Breast Cancer 2019

I arrived in Fish Hoek in June 2017 after the 4 month road trip from Pretoria. I found a small studio apartment close to the beach and started working at a retirement village. I had a small pea sized lump in my left breast which had grown slowly for about six years. I had had a biopsy in Pretoria which was benign and although my friends encouraged me to have it checked again I just tried not to think about it.
One morning I looked in the mirror and the nipple had inverted and an inch of skin had been drawn into the side of my breast. I knew it was time. Money was tight and I called to find out how much a mammogram cost. Apparently I had a free breast check every two years with the hospital plan. The radiologist was horrified and wanted a CT scan as soon as possible. I definitely couldn't afford a CT scan and told her so. She assured me that if it was cancer the funds would be available, so she took it on herself to call me personally as soon as the result of the biopsy was available. 

The Mammogram

I take off the gown

and watch her eyes

flit across my chest.

I have my answer already.

She has seen it all before.

A little widening of the lids,

a deep breath

and as her lips pucker to speak

I put her out of her misery

and say, It’s ok, I think I know.

I probably should have come sooner?

but, I had not the courage then.

Please don’t judge me.

I am here now.

 MgM ©

Toxic Breast

My boob has turned against me

and split on the team.

There’s mutiny on the mothership

And now it holds me ransom.

Do I cut it loose

Lest it poison the host?

Or can I live symbiotically

With a toxic part of me?

A backstabbing potential traitor,

a sponge of stored up regret

and heartache.

Have I infected myself?

MgM©

The Last Weekend

On this the last weekend with my breasts,

I think I’ll take them for a walk.

Feeling how they move with every step.

I’ll take them for a last swim in the tidal pool,

nipples gasping in the cold water.

Breasts float when you lie on your back in the bath,

and they fill to fit in a lovers’ hand.

The last weekend with my breasts

will be a sad one, a saying goodbye one.

Once proud and ripe they fed my babies.

I’ve enjoyed my breasts, these life-giving miracles.

Orbs of warmth and glory, Soft and nurturing.

They know their power to entice or to disarm.

Where will that power go? when I lose them.

MgM ©

Reality Check

The reality stalks me in the middle of the night.

I’m sick to my stomach with a sense of loss.

I sit on the edge of my bed, doubled over.

I’m on a cliff, looking down into a blackened ravine,

rocking there for a while.

I lift my face to the large grey moon and howl.

From deep within I howl.

Deep and long the cries express my fearful heart.

Deep and long I howl.

It’s nearly time, and how will “after” be?

Let’s get it over with.

To amputate these much loved bits of me.

MgM ©

A general surgeon was recommended and off I went. He couldn't save the skin and nipple on the left side so it all had to come off. To say that a woman needs time to think about what she wants to do, the options, should this happen, wasn't true for me. I knew that I wanted to take both breasts off to be rid of all the breast tissue. I also wanted him to take all the skin and cut as close to the pecks as possible. He was worried that I was being a bit rash. He asked me to see a Breast Surgeon and get all the options. I already knew about the lat flap option and had been offered breast implants by a family member. I wasn't interested at all. He was very worried that I would look "hard" and I assured him that I needed a flat surface for a beautiful chest tattoo. The next few night were very dark. I just couldn't get my head around it......will my femininity be affected? Will my personality change. How painful will it be? I had panic attacks and my anxiety was through the roof. I asked the surgeon if I could get my breasts in a bottle, like they gave me my tonsils. He said no, they keep them for research. I just smiled. I knew he realised that I wasn't serious but they're mine! I felt a pull, I wanted to hold on.
Just before the op, we stopped in at the Nuclear Lab to have the colour injection that will show the lymph involvement. She lifted my breast holding onto my nipple......I couldn't resist, I said dryly, "You know that you'll be the last person to hold my nipple". She looked at me with a blank face and brought the needle closer.

Breast Burial

Where will my breasts go

when they are severed?

Is there a tit pile?

or a small cemetery

where breast angels,

mismatched toxic throwaways,

pair up and dance?

