Many of you have been along for the ride on this wild 20-year journey with me. Still, plenty of you have no clue what I’m even talking about. You wonder why in the world I’d start a blog. Sharing on such a public platform is something I’ve wrestled with for a long time. It’s deeply personal, incredibly vulnerable, and honestly, A LOT scary. After talking it over with my family, and getting the green light, there is no better time than now. This is bigger than me. If my story helps even one person feel seen, informed, or less alone, then it is worth sharing. So here comes the part where I catch you up to speed.
Disclaimer: Humor Ahead
Please note that this blog reflects my personal journey. It includes the highs, the heartbreaks, and yes, the humor I use to cope. I fully recognize that everyone’s path through illness, surgery, and recovery is different. If you’re here for straight-laced medical reporting, you won’t find it. What you will find is real talk and tons of sass. You will also find A LOT of inappropriate jokes, mostly at my expense. These are all told with love, vulnerability, and deep respect for those walking similar (or very different) roads. Laughter has always been my lifeline. If it brings even a moment of light to someone else, then I’m glad I shared it.
With that out of the way, NO, I have not joined a secret roller derby team (I wish). I also have not fled to Bali for a soul-searching yoga retreat (although that does sound appealing right about now). Instead, I’m preparing for something way less glamorous and way more medical. It is absolutely life-altering. I’m finally getting the Ultimate Boob Job. It’s the one I should have gotten 14 years ago. This is the Super Hero Barbie Edition: a Bilateral Prophylactic Mastectomy with all the high-tech upgrades. We’re talking cadaver/donor tissue (a.k.a. Alloderm ~ the gold standard in boob scaffolding) and tissue expanders that slowly build the new girls, one fill at a time. Basically, it’s breast reconstruction…with extra flair.
But let’s rewind ~ because this journey didn’t start in an operating room. It started in a rocking chair as I was nursing my precious 3-month old daughter, Elle.
I was 34, freshly postpartum, and riding the rollercoaster of new motherhood: hormones, exhaustion, and baby snuggles. Little did I know, the discomfort I had been feeling in my left breast came from a party-crashing, pea-sized lump. It appeared while I was breastfeeding. My OB/GYN thought it was mastitis, which is a blocked milk duct (good times!). She had me throw everything at it: warm compresses, antibiotics, and unfortunately, one very cranky ER visit. The evening ended with my sweet hubby filling my wine glass. He kept refilling it as I attempted to “pump n’ dump” as the ER Doc ordered. But that lump refused to RSVP to any of it.
I was eventually referred to Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa, Florida., where we lived at the time. That’s when the shizzle got real. The breast specialist instructed me to stop breastfeeding, a biopsy needed to be done on the persistent “pea”. My daughter was just shy of 4 months old. I had planned on breastfeeding as long as I was able. Being told that I had to stop cold turkey was not part of the plan.
Why the rush? Here’s a sentence I’ll never forget: “If we biopsy your milk duct while you’re still breastfeeding, your breast will leak. It will leak forever.” I’m sorry… *WHAT* now? Forever…Like Forever Ever?! Yeah ~ no thank you. I weaned my baby. Cue emotional unraveling. I let the milk dry up, which is as painful as it sounds. Then, I dove headfirst into a whirlwind of scans, tests, biopsies, and genetic counseling. The lump was DCIS Stage 0. It was caught early. Yet, it eventually revealed something bigger: a significantly elevated risk of breast cancer.
And just like that ~ with Malibu, Interrupted ~ the road ahead changed…
Reconstructing Barbie 
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