Wednesday night I did something slightly crazy: I slowly lifted my shirt, carefully removed my bra and with a mirror in hand, took a look at the underside of my left breast. This was the first time I had taken more than a cursory glance at myself since the surgery. I was a little surprised at what I saw.
The incision site was triangular and dotted with dried blood; there were no stitches that could be seen. I saw no bruising either, even though the literature that had come with me two weeks ago warned that it might happen. Instead, all was clean and pain free.
It was a lot less problematic than the needle-core biopsy that I had done in February. That one had left me bruised and whimpering like a kicked puppy the very second the numbing agent had run its course. I couldn’t help but feel a but of disbelief at everything as a scalpel had to be used on the latest procedure. Shouldn’t that have been the more painful? Shouldn’t stitches be far more irritating than the jab of a needle? In fact, when I saw my doctor for the follow-up, even he seemed somewhat surprised that I had so little pain.
I’m also thinking that my mother was very wrong when it came to medical treatment in general. According to her, all surgeons were/are sloppy which is why most people need blood transfusions during an operation. Me, I didn’t need any blood and the incision is very clean, all things considered. Again, I can’t really complain. Everything went well.
I’m almost back to normal, both physically and mentally. I have to do a little bit of homework though, as my physician wants to put me on an estrogen blocker for the next five years. I’m leaning towards a “yes” on this but I want to get as many facts on the drug before I make my final decision. Prime’s going to help me with that.
But as of right now all is well, which makes me pretty happy for a change. Even knowing that I’ll have some physical scars doesn’t bother me. Better scarred and alive than the alternative.