"Good morning! Ready to see your new breast?" Too groggy to answer, I slowly opened my eyes and rolled my head to the side. I was back in the hospital pre-op room. Two nurses were busily moving around and talking lightheartedly, as if I'd just woken up from a dental cleaning rather than a mastectomy. I took a minute to orient myself before asking hoarsely, "What happened?"
"Everything went great!" one nurse answered. She said both my surgeons had already stopped by to give their reports, but I probably didn't remember. (No, I most assuredly did not remember.) Then I suddenly realized two things: She'd said "good morning," meaning it likely wasn't even noon yet. And she'd said "new breast." As in, not a temporary placeholder. I looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was barely 11:00 a.m. I went down to surgery around 8:30, and now I was already back in recovery. Did the whole thing really only take 2 hours? And did I go directly to implant without needing an expander? I had so many questions! I asked if I could see my breast surgeon, but she was already in another surgery.
Brian soon appeared next to my bed, along with my purse and personal items. While he was in there, I learned the answer to my other inquiry: They were able to go directly to implant. No expander needed. Therefore, no exchange surgery to be scheduled in 3 months! They also were able to proceed with nipple-sparing, since those margins had all been clear. I had exceeded everyone's expectations! Again, my penchant for getting the best case scenario in a bad situation seems to have carried over.
It then occurred to me that I didn't feel any pain, except for the discomfort of the rubber drainage tube sticking out from under my skin, at the end of which was a lemon-sized collection bulb. They told me I'd been given a nerve blocker, which would last for 72 hours. I was extremely grateful for that since I was expecting excruciating pain as soon as I woke up.
In response to my nurse's question, however, I was not ready to see my "new" (i.e. fake) breast yet. Which was just as well since I'd already been put into a surgical bra with thick cotton pads inserted under the front and side for extra cushioning. It looked like a pink sports bra that velcroed closed in front, with a small fabric loop on the side where a pink plastic ring held the top of the collection bulb in place. The tube ran from the top of the bulb to a small incision in my side, over my right rib cage, and was around 2 or 3 feet in length. Already there was reddish-pink fluid collecting inside the tube, making its way down. The bulb had been squeezed flat in order to create the suction necessary to pull the excess fluid down through the tube. For the next 2 weeks, I would have to empty it twice a day into a plastic measuring cup and record how many cc's were collected each time. I couldn't have the drain removed until I'd gone 48 hours with 30 cc's or less per day, since that's the max amount that can be absorbed back into the body.
After I'd satisfactorily come out of anesthesia and been given all post-op care instructions, I was officially discharged. Brian helped me change from my hospital gown into the new pajamas I'd purchased at Target a few days ago: soft and stretchy lilac cotton shorts with a matching button-down top. (Buttons were very important, since I didn't want to deal with lifting anything over my head for the next several weeks.) Loose fitting, comfortable, lightweight, and perfect for the late-July weather. I was given a wheelchair to sit in, then a hospital worker wheeled down to the exit, where Brian met me with the car and helped me inside. He'd been keeping our families posted with updates all throughout surgery. I was told everyone had been very relieved to hear how well it went. (My brother Rob later confessed to crying after hearing the news, but don't tell him I told you that!)
As soon as we arrived back home, Avery greeted us with her usual 4-year-old energy and excitement, but Brian had to explain to her that I couldn't pick her up or hug her right now. He helped me upstairs to our bed where I spent the afternoon resting and napping. Other than being emotionally spent, I felt surprisingly OK overall. My phone was quite busy with people checking in to see how everything had gone. And, in the interest of keeping all my favorite cancer traditions alive, a couple of friends stopped by later that evening bearing gifts of wine (although I couldn't drink it until at least 24 hours after my anesthesia had worn off). They were all amazed to see me awake, alert, and sitting up at the kitchen table. I was amazed, too, since I was expecting to be in at least a fair amount of pain. Truthfully, though, I never felt any real pain, even after the nerve blocker eventually wore off. There really wasn't anything left to feel since all of those nerves had been severed. My lumpectomy was by far the more painful surgery of the two.
The entire recovery ended up being shockingly easy (at least physically). I managed to leave the house on Saturday evening to get ice cream with the family, and even did a long-ish but slow walk on Monday. The most difficult part was having that drain in my side. I'm a side sleeper and I switch positions frequently throughout the night. With my drain and sutures, I could only sleep flat on my back. No matter what I did, I could not get comfortable. Some nights, after tossing and turning endlessly in bed, I gave up and went downstairs to sleep on the reclining couch. But it still felt like my skin was constantly being tugged at, pulling on drainage tube. I thought there was a good chance I would lose my mind before I could get it taken out.
