Instant weight loss

It's been a while since I've written and while I never meant to go that long of a stretch without writing, that can only mean one thing - I've been doing well and I've been busy!

For the past few months, I've focused on a new hobby, acrylic pouring. It's a process where you create paintings without the use of a brush at all. By mixing the paint with a combination of pouring medium, water, silicone, and other ingredients, you pour the paint onto the canvas and manipulate it by moving it back and forth. As the paint settles, it often changes forming a new painting until it's finally though moving. It's a very unique and fulfilling process.

I made so many paintings that my office began to get full of them and so I started an Etsy shop at the insistence of one of my daughters. There I was able to sell many of my paintings and jewelry but after about a month, I got tired of the hassle of packaging and mailing off my art so I closed shop and decided to start giving my works away. To me, that was much more rewarding.

Yesterday, instead of painting, my husband and I left early in the morning to head to Atlanta for a doctor's appointment. We knew traffic would be heavy and it would take over an hour to get there, so we gave ourselves enough time to have an enjoyable, unrushed ride.

When we arrived, the waiting room was packed and we knew it would be a while before I was called back. About thirty minutes passed before my name was called.

The nurse took me back and as always, began with vital statistics. I hate that they always want to weigh you first, but I stepped on the scale as she instructed. I could tell by the look on her face that I'd gained weight since my last visit. She looked at me and before she was going to open her mouth I said, "You know, I can lose that weight in an instant." She quizzically looked at me and I continued, "I couldn't decide whether to wear the lightweight prostheses this morning, or the heavyweight ones. I chose the big girls which weigh about 4 pounds." She smiled and said, "Really? Well I can deduct that amount from your chart." I smiled the biggest smile and replied, "Would you really? That would be awesome!" And she did!

When I received the paperwork with my statistics on it, she had entered a 4 pound loss in weight. I was so happy she hadn't counted the weight of my false breasts.

The appointment went well and we returned to our side of town only to head for 2 more appointments. It was time for my to reorder my compression sleeves for Lymphedema and it was also time for new boobs! The insurance company allows me to get new sleeves every year but boobs and bras are every two years.

After completing those errands, we took time out for lunch and then headed back home. It was a good day and I was thankful my hubby could accompany me on this trip.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could all lose 4 pounds as quickly and easily as I did today? I am thankful the nurse was sensitive to my plight. I wonder if other breast cancer survivors have been through the same scenario...

Mugs and Cups

Joining the sides of the mug with slip

A few weeks ago, I decided to sign up for a pottery class. I’d wanted to learn pottery for a long time and thought finally, now that I was starting to feel normal again, it would be the perfect time to begin. I also thought it might help with my lymphedema.

The first class was in wheel throwing. I enjoyed that very much and made several items. The next class was in hand building. Hand building is a pottery-making technique that involves creating forms without the use of a pottery wheel. It would be more difficult.

As I stood in front of the classroom counter, a large lump of brown clay lay before me. My job, the instructor said, was to wedge the clay. Wedging the clay is a process to rid the clay of air bubbles which could cause problems in firing. I listened as she explained the process and then watched as she showed me how to manipulate the clay. She worked for a few minutes and then turned the clay over to me. I picked up the brown lump and slammed it down on the counter as my teacher had done. The clay was heavy and dense. After slamming it hard on the counter, I began kneading it. Pushing and pulling the clay, I felt like I was in the process of making bread, only this was more difficult. Slam, turn, knead, press, and repeat. Over and over again, I wedged the clay. Finally, my instructor said I’d done a good job and now it was time to begin working on my project.

I moved to the work area and held the massive blob of clay in my hands. The coolness of the damp clay against my skin was comforting. As I began to roll out the clay and feed it into a large slab roller, my thoughts drifted. Just a few years ago, everything in my life was out of control. Breast cancer consumed me.

Sliding the clay between two sheets of canvas, I began the process of cranking it through the machine to flatten it. I watched as the mound of clay was pressed and compacted. I knew how that felt. It wasn’t too long ago that my breast was being squeezed tightly during a mammogram. It was so uncomfortable, it hurt.

