Beside the “what’s your prognosis?” which I’ve never responded to with a straight answer, particularly if the person is an acquaintance (those are the people who are usually asking), I got an interesting (understatement) comment the other day.
Aug. 6 is my upcoming surgery — modified radical mastectomy of my left breast. Understandably, I’m a bit anxious about this. Anxious, and knowing that things will be different for all of us in my family with our reactions to this physical change in me. I used to be cavalier, flip about this. “Oh, it’s just a breast. I don’t need it. I never used it for the purposes for which it was intended anyways.” But it’s a part of me and the closer I get the surgery, the more I understand that this is going to be difficult emotionally. Of course it has to come off. The surgeon outlined all the reasons why a modified radical mastectomy would be the best surgery for me and then said that I could opt for a lumpectomy and I said that I would be scared the rest of my life if I got a lumpectomy. It doesn’t make sense for a woman with Inflammatory Breast Cancer to get a lumpectomy because the cancer will just start growing again. Maybe he just wanted me to feel like I had a say in the matter; I don’t know. I do know that this breast has to come off for my health.
But I digress.
I told one co-worker, #1., that my surgeon said that after about a month they can send me to a place to get a prosthesis, and that I certainly wasn’t coming back to work without said prosthesis. She completely understood. I mentioned that to another co-worker, #2., and she said that “nobody would notice” if I came back to work without a prosthesis.
*blink* . . . . . . *WHA??!*. . . . *HUH?!!*
Now, I’m no Dolly Parton (thankfully), and I’m sure I’m not the bustiest woman on our campus, but I am a solid size C, and I really think people would notice and I would feel incredibly uncomfortable about being Judy One Boob back on the job.
I kept saying to her that I thought that would be the case if I were a cup size A or B, but that since I’m not, I’m pretty sure that people would notice. I didn’t, however, ask what she was smoking or tell her she needed to get her eyes checked or just let out with a “Oh, h@ll, you are just full of sh*t, once again!”, so I think I handled it pretty well.
*sigh* Judy One Boob.
I always thought I’d have a cooler Indian name, but if this is the way it is, this is the way it is.
I’m too scared to dance with wolves anyways.