifying glass that she had ever seen.

“Hello, I’m doctor…,” at that point the doctor’s voice faded from her ears.  She was pointing to the mammogram which looked like a lot of cob-webs.  “This area right here is where we are looking.”  She said pointing to an area of total black.

“I don’t see anything.” She answered the doctor as she tried to focus.

“That’s correct; there should be something there to see.” The doctor moved the magnifying glass over so she could again see that nothing was there.

“We believe it might be a cyst, so we’d like to schedule a needle biopsy to make sure.”  With that the doctor turned to one of the nurses in the room with us.

“Can you schedule it and the follow up as well?”  The nurse was on the phone before the doctor finished speaking.

“She’ll take care of scheduling for you.”  She smiled and left the room.

A nurse handed her a prescription and a packet of paperwork explaining a needle biopsy.  The test was scheduled and she was told to follow up with a breast doctor for the results the following day.  The appointment time had already been scheduled.  None of this really bothered her yet.  She’s had many cysts checked in the past—but none ever in the breast.

She had the biopsy, and watched at the specimens that were being taken out of her were placed into a sterilized enclosed dish. 

The following day she walked into the doctor’s office.  It was an oncologist’s office.  She had no idea of why she was there, but was about to learn; the hard way.

As she entered the doctor’s office, he shook her hand and called her by name.  “Did anyone come with you?”  He asked as he glanced down the hall behind her.

“No.”  She responded as her nerves started to rise to the surface.  Her mind began to race.  Why was she here to get results?  She had always received phone calls before.  And why, did he want to know if anyone was with her?  By the time she sat down in the chair, the palms of her hands were damp.

He took out several pages of notes and then started drawing pictures on a plain white piece of paper.  He was very blunt and came right to the point.  This doctor did not beat around the bush.

“You have breast cancer.”  The words echoed in her mind.  Like a bell clangor hitting every spot imaginable in her head.  All she could do was gasp as the tears filled her eyes.

He handed her a box of tissues and proceeded to make a statement that didn’t make much sense to her at that point.

“But, please be assured that if you’re going to have breast cancer, this is the best kind to have.  I can get rid of it with no complications.”

“What?”  She blurted out.  “The best kind to have; what do you mean?”  This made no sense, the best kind of cancer?  Somehow those words don’t belong in the same sentence together.

He proceeded to explain that what she had was the first stage and removing it at this point before becoming invasive is the best.

“So, you’ll do a lumpectomy?”  That much she knew to ask as she wiped another tear from her eyes.

“No, unfortunately, you have two tumors.  Due to their locations, the only way to get both is to do a mastectomy and we can reconstruct you either immediately or later at your preference.  I’ll do the mastectomy and you’ll be cancer free in that breast.”

She looked at him and the pictures and back to him again.  She wanted her life, she wanted to live and she didn’t need a breast to do it.  He explained all the different types of reconstruction, the choice was hers. 

“But” he said.  “I need to do the surgery as soon as possible before it grows to the next stage.”

It was the first week of December and she had a huge decision to make.  She looked him in the eye and surprised him with her response.

“I have a new grandson and this is his first Christmas.  I want to enjoy it with him in case I’m not here next year.  Can I schedule it for the first week in January?”

He looked at her and took off his glasses with a shocked look.

“Your response surprises me, but yes, the first week of January is acceptable.  But as I said, you’ll be fine, and you’ll have many Christmas’ with your grandson as long as I do the mastectomy.”

He gave her the pre-op paperwork and she went directly to the hospital to get those tests out of the way. 

All the way home she wondered how to tell her husband, and she did it as she usually handled any bad news; straight and to the point.  She walked in the house, put her pocketbook on the table and out it came.

“I had my pre-op tests done at the hospital today.  My surgery is scheduled for January 4th and I have breast cancer.  The doctor says a mastectomy will take care of it and I have complete faith in him.  I can be reconstructed in several ways and we’ll need to go to see a plastic surgeon to make that decision.  Will you come with me?”  With that she turned and walked towards the kitchen to start dinner.  He walked up behind her.

“You know I will go with you and whatever you want, we’ll do.”

He agreed to go with her and whatever she wanted was acceptable with him.  The fact that she would be losing a breast didn’t bother him at all; he wanted her around and that’ all that mattered.

They met with a plastic surgeon and chose reconstruction.  What surprised her most was the comment her husband said when the doctor asked if there were any questions.

He didn’t care if she was reconstructed or not.  As long as she was alive and here, that’s what mattered.  His statement caught her off guard.

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re what’s important, not your breasts.  You are you, with or without them.”

Surgery proceeded with no complications but did result with a thankful surprise.  When they checked the removed tissue, they actually found a third tumor that hadn’t even showed up on the mammogram.  The biggest shocker of all was that the third tumor was a different type of cancer.  She had three tumors and two different types of cancer in the same breast.  To this day, she never regretted having the mastectomy, especially now.

Ten years later, she’s alive and well and living with two reconstructed breasts.  She chose to have the other breast removed as they were watching several questionable areas.  She didn’t want them to turn into cancer. 

She’s surprised though, when women question her about having a breast or breasts removed.  The biggest question reflects on what her husband said, and does she feel any less a woman? Of course not!  Having a breast removed to her is no different than losing a finger in an accident.   

The only thing she’s lost is some flesh, blood and tissue.  She hasn’t lost any part of herself.  She hasn’t lost her soul.  Come to think about it, there is something she’s lost.  She’s lost the cancer.  She’s gained her life and plans to live a long and healthy one. 

She gets check-ups every year and prays that it doesn’t come back somewhere else.  If it does, she’ll deal with it; but in the meantime.  She’s enjoying life with family and friends.

In some small way, she hopes this information reaches that one woman who is questioning how to handle the terrible news of breast cancer.  Do what you have to do to live.  No one can take your soul, your being and your heart.  They are not measured by skin and tissue.