The other challenge was finding summer clothing that was both loose enough to fit the drain underneath, and high-necked enough to cover my surgical bra. The top of the bra came up to my clavicles, so it could pretty much only be completely hidden by a turtleneck or a sweater (not really possible for late-July in Virginia). It made me realize how many scoop and V-necks I own. That made packing for Mackinac Island extremely difficult, especially when it came to nice dresses to wear out to dinner. Parts of the tube hung well below most of my shirts, and the bulb created a very noticeable bulge under my dresses. Fortunately, I had an excellent resource nearby: Annie was of similar height and stature to me, but had quite a bit more, um, "chest space" in her clothing that fit my needs perfectly. I borrowed several dresses from her that did the job for the purposes of our trip. I also had been given a couple of adhesive pockets I could stick underneath the top of my dress and nestle the bulb inside, where it would be safely hidden. I then used large safety pins to keep the tube rolled up and hung in strategic places where it didn't show through the material. It took some real artistry (and a lot of trial and error) to get it right. What a pain!
My first post-op appointment occurred 6 days after surgery, on Tuesday, July 29 at my plastic surgeon's office. I didn't see my doctor, though. Just a couple of his assistants to check how things were healing and note my fluid output logs. When I mentioned that Brian and I were heading up to Mackinac in 2 days, they were extremely disapproving. They asked if there was any way we could postpone it, but I told them that wasn't possible and assured them I would be fine. (Honestly, if not for the drain, I felt like I could've gone back to work the Monday after my surgery, provided I didn't do any heavy lifting.) They expressed concern about what would happen if I developed a complication. I explained to them that we weren't going to be out in the middle of nowhere. There were lots of hospitals in the Detroit suburbs and a medical center on the island, if need be. Then they warned me about being outside in the summer heat. I inwardly laughed, and told them I'd already checked the forecast, and the temperature would be in the low-to-mid-70s the whole time we were there. (I'm guessing they'd never been to Mackinac before, since they didn't seem to realize how far north it is.)
We left for our vacation on Thursday, July 31, just 8 days post-op. The majority of day 1 was spent sitting in the car while we drove up to Detroit's northern suburbs, stopping for lunch in eastern Ohio on the way. We spent the rest of that afternoon and evening visiting with Brian's family. Avery got to stay at Brian's sister's house while he and I stayed at his grandma's house that night. Avery was so excited to play with her cousins, she didn't even care that Mom and Dad would be gone for the next 3 days. She barely even bothered to say good-bye to us when we left!
On Friday morning, we got up bright and early to make the 4-hour drive from Farmington Hills to St. Ignace. This was only the second time in my life I'd driven to the Upper Peninsula, the last time being 20 years ago. It was every bit as beautiful as I remembered it, as was the Mackinac Bridge (a.k.a. the "Mighty Mac"). We parked our car in one of the lots and bought our ferry tickets for the next departure, which was in 40 minutes. So we got to walk up and down the main drag and admire the hazy view of the islands in the distance. We also stopped at the Ojibwa Museum where I bought my first souvenir: a large ceramic coffee mug with hummingbirds hand-painted on it by an indigenous artist.
The ferry ride to Mackinac Island is approximately 30 minutes from St. Ignace. If you're unfamiliar, all motor vehicles have been banned on the island since 1898, so the only available modes of transportation are horse-drawn carriages, bicycles, or your own two feet. Stepping off the ferry onto the loading dock was like stepping back in time to the late 19th century! Even the newly built homes visible from the shoreline were all Queen Anne-style. We had a lot of luggage to carry, mostly my extra pillows to help me sleep semi-upright, so we immediately headed down the main road to check in at the Pine Cottage Inn, where Brian had booked our reservations the previous fall. After checking in and dropping off our luggage, it was time to explore the famous island we'd been waiting so long to visit.
Our first stop was the Mustang Lounge for a mid-afternoon drink and appetizer, then we continued down the main road towards the Grand Hotel, making sure to stop at all the "Somewhere in Time" landmarks along the way. (We had just watched the movie a few days earlier as preparation.) We spent a few minutes lounging on the Grand Hotel terrace and enjoying the landscape, then headed back towards downtown, stopping inside all the fudge shops and souvenir stores that beckoned to us. Our plan was to go to dinner at The Pink Pony that night, so we made our way back to the inn to change into some nicer clothes. I had already exceeded my daily steps goal, and couldn't wait to get more in!
While we were waiting for our table, we called to check in on Avery. She was having so much fun with her cousins, she didn't seem like she had any interest in us coming back anytime soon. So it was a pretty short call.
Pink Pony was amazing! We sat at a table on the deck outside, right on the lake. The wine selection was good, too, so I was very satisfied with our choice to dine there that night. After dinner, we walked around in search of some nightlife and ended up at The Gatehouse over by the Grand Hotel. It just happened to be karaoke night. Brian kept urging me to get up and sing something, but I told him they probably didn't have anything I know. He kept insisting, so finally I told him I would first see if they even had something I knew. If so, I would put my name down. When I asked the DJ for the song list, he told me there was none. He instructed me to just write down the name of the song and he would find it. I told him challenge accepted. Well, he found it.