When I’d rolled the clay to the proper depth, I gently carried the canvas sheet holding the clay to my table. Now the fun would begin. I could mold and shape the clay into anything I wanted it to be. The power was in my hands. I decided to make a mug. Pressing and molding the clay, I watched as it began to take form. Next, it was time to trim. I picked up the knife and gently pressed it into the clay. As I moved the knife through the clay, my mind shifted once again. I was being wheeled into the operating room to have my breasts removed. The surgeon was skilled and promised to do a good job. Still, I’d hoped to keep my breasts, but she assured me it was best to remove them based on my diagnosis.

I continued trimming the clay. Working around the sides of the mug, I removed the excess. Gathering all the clay trimmings, I walked toward the trashcan. I stood over it looking down. Thoughts continued to swirl inside my head. I wondered if my breasts had been thrown away after they’d been removed. I shook my head to clear my mind and went back to complete my work.

Why was I struggling so? I was supposed to be enjoying the art of pottery but instead, I was thinking back to my cancer days. Lately, it seemed that no matter where I was or what I was doing, I was reminded of breast cancer. Maybe I’d been so focused on breast cancer because this is Pinktober, the celebratory month for breast cancer awareness.

My mug was complete. Now it was time to place it underneath a plastic covering so it could dry to the leather hard stage. On my next class, the instructor said, I’d learn the art embellishment. I smiled as she said I could decorate the mug as ornately as I wanted. Once again, I thought back to my breasts. My breast surgeon had basically said the same thing to me as we discussed the possibility of reconstruction. She said, “The world is your oyster. You can be any size you choose.” Although I’d chosen not to go the reconstruction route, I knew if I had made that choice, I could have been any size I’d wanted.

Mugs and cups. They didn’t really go together, but then again, they did. Making a ceramic mug reminded me of my missing breasts. As I thought about adding embellishments to my pottery, I had been reminded of the opportunity to increase my cup size.

My hands are dry and cracked from working with the clay. Those wounds will heal quickly and won’t leave any visible scars but my breast cancer scars did the opposite. I’ve learned to face the fact that Breast cancer is always going to be part of my life. Mundane things surprise me by sparking memories taking me back to my cancer days. It’s hard to accept those memories but its important I do remember. Paul Greengrass said, “Remembering is painful, it's difficult, but it can be inspiring and it can give wisdom.”

Sometimes, when I think about the difficult road I’ve traveled, I can’t help but relate my life to pottery. The hard things have shaped and molded me just as I shaped and molded the clay.

My newly created mug will sit for a week on the counter as it dries enough for the next steps -glazing and firing. Those steps will give the mug a beautiful sheen and hardness. Breast cancer has done the same for me. Over time, it’s given me a new outlook on life and it’s helped me become resilient.

I’m glad I took the pottery class. It was a lot of fun but it was also a lot of hard work. Slamming and kneading the clay to wedge it was tough. I realized my upper body strength has weakened due to surgery and lymphedema, but I pushed through. I wanted to learn this new skill and was willing to do whatever necessary to do it.

I can’t wait to see my finished mug! I’m sure, when I hold it in my hands, I’ll be proud of the work that went into creating it. And if I get the opportunity, I might just make another. On my next mug, I think I’ll add a little pink ribbon embellishment to remind me of the lesson I learned about mugs and cups.

Picking Out Bras and Prostheses, Again.

I never considered myself a naïve person, but when I was diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago, I had no idea it would impact me for the rest of my life. I thought I’d have surgery, go through treatment and be done. Then, when I made the decision to have both breasts removed, I didn’t know choosing not to do reconstruction would be such a challenge. There was so much I needed to learn.

Today was my annual visit to the prosthetic shop. Every year, for the past three years, I’ve made this trek. Forty-five minutes of driving to a neighboring town takes me to a tiny specialty shop. The clientele are breast cancer patients and survivors. Inside the shop are wigs, head coverings, bras and prostheses. The ladies who run the shop have been specially trained in bra fitting, so I feel confident going there. Today’s visit will be old hat, but I remember when it was all very new.

About a month after I’d had my breasts removed, the breast surgeon called me into her office for a checkup. At that visit, she examined my scars and before I left, she handed me two prescriptions. One was for mastectomy bras and the other was for prostheses. She explained that I’d want to get the items as soon as possible. I must have looked like a deer in headlights because she sat down and explained insurance normally covers four mastectomy bras a year and one set of prostheses every other year. I left her office feeling very strange. I had no idea prescriptions were required for bras and fake boobs.

