1. 28
    Jan
    Totally hocked this post from another previvor’s blog (click the photo to get there)… She was talking about the 5 lessons she had learned post-mastectomy… and for some reason… this one just like hit me upside the head… A mastectomy removes only your breasts; it does not change you in any other way.This may seem like an obvious one, but bear with me. Before surgery, the mastectomy seemed like such a game-changing event, such a cataclysmic tear in the very fiber of my existence, that I imagined I’d wake up (if indeed I did — remember, I was pretty convinced I was going to expire on the table) a completely different person. I also imagined that life after mastectomy would be very different. And to some extent, it has. But I also made the mistake of thinking that things would magically be better. This is a common mistake. Women do it a lot, especially when we want to lost weight. For example, say you want to lose ten pounds. When you imagine yourself at your goal weight, you aren’t just you: you are not only thinner but happier, you always have good hair days, the lights always are green for you, and your partner always emptys the dishwasher. It’s a Disney-fied version of your life, where the bluebirds alight on shoulder and the deer in the meadow pause by the brook to let you pet them. This fantasy occurs when we conflate the idea of happiness in one area with happiness in unrelated areas. And I fell into this trap before my mastectomy. I imagined that on the other side of surgery, life would be better: sunrises would be more brilliant, I would be thinner, people who are jerks would no longer be jerks, and my partner would always empty the dishwasher. Guess what? I haven’t seen a sunrise (remember: all I’ve been doing for a month is sleeping), but I haven’t lost (or gained) a pound, jerks are still jerks, and I just emptied the dishwasher all by myself. Which is fine. Because a mastectomy has nothing to do with the dishes. That’s why I say a mastectomy does exactly what it’s supposed to do; nothing less and nothing more. I recently saw a friend for the first time since my surgery and after we’d been chatting for a few minutes she look at me stunned and said, “Geez, you are exactly the same.” And I understood the impulse. In fact, I remember thinking the same thing about this very friend after she’d had her daughter a few years back. Mastectomies don’t change who you are any more than having a baby does, but they are such monumental, life-changing events you can’t help but marvel that you come out the same person you went in. And what a relief! I know my friend meant what she said as a compliment, and I took it as such: she was happy to see that after everything I’d been through, I was still her old friend Steph. Just with new boobs. Which is exactly the only thing that has changed. As it should be.

    Totally hocked this post from another previvor’s blog (click the photo to get there)… She was talking about the 5 lessons she had learned post-mastectomy… and for some reason… this one just like hit me upside the head…

    A mastectomy removes only your breasts; it does not change you in any other way.

    This may seem like an obvious one, but bear with me. Before surgery, the mastectomy seemed like such a game-changing event, such a cataclysmic tear in the very fiber of my existence, that I imagined I’d wake up (if indeed I did — remember, I was pretty convinced I was going to expire on the table) a completely different person. I also imagined that life after mastectomy would be very different. And to some extent, it has. But I also made the mistake of thinking that things would magically be better. This is a common mistake. Women do it a lot, especially when we want to lost weight. For example, say you want to lose ten pounds. When you imagine yourself at your goal weight, you aren’t just you: you are not only thinner but happier, you always have good hair days, the lights always are green for you, and your partner always emptys the dishwasher. It’s a Disney-fied version of your life, where the bluebirds alight on shoulder and the deer in the meadow pause by the brook to let you pet them. This fantasy occurs when we conflate the idea of happiness in one area with happiness in unrelated areas. And I fell into this trap before my mastectomy. I imagined that on the other side of surgery, life would be better: sunrises would be more brilliant, I would be thinner, people who are jerks would no longer be jerks, and my partner would always empty the dishwasher. Guess what? I haven’t seen a sunrise (remember: all I’ve been doing for a month is sleeping), but I haven’t lost (or gained) a pound, jerks are still jerks, and I just emptied the dishwasher all by myself. Which is fine. Because a mastectomy has nothing to do with the dishes. That’s why I say a mastectomy does exactly what it’s supposed to do; nothing less and nothing more. I recently saw a friend for the first time since my surgery and after we’d been chatting for a few minutes she look at me stunned and said, “Geez, you are exactly the same.” And I understood the impulse. In fact, I remember thinking the same thing about this very friend after she’d had her daughter a few years back. Mastectomies don’t change who you are any more than having a baby does, but they are such monumental, life-changing events you can’t help but marvel that you come out the same person you went in. And what a relief! I know my friend meant what she said as a compliment, and I took it as such: she was happy to see that after everything I’d been through, I was still her old friend Steph. Just with new boobs. Which is exactly the only thing that has changed. As it should be.

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Sarah McPherson

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