It’s not a pink sparkly ribbon. It’s not pretty. It fucking sucks.
I had my port removed on Tuesday and it’s gruesome. My plastic surgeon removed it and he was going to sew it shut and make the scar look pretty, but when he got in there he had to remove a lot of scar tissue and infected skin. He wasn’t able to close the wound because he was worried that the infection would essentially be sewn shut in there and it would cause an abscess. FUN.
So now I have a gaping hole in my chest where I can literally see my own flesh. To be honest, it looks worse than it feels. It doesn’t really hurt, it doesn’t bleed. I just slap a giant band-aid over it every morning and that’s all I’m supposed to do for now. It’s supposed to take about 6-8 weeks to heal completely. So without further adieu… if you’d like to view these pictures please click the link below. Warning: if you’re a weak bitch and you’re grossed out by blood then don’t look!
View the pics…
How it all started.
We will start in April 2015. So I have a lump in my right boob. It’s small; it feels about the size of a grape. The thing is, that I’ve HAD this lump for a while, about a year and a half. I first noticed it in the summer of 2013 and back then it was the size of a pea. My gynecologist said to not worry about it, I was 28 and had no family history of cancer but nonetheless she referred me to have a sonogram of the little pea in my boob. The sonogram couldn’t even detect the lump so they said “See ya in a year!” and I was off. During that year and a half time, I had a pretty rough personal journey starting with me leaving my husband of 5 years who was having an affair, then moving, and getting divorced. More on that later (maybe) but even though it sucked at first, it really was a great time of personal rediscovery and new found freedom. During that time I probably partied a little bit too much, worked a little bit too much, and cared a little bit LESS about everything. I noticed the lump was growing, but I thought “I’m too young to get cancer and I’m too overwhelmed to deal with it right now.” It wasn’t until the encouragement of my boyfriend Jeff that I went to a breast surgeon to get the lump removed. The doctor felt the lump, looked at my sonograms, and said he was about 98% sure it was a fibroadenoma but because it was growing, it should probably come out. So I scheduled surgery — it was considered an incisional biopsy, not a lumpectomy — for May 7. A few days later, on May 11, 2015, sometime in the afternoon the doctor called me with carefully chosen words. He was hesitant, “I don’t know how else to tell you this. The pathology report showed that the mass we removed was… Cancer… I’m so sorry”
The emotions were similar to that of a divorce, actually, so in some strange sense I felt that mentally I had already gone through these steps.
Complete shock/horror/self pity.
“[Crying] Oh my God, what am I going to tell my parents? Why me? CANCER, SERIOUSLY GOD? Am I going to die? How sad is my life! Divorce followed by cancer, people are not going to fucking believe this and how tragic my life has become. My life is pitiful.”
“Ok it’s not that bad. It’s just stage one. I barely have cancer. I basically don’t have cancer. I mean, they got it all out in the surgery right. I’m FINE and nobody will even know.”
“Seriously. Why the fuck is this happening to me. I just went through a Hellish divorce, and now I have fucking cancer. What did I do to deserve this shitty of a life. I’m a good fucking person, I even donate monthly to the Humane Society for God’s sake! FUCK FUCK FUCK.”
“I am a strong woman, I can do this. Anything God puts in front of me I’m going to overcome it like the bad-ass BETCH I am. Lance Armstrong won 5 Tour de France titles with one ball, I can beat cancer with no boobs! Cancer you’ve met your match! Let the battle begin!”