Five hours later, we were still there and closing the place down! There was virtually no waiting list, so I ended up singing several times. Brian and I even performed a duet of "All I Ask of You." Funnily enough, there was another woman there named April whose repertoire consisted mostly of pop country hits. She and I basically traded off singing the entire night. All in all, it was a good distraction from the drain and tube hanging inside my dress.
Having Brian help me empty the bulb twice a day definitely took away from the weekend's romance factor. He never complained once, though (God bless him!). Saturday morning consisted of a carriage tour immediately after breakfast, where we learned all kinds of Mackinac factoids (e.g. the disproportionate number of veterinarians to human physicians on the island), and visited many other points of interest, including the Michigan governor's summer residence. After that. we didn't have any specific plans until dinnertime, so we decided to just take a walk along M-185 and see how far we could go.
Mackinac Island is home to the only US highway that doesn't allow cars. M-185 is 8 miles long and circles the perimeter of the island along the shores. I didn't think I'd be able to walk the entire perimeter, so we just set out walking for as long as I felt comfortable. Right as we were exiting the main downtown area, we passed the April I'd met at the Gatehouse the night before, so naturally she and I both waved and said, "Hi, April!" (Despite it being such a small island, that was the last time I saw her.)
Before we knew it, we'd completed the first mile. Soon after, we finished the second, and then the third. By the halfway point, I was still feeling pretty good, so I said we should just go for broke. We actually managed to finish the entire 8-mile walk, snapping pictures the whole way. Sure, my legs were starting to feel like jello by the 7th mile, but we pressed on. Once we arrived back downtown, the only natural course of action was to reward ourselves with some wine and a mid-afternoon appetizer at Mary's Bistro Draught House with outdoor seats on the waterfront.
Our dinner reservation that night was a 4-course meal at the Grand Hotel. I'd packed a nice dress (courtesy of Annie), and Brian had packed a nice suit but forgot his tie, which is a required part of the dress code. Fortunately, the concierge has some ties you can borrow (for a $75 holding fee), so our reservations were able to proceed. Dinner was exquisite! A 5-star meal if I ever had one! The hotel itself was absolutely beautiful inside, but I was still glad we weren't staying there. Our quaint little inn was a lot closer to the downtown and felt more connected to the action.
After dinner, we spent some time at The Gatehouse, where it was dueling piano night. It was a lot more crowded, though, so we left after an hour or so and tried our luck at Patrick Doud's Irish Pub. However, the exhaustion from the day's exertions caught up to me pretty quickly, so we ended up back at the inn not much later. My total step count was 32,080 with a total distance of 13.15 miles walked! Not bad someone who'd had a mastectomy just 11 days earlier!
Sunday was check-out day, but we managed to squeeze in a little walk through the woods to the "Somewhere in Time" gazebo on our way to tour Fort Mackinac. We had to make a bit of a beeline through the tour to make sure we got back to the inn and checked out by 11:00, so I didn't get to spend nearly as much time as I would have liked. But it was still fun. We closed out our visit with lunch/drinks at Mary's Bistro as we waited for our ferry back to the U.P. Mackinac absolutely met and exceeded all expectations! Although I don't think I could ever live there year-round due to the cold winters and isolation from the mainland, I feel like I left part of my heart there.
Back in the Detroit 'burbs, Avery was still engrossed in playtime with her cousins and seemed genuinely upset that Brian and I were already back. She made a sad face and said she wanted to stay there forever. We assured her we would visit again before too long. Overall, it was a wonderful vacation despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. I can't wait to go back when I'm no longer in recovery mode!
Back in Northern Virginia, my post-op care continued. The morning of Wednesday, August 6th, I finally had my sutures and drain removed at my plastic surgeon's office. I had been well under their maximum 30 daily cc's of fluid output for several days by that point. If I hadn't been out of town, I probably would have tried to move that appointment up. The removal of the tube hurt slightly, but I felt so much better afterwards! Although I still wasn't able to sleep on my side just yet, it was like the healing process really accelerated after that. I went back to work immediately after my appointment that morning, where all the backlog from the last two weeks was waiting for me with open arms.
Two days later, I saw my breast surgeon for the first time since surgery, where we discussed my final pathology. I's already seen my path report on my patient portal a week prior, but she was able to confirm the findings for me in person. Although all my margins were clear, the pathologist had cut my breast tissue into 19 different sections and checked each one carefully under a microscope, looking for any sign of disease. Out of 19 sections, 12 were positive for DCIS. My breast surgeon said that most of it was small, but it was literally everywhere.
