Brastectomy November 11 2016
I'm really very anxious. This is a major surgery, so I have the right to be. I've had a few nightmares about it. All the what-if's are going through my head: What if I have a reaction to the anesthesia? What if my wounds get infected? What if they test my lymph nodes and find out I still have cancer in them? What if they have to take out the lymph nodes in my right arm as well and I get lymphadema in both arms and never draw again arghalbahbhargh enough worrying. A lot of people automatically assume that I'm going to get reconstruction, but no. I've had enough of boobs. (Recently I found out they don't do reconstruction on inflammatory breast cancer patients due to the nature of the cancer, but I'd made up my mind long before I found that out.) (Also, people assume reconstruction is 'easy', like you 'just get reconstruction', but it's not easy at all-- they put the expanders BENEATH the pectoral muscles and it's way more painful and takes longer to recover.) You know Lara Croft? A lot of really awful guys wanted me to be her. They'd praise my body-- but whenever I demonstrated intelligence, or claimed free will over that same body, they'd put me down. Around the time her movie came out, I realized you can have a kick-ass body and zero personality if you let stupid people write your story. It's not just me, or big-chested girls like me. Women have, for a long time, been the objects that carry the water or the children or the bills or the breasts. It must be scary, to think that the pack mule has been mindfully observant all along, and thinking dangerous thoughts like, "At this height and with his back turned, one swift kick would be all it took..." That sentence sounded good, which means I probably stole it from Terry Pratchett.