When I visited the local specialty shop, I was embarrassed. I was so new to being breastless. Walking into the shop with a flat chest, I felt humiliated. As I approached the counter and handed my prescriptions to the salesperson, she smiled and welcomed me. She took me by the arm and led me to a fitting room where she measured me with a retractable measuring tape. She apologized as she held the tape against my scars. She could see how fresh they were and noticed my face during the fitting.

“Honey,” she said, “You’re too young to have had to go through this trauma.” I smiled and shook my head in agreement. I wanted to scream out, “You have no idea what I’ve been through!” But I didn’t.

I remember her showing me dozens of mastectomy bras. She explained the differences in them and showed me how to insert a pair of trial prostheses into the little openings on the inside of the bras. She was very knowledgeable and took her time. I was thankful for her patience as I tried on a variety of styles until I found one that worked for me.
When it came time to pick out my own prostheses, I began to weep. The fitter closed the door to the dressing room and told me to take my time. When she came back into the room, I was wiping tears from my cheeks. I apologized for being so emotional and she quickly put me at ease. She said I shouldn’t worry. She’d had many women react the same way. She explained she had expected me to cry since it had only been a month since surgery and if I hadn’t cried, she would have been worried. I was grateful for her kindness.

The first prosthetic I held in my hands was a silicone rubber flesh-colored mound. I was surprised at its weight. The smallest size, an A cup, was hefty. When I held the C cup, I could barely hold it in one hand. It was extremely heavy and I was afraid I would drop it. I was asked what size bra I’d worn before surgery. When I told the fitter I’d been a B cup, she smiled and explained I could now how my choice of cup sizes. She told me I could go as small or as large as I wanted to go. I tried each cup size on with a mastectomy bra and found the A cup to be sufficient. I couldn’t stand the weight of heavier prostheses against my scar. I paid for my purchases and left the store feeling shocked and overwhelmed.

That was three years ago. Today when I went into the store, I greeted the salesperson with a cheery smile. I explained I was there to get new bras. Instead of waiting for her to measure and fit me, I walked straight over to the racks of bras and started looking through them. I knew exactly what type bra I wanted and I knew what size I needed. Gathering the selections, I’d made, I carried them up to the counter. I pulled out my insurance card and asked when I qualified for a new pair of boobs. The fitter checked my chart and said I had another six months to go. I wanted to be sure I was within the correct time frame for insurance coverage so I didn’t purchase prostheses today although I did check out some new versions. This time, when I held the C cups in my hands, I laughed. I told the salesperson I was ready to go big. As my purchases were slipped into a bag, I said my goodbyes and reminded the staff I’d be back in six months for my Dolly Parton-sized boobs.

I’ve come a long way in three years. What was once a humiliating and embarrassing experience has now become commonplace. I know I’ll need to buy bras and prostheses for the rest of my life. I’m sure the next time I visit the store, I’ll feel even more comfortable than ever. I may even invite the fitter to join me for lunch! I’m sure we’re going to be really good friends a year or two down the road.

Making the best of a bad situation is always a good idea. The fear of the unknown can be crippling, and I know that’s why I had such an emotional reaction the first time. I’m so happy I’ve passed that initial phase of my journey, but I’d like to offer a word of encouragement to those about to make their first mastectomy bra or prosthetic purchase. The fitters want to help you. They are trained to help you make bra selections that will be best suited for your needs. Choosing a replacement breast can be difficult but replacing the weight of your missing breast will help your body adjust. Without replacing the breast, your body will try to compensate and this can often cause rounding of the shoulders and result in back pain.

Every insurance company is different, so it’s best to check your policy for coverage limitations. I always wait to visit the prosthetic shop until after I’ve met my yearly deductible, that way, I only have to pay my 20 percent. Be sure you have a written prescription for your bras and your prosthetic. Many insurance companies require this. If your doctor doesn’t volunteer a prescription, ask for one.

Living life without breasts doesn’t have to be difficult. I wear my prostheses when I want to and I don’t when I don’t. Most of the time, when I’m out in public, I wear a mastectomy bra and prostheses, but when I’m home, I find it more comfortable to go without them.