This revelation made me realize two things:
1. Mastectomy truly was unavoidable. If I'd had another lumpectomy, I would've ended up back on the operating table just a few months later, possibly in an even worse position with invasive disease. However, if I had gone straight to mastectomy without exploring all other possibilities first, I would have always wondered if I over-treated, or if that breast possibly could have been saved. I likely would have been none the wiser to any of those other spots that popped up a few months later. Now I can at least rest assured that I did the right thing.
2. I went from being completely clear in May 2024 to having DCIS large enough to be seen on a mammogram in May 2025, to 2 more tiny areas of concern just 6 weeks later, then to DCIS being "literally everywhere" 3 weeks after that. I know my oncologist had said that my taking Estroven was unlikely to be the cause of my recurrence, but I will always believe that it was. Seeing how quickly all these new spots popped up in such a short time, I will always feel that I could have avoided this whole mess if I had never started taking it (or if I'd just discussed it with my oncologist first). I even checked the
warning label on the box and there was zero mention of asking your doctor before taking it if you have a history of breast cancer. I wonder how many other women will make the same mistake, thinking it's safe just because it's hormone-free. As much as it sucks being a cautionary tale, hopefully someone out there reads this and my story ends up saving a life or two.
After following up with both my surgeons on my healing progress, I still needed to follow-up with my oncologist regarding next steps. I was dreading that visit immensely. Since my DCIS had all been hormone-positive, I knew that he was going to recommend going back on Tamoxifen, and I did not know if I could subject myself to that hell again. Now that I was getting up in years and my estrogen was naturally declining, all of those side effects were starting to come back, and with no option of reversing them this time. The twilight years of my fertility were coming to a close, so this was my last chance to feel somewhat "normal," and I couldn't bear the thought of cutting that time even shorter. My annual follow-up with my oncologist had been scheduled in November, but after my recurrence, he asked me to move it up to August. I didn't, though. I did call his office to reschedule, but sat on hold for 20 minutes before hanging up. At least that way, I could say I tried. I dreaded that visit every single day leading up to it.
On the day of my appointment, he said exactly what I'd been expecting him to. But I told him, sheepishly yet honestly: "I can't do it." To my surprise, he nodded his head and said, "Fair enough." He explained that, while it did provide an extra layer of protection, the fact that my disease was non-invasive and I'd gotten rid of all of all remaining breast tissue, it was not as essential this time around. If I'd had another lumpectomy, it would've been a different story. But with DCIS and a mastectomy, I could feasibly forgo Tamoxifen in exchange for more frequent scans and exams. I was all too happy with that trade-off!
As of today, it has been one year since my surgery. The last 8 months or so have been a lot of physical healing and psychological adjusting. Although I was able to bypass the expander and go straight to implant, the result is not perfect. My skin is a lot thinner on that side from radiation, so every little ripple in the silicone shows through. When I discussed this with my plastic surgeon, he said he could do some fat grafting to fill it up more, but that entails getting liposuction in one area of my body just to inject it into another, which would be a 2-week recovery period. I told him I've had my fill of surgeries for now, but I would consider it at some point down the road.
I'm also learning I can't wear a lot of the same clothes as I used to. Strapless dresses no longer stay up on that side since the implant is somewhat flat on top rather than dome-shaped. The difference in shape and size is evident in every low-cut or fitted top I wear. And I have to be very careful when wearing a bikini. Since I can't feel anything on that side, I can't immediately tell if my top needs adjusted or not. (Brian had to be my "spotter" on our recent beach trip in South Carolina to visit his older daughter and her fiance.) The lack of sensation combined with the noticeable difference in appearance has been a huge adjustment. I know it beats having cancer all over my body, but it's still something I have yet to come to terms with entirely.
However, not everything that's happened since then has been bad. My 6-month unilateral mammogram (done for my own peace of mind) was all clear, which was major relief. In February, Avery applied for and was accepted into a private Catholic school where she'll begin Kindergarten this fall. On April 3, Brian and I celebrated 7 years together. But most importantly, on Friday, May 8, 2026, he finally got down on one knee and officially asked me marry him!! That was something he'd been planning to do for several years, but life just kept getting in the way. I had really hoped he would do it while we were in Mackinac, and was disappointed when he didn't. However, I later learned that he had actually been taking mental notes on ring styles and sizes while watching me try on souvenir rings when we were there, so the island ended up playing a crucial part in the process!
Survivor life can be incredibly challenging. But it still goes on. I have to remind myself daily to focus on what I still have, rather than what I've lost. In the 9+ years since my original diagnosis, I've through hell and back. I lost my father, my beloved Kirby, and now my right breast. But I also gained an amazing partner (now fiance!), a wonderful daughter plus 3 pretty awesome step-kids, and I have the one thing I always wanted the most: a family of my own. Yes, there is life after cancer. I am and continue to be living proof of that.
