Finding Katniss

The brassiere.  A woman’s necessary evil.  I’ve never enjoyed shopping for bras, and to be quite honest, have always found it to be overwhelming.  There are so many kinds of bras out there:  underwire bras, wireless bras, padded bras, wonder bras, push-up bras, t-shirt bras, demi bras, bralettes, high support bras, racerback bras, strapless bras, front closure bras, bras with straps you can cross around your body in different ways, sports bras, full coverage bras, minimal coverage bras, and on and on and on.  Ridiculous variety.

When I do get the gusto to tackle bra shopping, (which is usually triggered by my current bra poking me, digging into me, or literally falling apart at the seams), I find myself in the fitting room with at least 10 different bras praying that just one will work for me.  I am not a large chested woman, yet I still consider this a daunting task.  I was proud of myself last year when I took the time to get sized, listen to the sales lady’s advice, and refresh my bra collection.  And then breast cancer made its surprise visit.

Beginning with the MRI guided biopsies, followed by surgery, radiation treatment, and recovery, I was instructed to wear supportive sports bras through it all, preferably a size up to accommodate swelling.  Great, more bra shopping.  However, once I found the right bra, I didn’t mind this too much.  After all, I had bigger fish to fry.  As I made my way through treatment, my sports bras became stained with the ink they used to mark me and I grew tired of trying to find shirts with necklines appropriate to cover them.  And that’s when it dawned on me – as much I dislike bras and shopping for them, they represent normalcy.  And femininity.  Two characteristics compromised by cancer that I was desperately hoping to regain.  I had no idea that a silly bra, an item I often had contempt towards, could signify this for me.

Imagine my excitement when treatment ended, my skin healed, and my swelling went down slightly.  I couldn’t wait to get back into my old bras, to try to feel like me again.  Ah, normalcy.  A couple days in my pre-cancer bras was all it took to trigger utter disappointment.  They hurt.  A new kind of hurt.  By the end of the day, it almost felt like rocks sitting at the base of my breast. I didn’t know what that was, but I knew it wasn’t right.  Back to the drawing board.

I consulted with some nurses and did a little research that brought me to a new bra.  And now I miraculously look like this:

Ha!  Can’t knock a girl for dreaming!  The bra that I found more comfort in is actually a far cry from the one pictured above.  Although this model doesn’t make it look so bad:

Despite wearing the unattractive “post treatment” bra for 6 months following radiation, I’m still experiencing discomfort.  A follow up visit to the doctor this week revealed edema of the breast – all this time and I was clueless.  My surgery entailed several incisions and the scar tissue is not allowing for proper drainage.  Hence, the density at the base of my breast and overall discomfort.  And most likely a contributing factor to the extreme pain I experienced in last week’s mammogram.

So now I must see a lymphedema specialist.  Yes, the specialist visits continue.  I’m not sure why I thought it would be over.  It’s never really over.  Any guesses on what else the doctor recommended?  You got it, a new bra!  AAGGHH!!  My “post treatment” bra apparently isn’t appropriately meeting my needs, and I’m really okay with saying goodbye to it.  But now I must find a high support sports bra that has a high cut under the arm and offers compression.  Any suggestions on where to find this are welcome.

More bra shopping – yep, I’m gonna have to find Katniss for this one.

There were many terms I came across when entering the cancer world, most of which were medically based and frequently required Google to understand them.  Processing cancer related terminology can be a task in itself, on top of the the ongoing thought, “this is really happening to me?”   Amidst the complex terminology, I also learned some – ready for this fancy word? – portmanteaus.   A portmanteau is a word created by blending two words or parts of two words together to make up one new word.  I didn’t fully understand these cancer portmanteaus when I first read them because I couldn’t relate to them.  That is until now, when they both occurred right smack next to each other on my calendar.

1 – Cancerversary:  One year ago today I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I’ve thought about cancer every day since I received that life-altering phone call.  365 days of thinking about cancer.  No wonder my tired brain can’t remember the post-it note my co-worker left me.  It is a black cloud that is always hovering above me, with some days consisting of rays of sunshine that are able to push it further aside than others.

Since today marks my cancerversary, am I supposed to celebrate?  For some reason, saying “Happy Cancerversary” doesn’t sound appealing to me.  I know there are many survivors out there who look at it as being gifted another year of life.  And yes, I agree, that is an amazing gift.  It is a gift that most of us take advantage of in our day to day activities.  I think I need more time before I begin any celebrations.  For now, I’ll just stand a little bit taller knowing I made it through my first cancerversary.

2 – Scanxiety:  Yesterday was my first mammogram following treatment.  The last mammogram I received was the catalyst for the most challenging year I’ve ever had.  Re-entering that medical suite was definitely nerve-wracking.  I had hoped to find comfort in some familiar faces, but the staff working that day were all different people than those I became familiar with in the past.  I did, however, find joy in the changing room.  I discovered that during my time of sabbatical they upgraded to fancy robes to wear over those awful hospital gowns.  I was so thrilled by this that I didn’t even mind the temporary waffle imprint it left on my skin.

I had to wait awhile, and unfortunately my fancy waffle robe wasn’t enough to keep the scanxiety away.  Memories of the numerous tests and procedures flooded back without warning.  And fear.  What will they find?  How many tests will I have to undergo?  What if I have to do it all over again?  Yep, scanxiety reared its ugly head.

This mammogram was different than ones I’ve had in the past.  My first diagnostic mammogram.  More prep was needed for marking my scars and applying special stickers.  No woman will ever tell you that getting a mammogram is comfortable.  I found this mammogram following radiation to be excruciating.  When the tech told me to hold my breath for the scan, I wanted to argue, “Hey lady, you just completely knocked the wind out of me.  I’ve got nothing to hold.”  But of course that required air, which I was depleted of.  You win, I’ll stop breathing.

Following the scans, the radiologist personally came to retrieve me from the waiting room.  He kept it short and sweet and told me that everything looks good and they’d be using this as my new baseline.  Whew.  But wait, that’s it?  No follow up ultrasound?  I’ve never had a mammogram without a follow up ultrasound.  And suddenly I find myself questioning the radiologist’s credentials.  He seems like a nice enough man, but does he really know how to read my mammogram?  What if he missed something?  And now I can’t help but wonder, is this post scanxiety?  Instead of whistling my way out the door, I’m just a big walking contradiction (“please don’t find something – you didn’t find anything – I don’t know if I believe you – are you sure?”).  It does make me feel a bit crazy at times.  But hey, if your world now includes things like cancerversary and scanxiety, there’s bound to be some crazy wrapped up in it.

Has anyone else felt this way?  Please feel free to comment and share!