Think of all the choices you’ll have when you visit a shop for bras! There are just as many choices as there are in a normal lingerie store. If you want a sports bra, they’ve got them! If you prefer an underwire, no problem. Sexy, t-shirt, racerback bras…all available. The only difference between mastectomy bras and regular bras is that mastectomy bras have an inner lining type pocket that holds the prosthetic. Slipping the breast form inside the bra is quick and easy.

Prostheses come in different shapes, sizes, and weights. They’re available in silicone, polyester fiberfill and even microbeads. You have the power to choose what works best for you, so have fun doing it. Your first experience might be an emotional one, but subsequent experiences will get easier with time.

Yay for down!

The Weather Channel has been bombarding us with details of Winter Storm Helena as she's begun pushing east after pummeling the west with heavy snow. Folks in the deep South don't take these warnings lightly and have already begun to raid the grocery store shelves for staples such as milk, eggs, and bread. Alabama, Georgia, and North Carolina have all declared states of emergency. Past ice storms and unexpected snow events have caused them to act quickly instead of taking a wait and see attitude and often, those storm warnings end up being much ado about nothing but sometimes...they're underrated and we get slammed. In any event, it's best to expect the best but be prepared for the worst. And so we have. There's food in the pantry, firewood stacked high, flashlights and batteries, long johns, and I've saved the best for last...a down jacket and cozy, down slippers. 

I don't know when I became such a fan of goose down but it was probably way back in the early 70's when I got my very first down pillow. I'd been sleeping on fluffy polyester fiber filled ones for years, you know the kind that compact the more you use them...well, that wasn't good enough for me. I wanted something better so I begged for a down pillow and a family friend blessed me with one for Christmas. I loved that thing! It was so soft and so light and also retained body heat. I became attached to that pillow like a child with a blanket. I took it with me whenever I'd be sleeping anywhere other than home. 

Later on, when I was a teen, I found out down was not only comfortable to sleep on, but to sleep in. On a camping trip to the North Georgia mountains in the late fall, I needed a warm sleeping bag. My father let me use his U.S. Army surplus down mummy bag. I couldn't believe he'd kept it all those years and wondered how something so small and compact could keep me warm. I vividly remember unfurling that musty smelling old sleeping bag and watching it poof up as the feathers inside were fluffed. I'm sure it was probably filled with dust mites but I didn't know that back then. That sleeping bag kept me completely warm and comfortable in mid 30's temperatures.

Earlier today, as I was braving the frigid weather to pick up a few things from the grocery store, down came to my rescue again. My Land's End fluffy down parka not only kept me from feeling discomfort as the sleet rolled in, I noticed it also camouflaged the fact that I didn't have any breasts. No one could notice I wasn't wearing my prostheses underneath my poofy jacket! 

So yay, for down! I'm a big fan! I'm so thankful God thought it necessary to equip geese with these tiny, soft feathers that give me such joy. Tonight, as I get ready to crawl into bed, I'll be sliding in under my down comforter and my electric blanket. I'll lay my head gently on my down pillow and turn out the light while dreams of Canadian geese slide across frozen ponds. Down. If you've never experienced it, I recommend you do, that is, unless you're allergic to feathers...then I'd caution you to stay far, far away. 

Where are you breasts?

It’s been two long years since I saw you. Since that time, I never gave thought to your fate. Where are you breasts? Do you lie sectioned and frozen in a laboratory freezer somewhere? Were you sliced and diced for medical students to look at you under a powerful microscope? Were you stained and smeared on a slide? Were you shaved into microscopically thin pieces and dipped into solutions only to be resting in Petri dishes on a cold hard counter? Were you examined and studied, talked about behind my back? Where are you breasts? Or, after being used and abused were you casually discarded in a red Biohazard container? Did you rot among other tissue samples in a landfill far away? I can’t help but wonder what happened to you. I didn’t even get to tell you goodbye. If I’d thought about it, I could have made a plaster cast to memorialize you or I could have taken beautiful photographs of you.