My two warm breasts

in a cold kidney dish,

already in breast heaven.

They probably bin them.

Human waste.

How long can I grieve?

MgM©

Ready, Steady, GO!

A supportive slumber with my daughter’s warm body in my bed, quietly aware.

When the alarm sounds, I am relieved.

Last zip and shoes, a studious checking of taps and plugs.

Where to find my will – I left it on top – just in case.

A quiet drive to the nuclear lab, for a jab, on the slab.

This nurse will be the last one to ever hold my nipple between her fingers – I tell her so.

She smiles and lifts the blue syringe. Next stop, the chop-shop.

My passwords – write them down – just in case.

The bed, the blue gown, little tv and little cupboard.

As my daughter unzips the bag, a ripple of panic crashes over my head.

I’ll walk out of here very fast, then run until I’m far away.

So hold onto to me while I cry.

Tell the boys I love them – just in case.

We lie side by side on the bed watching a silent screen.

A tall dark and broadly smiling porter steps around the curtain to fetch me.

It must be black Tuesday he says, 2 for the price of 1.

A smooth ride on trolley wheels. The surgeon smiles and draws on me with a blue koki.

We look into each other’s eyes and we nod, tears streaming,

Stay close by, I say – just in case.

                                                                            Post Op                                                                           

I wake under a warm thick blanket.

I remember before, so this, must be “after” -

My daughter Danny says, Hi Mom.

I pour my relief into her eyes.

There is no pain.

I feel strangely liberated, expansive and everything looks so clear!

Maybe that’s why they call it “high”?

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed.

As my feet touch the floor there’s a tug on my ribs.

Two soft pink orbs just larger than eggs drop between my thighs.

I look down and smile at the irony of it all

With a grin, I turned to my daughter, I start giggling

‘Will you hold my balls while I pee?”.

My Firstborn William says

I shouldn’t share these under the belt jokes with my surgeon.

Ok, I say with a wild grin.

'Dr. Dr., What did the one boob say to the other?

Yeah you’re right – nothing!'

I think it’s funny. He wasn’t so sure, bless him.

I went through a very tight and dark tunnel

and burst out the other side,

into the bright side of life where it seems you don’t need them.

My son Joseph says, that’s how life works sometimes.

Flowers

Operation over

my room is full of flowers

I am in stitches

Changed

I think it’s safe to say I’ll never be the same again

You can’t call me your bosom buddy now

When you hug me, I’ll be closer than ever before.

I can truly say, “I laughed my tits off”

but would I be able to go topless on the beach?

When there’s nothing to see, people look all the harder

to find what should be there.

I could say I’m transitioning but I’d hate to insult those who are,

and the truth is evident in my soft round bum and dimpled thighs

– my pink nail polish.

Franki says that after 50 the wheels start falling off

- I just lost my headlights - nothing is guaranteed.

I don’t feel diminished which is a surprise.

Liberation comes only after oppression.

No man will look at my cleavage and proposition me again

but when dealing with a lovely guy, I still get a glint in my eye.

Not fitting into one of the boxes could be an interesting space to explore

when transitioning, some things say goodbye...

The whole lymph tree under my left arm had to be removed, so my left side felt numb and strange.
No drumming for me, this was a huge loss and I grieved deeply for this loss. Injuring the left arm has to be avoided to prevent Lymphedema. No injections or blood pressure cuffs o the left arm. When I read the report I saw that not all of the lymph cells removed where intact, so I kept that to myself.
I stayed at my moms place for a weeks convalescence after the op, with my son visiting from Jhb.
As soon as I got home I threw out all of my bras and clothes that I knew wouldn't work anymore.

The weekend before the first Chemo session (three weeks after the op) was my daughters wedding in Stellenbosch. I found a beautiful black beaded dress and felt very beautiful in my new shape.

Chemotherapy lasted about six months and then I had 25 radiation sessions.
I refused the tamoxifen pill that was recommended for the next 5 years that draws from bone density.

