Adjusting to a mastectomy

Press, Volume CXIII, Issue 33279, 17 July 1973, Page 6

Adjusting to a mastectomy

(By

SHONA McFARLANE)

Finding a lump in your breast is a frightening thing. It happens to other people, not to you. You can’t quite believe it. Feel it again and it will go away. It doesn’t. You go to a doctor expecting him to tell you to go away and stop wasting his time—and he doesn’t. Before you know where you are you’re in hospital with a breast off. Anticipation That is what happened to me last year, right out of the blue. Lump one day, surgery a few days later. 1 panicked, of course. Who wouldn’t? But it only lasted an hour or so. And like most awful things, the anticipation is much worse than the accomplished fact. You hear all sorts of things j about the devastating psychological effects of a maseci tomy (its official name). I think, in retrospect, that (these effects lie more in the I imaginings of those who j haven’t had the operation, ; than in those who have gone I through it. j There is something horrible (about the thought of losing , a breast. It is virtually an ( amputation, though we don’t generally think of it that way because it doesn’t handicap

ius as might the removal of a leg or eye. To any woman, [the very thought of a surgeon (carving off that delicate and (sensitive part of her body is (repugnant and devastating. (It’s just as well then, that with cancer you have no I choice about saying yes or (no. It would be an awfully (hard decision to make. Acceptance The mutilation is the biggest hurdle to accept, especially for one like myself—single, interested in the opposite sex, with a generous chest measurement and who generally followed the motto: “If you’ve got them, flaunt them.” But when something happens and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, it’s amazing how one can accept a situation. And, really, the whole thing was not too bad. The operation itself was not terribly painful. In fact, I’ve felt much more ill and uncomfortable with . a bad dose of flu. The cobalt treatment after leaving hospital was wearisome, although the actual treatment was no more complicated than having a series of X-rays and I didn’t find it in the least bit as frightening as I had been led to imagine. You hear all sorts of tales about ominous machines, being left alone while they turn on the rays and so on, but the whole process was carried out in a bright and cheerful situation and should (worry no-one. Certainly my (skin turned a very dark (brown on the treated area, and still remains discoloured. The skin blistered and was very painful for a time. But once I’d healed and got my strength back . . . well it’s all over now and that’s that. It’s not quite that, I suppose; there were some bad bits to go through.

Facing facts For me, the toughest time came when they first removed the bandages and I knew I would have to face up to actually seeing myself. I kept my eyes looking the other way as long as I could, but my curiosity overcame my apprehension. It was pretty horrid and slightly ridiculous. One bosom sitting there all by itself, and on the other side just a long wound neatly stitched. Gone was the other half of my 38 inches. The next nasty bit came when I got properly dressed for the first time in over two months. Clothes didn’t fit, low necklines meant throwing out favourite garments and, sweaters looked odd, or at least I looked odd under the sweater. This brings me to the main purpose of my writing this article. It’s not until you experience something like this that you could possibly

realise the problems involved in matching up a bosom. It’s terribly important to any woman, young or old, to look right. It’s much easier to cope when you know, from the outside at least, no-one would suspect what you look like in the raw. And I wonder if doctors and hospitals do take enough trouble in making sure their patients know just what is available to them by way of replacements? Replacements The thing few would appreciate, is the actual weight of a breast. Fill up the bra with cotton wool and you might, with difficulty, get a reasonable enough shape, but it will poke up while the other points down. It’s too light. So is foam rubber, or “falsies” that are intended to fill out a modest measurement. For a total replacement you need something quite weighty and firm — and shapely. 1 really didn’t think too much about what I was going to do until a girl friend came to see me in hospital. She had had the same operation a year or so before. She waltzed in with great joviality and demonstrated her false one with pride. She gave herself a mighty squeeze — and it sounded like someone kicking a bag of sawdust. I asked her to stand over by the door — some distance away — and repeat the performance. She did and I heard it quite clearly. Even her dissertations on how useful she found it as a built-in pin cushion together with a hilarious description of the faces of those who, unknowingly — watched her plunge her needle into her left breast and leave it there, did not exactly improve my opinion of her model. Anyway, I’m not keen on embroidery. I was shown a range of bra-fillers from a local store in Dunedin and they filled me with depression. They were cotton “buns” or “bean bags” which bore no resemblance to the human shape even though I was assured they did the job very satisfactorily. Perhaps they do, for those with minimal bosoms or for those who don’t worry too much about their shape. Reassurance Then, one happy day, my doctor brought a woman to see me who, she told me, had both breasts removed. She came in looking a mass of dash and invited me forthwith to feel her bosom. I did. feeling most embarrassed because they felt so real and fleshy. Then she pulled one out for me to see and, from then on, I felt cheered. They were large, pink

rubbery, squelchy, mobile, resilient and even had a little nipple. They were filled with some sort of heavy fluid, and placed inside the bra, looked so realistic that no-one could tell the difference. I’m so thrilled with mine I often embarrass (close friends) by asking them to poke my left breast — or both and guess which. Often they guess wrongly, to my delight. Once having decided what I wanted, it was another matter to find it. My visitor had bought hers in England but, I was told they were available in New Zealand. But I don’t believe the supply is large enough or that they are well enough known. I waited months after ordering mine through a local store and they never arrived. In the end I decided to go to Auckland myself to find one. Actually I didn’t have to go that far because I found them

in Wellington. No doubt they are available in other towns in other stores but I hope 1 can mention the name of James Smiths in Wellington whose corsetry department has probably the biggest selection of these breast-forms in the country. My new bosom did the trick for me. I felt just great and I looked my old self again. But it. worries me a little to think that there may be others like myself putting up with embarrassments they need not experience. There is a wide range of sizes and the cost is not too great, about $lB. They just slip in the bra cup and are easily removed for washing. I even have one for my swim suit. (I’ve got a built in cup now after diving in and coming up with a bosom in the middle of my stomach). There’s no problem with them, the only warning is never to allow anyone to pin anything such as a spray, otherwise disaster and a nasty greasy leak. My new bosom was better than all the buck-up talks in the world.