I didn’t think one day I’d miss you but today, when I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. My hand traveled across my chest to touch you and you were gone. That’s when I remembered. Could you have been saved? Did I speak too hastily when asked my preference by the surgeon? Should I have taken another route? Should I have opted for a lumpectomy and chemo instead of mastectomy and radiation? But if I had, would we still be here today but in a much more painful and prolonged way? Would we have started out small, a tiny incision and chemicals that poisoned you only to eventually have you lopped off anyway? Should I have endured countless mammograms and months of testing in an effort to keep your mutilated form? Or did I do the right thing in taking the second choice presented, to completely remove you, to discard you and pretend you never existed? Should I have let the surgeon cut you out and leave empty folds of skin to hold tissue expanders and later silicone replacements? Should I have allowed the fat deposits on my stomach or back to be carved into makeshift breasts to give me an illusion of normalcy? Could I have dealt with reconstructed breasts, mounds of flesh sewn into place devoid of nipples and feeling? Or was I right to just agree to completely remove you?

Where have you gone breasts? Do you lie in a pile joined by others just like you, some of them larger and some vastly smaller, all shapes and colors? Do you wonder why you were tortured? Why abandoned and forgotten after all your years of service? I watched you grow from tiny breast buds at puberty into full, voluptuous friends that fed my children and satisfied my husband and now you’re gone, missing in action, decimated, mutilated, and all but forgotten, but I can’t forget you. I still remember you. You were important to me. Where are you breasts?

In your place lie two imposters, silicone forms devoid of nerve endings, blood flow, or feeling. They have no semblance to you. They are smooth gel filled pinkish blobs with tiny raised nipple-like impressions. They are much heavier than you. They require washing and drying but only after removal from a mastectomy bra which holds them securely against my chest. When I walk, they don’t gently bounce up and down as you once did. They are firm and stationary. Some days I choose not to wear them. I leave them lying in their storage containers. I don’t want to look at them and be reminded they’ve taken your place…poor substitutes for what God gave me. Am I bitter? To a degree, yes. Do I feel betrayed? Yes! I wish I’d known exactly what the future held so I could have made a more informed decision about surgery and treatment, but doctors don’t give you all the details. They don’t talk about the emotional trauma that comes with breast cancer. They don’t talk about those difficult days when your breasts are gone and it feels like the world has stopped spinning and you’re left standing alone stripped naked and bare. They don’t talk about the devastation, loss of femininity, and lifelong changes that will occur. They keep it hush hush, a secret hidden in the dark. But we find out. And some of us do quite well with the change. Some of us make do and move on. Others struggle. Some days are good and some days are bad. But all of us wonder, where are you breasts and why did you have to go? Why? Why? Why….

Boobs R Us

They should have a store named “Boobs R Us”, you know, like Toys R Us®, only not. I think adding a little fun to the name of a store where they sell necessary items for women who’ve been through the traumatic experience of breast cancer would make it a little more interesting, but that’s just my opinion.

Today, I made a trip to that necessary store. The store I visited is named “Renewal”. They sell everything related to breast cancer – bras, prostheses, wigs, turbans, etc. It’s a really nice store and is run by a couple of Christian women. As soon as you enter the store, you feel total peace. That peace doesn’t come from the soft music playing in their overhead speakers, although that’s part of the ambiance I really love, no…it comes from a spirit of love that dwells there. These women consider their store a ministry. They want women who’ve suffered trauma in their lives to know they are loved, to know they are seen, and to know they are understood. I like it there. It’s a great place and this would be my second visit to the shop in the last two years.

Last year, I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights when I entered their store. Wide eyed and scared, I was just a couple of weeks post surgery and my incisions hadn’t fully healed. The women were so tender and kind to me. They took their time and were extremely patient. I was thankful because I had no idea what I was doing. Today, I felt like I was going back to visit old friends.

I entered the store and was welcomed by the owner. We talked a few minutes and then got down to business. I explained I was here for my annual bra purchase and to pick out new prostheses. My insurance company allows 4 bras a year and new prostheses every 2 years. I was taken into the back of the store to a fitting room and there, I began to undress. I felt so much more comfortable this time and I think it was because I knew what to expect.