After the first chemo session I decided that I would drive myself there and back. The chemo room in Rondebosch medical center is amazing and the staff so kind and caring. I just wanted to be quiet. I wanted to drive there in silence, arrive and smile, present my arm, close my eyes and drift into a meditative peaceful place. Afterwards, I would wait until I felt stable and take a slow drive back home.

My hair started to fall out quite quickly and after it started coming off in my hands in handfuls, I shaved it all off one night in my bathroom. I cried and at the same time felt totally liberated. I decided not to wear a wig and it felt wonderfully free.

At the start of the next chemo medication when the red devil infusions were done, I was told to call if I felt "funny". After seven minutes I felt as if I was going to explode but couldn't open my mouth to call out. Luckily the nurse was watching me and let out a yell. The doctor stared into my eyes, breathe, breathe, breathe, while the sister yanked out the drip from my hand and stabbed me with an adrenalin injection in my shoulder. They were quick and stood around me till I had recovered. Some patients have an anaphylactic reaction. I was given a double dose of the anti histamines and told to wait thirty minutes before trying again. I was nervous to say the least but to totally submit and stay calm is the only option.

 I was called to fit my prosthetic breasts - the bra with boobs attached. I refused and the lady was very confused and quite shocked that I wasn't going to want to live the rest of my life with weights strapped to my chest to maintain a look acceptable to society.

I found a flat closure group on Facebook, mostly Americans and had no clue that there is a huge movement there to include the flat option as a recognised and acceptable option that the surgeons provide. In some cases I've heard that the lady first have a phsyc evaluation. I found amazing support here and felt even more confident with my choice.

Eighteen months after the op I found a tattoo artist in Johannesburg and we designed a chest piece. I flew in for the weekend. I lay on the chair for seven hours and left feeling like I was tripping. It was official. I am a flattie and I felt so beautiful and very feminine. I started slowly to expose my bare chest to the sun and sat on a quiet section of the beach for short periods of time. Slowly I became braver and people came up to me, asked me about the tattoo and what had happened. I spoke to couple who had wondered what they would do should breast cancer happen to them. I spoke to girls who were interested. One little girl asked, "Are you a man or a lady?" We had a long chat and she stayed at my side for the rest of the morning telling me stories about her family. Some ask, "are you not embarrassed?" Well, it's a little awkward in the beginning, but embarrassed no, not if I think of what my chest provokes in people. They look, they stare and I smile and think that this is fine.......they look and see that there's nothing there and I hope that as they walk past or away they think about why there's no cure for cancer, how many women on the beach have cancer or a mastectomy and we wouldn't know.

Someone asked me if I'd ever been reported for being on the beach topless. Another said, people don't like to see mutilation. If I want to make a difference by making people at least think - I have to be prepared to step out of what's normal. 

The one thing that stands out is that no-one can decide for you. The options, the treatment, the medication and everything that comes after. I had to decide what felt right for me and be able to stand my ground and often to explain my decisions, but never to justify them.

The butterfly spirit animal is one of the most symbolic animals that's associated with personal transformation

Magnolias symbolized dignity and nobility. In ancient China, magnolias were thought to be the perfect symbols of womanly beauty and gentleness.

Mandala is a spiritual and ritual symbol in Hinduism and Buddhism, representing the universe. The circular designs symbolizes the idea that life is never ending and everything is connected. The mandala also represents spiritual journey within the individual viewer.

A hummingbird flying reminds us to enjoy life and simple pleasures. Like the tiny bird seeking the flowers' nectar, we should be looking at what's good in life. ... This is why the hummingbird symbol is associated with endurance and perseverance.

MgM (c)

Thank you Cancer - Metamorphosis

Only when my body is stripped of me do I realise that
I don't need my hair to define me.
My breasts don't make me MORE of a woman
Aching for the loss of my drum between my knees
my heart now beats loudly in its place

Scabs of my old identity fall away
as I break through the old skin
Emerging raw and newly liberated

There are revelations that can only be found in the darkness of a cave. 
Go in, the gems are in the far end,
they shine there in the darkest place.

MgMusings