The owner asked me some questions about my bras. She wanted to check the fit, especially the band that fit just below my bust line. She explained it was very important for that band to fit snugly against my chest wall. If it didn’t, the breast forms would slip and sag causing back pain. After taking a few measurements, she found the bra I was wearing was 2 sizes too big. I’d lost weight since my last fitting and that had affected my bra size. Next we discussed the prostheses. She asked if I wanted to stay with the same kind I’d purchased 2 years ago. They were unique because they were made with a special cooling gel layer. It was meant to fit right next to the chest wall and remain cool throughout the day. If I wanted to keep that kind, I’d need to stay in the same size range as before. Those types of prostheses were flat and fit close to the body. They did not project like normal breast tissue and they were much lighter weight than regular prostheses. I explained to the fitter that I was hoping to find something with a little more OOMPH. She laughed and said she knew exactly what product I’d like. I watched as she searched through stacks of boxes. She was diligently seeking something particular. Within a few minutes, she had two light pink boxes in her hands and inside were silicone prostheses. She had chosen prostheses in sizes 8 and 9. Prostheses come in numerical sizes according breast size, body height and weight. I had been wearing a 7, she explained and now would need to step up to an 8 or 9. After searching high and low, the owner could only find one size 8 breast form and one size 9. She said we’d have to just work with what we had, so she slipped the size 8 in the left side of my mastectomy bra and asked me how it felt. It was a lot heavier than I expected! The size 7 I’d been wearing was very light. Then, she slipped the size 9 in the right side of my bra and asked how it felt. The right side of my bra sagged down lower with the weight of the size 9 form in it. I knew it was much too heavy for me so I told her I thought I’d go with an 8. Both the 8 and 9 were B cups. The size 7 I’d been wearing was a AA! The difference in cup size along with the increase in breast form size accounted for the increased weight of the new breast forms. I wondered exactly how much they weighed. Out of curiosity, I’d taken my size 7 AA prostheses and weighed them on my postal scale. The two prostheses and the bra weighed a whopping 5 pounds! That’s a lot to carry around on your chest and now, I was going to be wearing even more weight with the new breast forms. (I wondered how the nurse at my doctor’s office would react the next time she took me to the scale for a weigh in and instead of just removing my shoes before getting on the scale, I unsnapped my bra and whipped it off, too. Afterall, that weight is artificial and shouldn’t really be counted into my actual body mass if it’s not really my own flesh and blood, right?! 5-10 pounds less could make a huge difference in my favor!)

The owner stepped out of the fitting room to allow me time to get dressed. As I put on my clothes, I tiptoed out into the hallway to look at all the boxes of prostheses just outside my room. There were shelves of boxes stacked up to the ceiling. They must do a lot of volume here, I thought to myself. I wondered if I had made the right choice in going with a size 8 prosthesis.

At the register, I watched the owner tally up the sale on her little order form. I listened to Chris Tomlin singing “How Great is Our God” as she totaled everything. The total was just under $1000!!! I almost fainted until I heard her say, “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ve already met your deductible for the year so you’ll only have to pay your 20%.” Whew!!! I was so thankful we had insurance! I wondered how women without insurance manage to buy their prostheses. Each prosthesis cost between $300-$500 and each bra cost between $40-$75. Thankfully, our insurance allows me to get 4 new bras a year and a new set of prostheses every two years. Not all insurance plans are as generous.

At the end of this week, I’ll go back to pick up my order. I think I’ll suggest, to the owners of Renewal, they make a “play area” for the women who’ll come in this year for their first set of breast forms. They could display various sizes and styles of prostheses in an attractive way and put up little signs that say, “Give me a squeeze!” or “Feel me Up!” It might help ease the tension just a bit and allow first timers a chance to laugh before getting down to business. It’s a scary thing to choose new breasts when you’d much rather have the real ones back but, it can also be fun if you look at it through eyes of gratitude. I’m grateful to be alive. I’m grateful for insurance. I’m grateful for lifelike breast forms that allow me to feel normal even when I know I’m not. I’m also thankful for sweet, Christian ladies who have hearts of gold. They temper love with a Christlike attitude of service and that makes all the difference in the world.

Maybe “Boobs R Us” isn’t such a great name for a shop that sells prostheses. I think Renewal is much better. The dictionary defines renewal as:

• the act of extending the period of time when something is effective or valid : the act of renewing something 
• the state of being made new, fresh, or strong again : the state of being renewed 

I like both of these definitions but especially the part about being made strong again. Yes, Renewal is a much better name than “Boobs R Us,” but it made you smile, didn’t it?

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