Network News - Winter/Spring 2010 - Canadian Breast Cancer ...

Scarred, Single
and Sexy
By Lynda McHenry
It has been almost five years since
my bilateral mastectomy. I was
diagnosed with DCIS (Ductal
carcinoma in situ) right before my
39th birthday. My older sister,
Maureen, was diagnosed at age 41
with an aggressive, invasive breast
cancer. If it wasn’t for her, I would
never have known to look for it.
I would be well on my way to an
early grave. My Aunt Pauline had
passed away at age 47 of bilateral
ovarian cancer, leaving her adopted
daughters when they were just 10 and
13. My dad, Fred, was diagnosed with
prostate cancer at age 64. My illness
suddenly confirmed a family history.
My best option, according to my
dad’s research, was to remove all
breast tissue to reduce the risk
of a recurrence. Thankfully, as
my pathology report showed a
precancerous condition in the other
breast, I had a surgeon who supported
my decision. I originally was hoping
for a TRAM flap procedure (a
tummy tuck and
reconstruction all
in one operation).
However, I was not a
“good” candidate for
that type of surgery.
I apparently wasn’t
“fat” enough and the
end result could leave
me with stomach
bulging issues. I was
thinking, I have that
problem now, but
at least I can do sit
ups if I want to fix it!
The Latissimus Dorsi
flap reconstruction
was also not a good Lynda in a dress!
option as I need those
muscles for my job. I’m a lifeguard. I
need to be able to swim WELL. So that
left implants (Baywatch here I come!).
I was told that even with
the largest implants that
they made, the surgeon
would have trouble
making them look right
due to the broad span of
my chest wall. I wasn’t
keen on going that route
anyway.
My final conclusion was
to “leave well enough
alone.” I was symmetrical
and avoiding another
surgery sounded good
to me. It would give me
incentive to go to the
gym to make my stomach
as flat as my chest and it would be a
constant reminder of just how precious
every day is. My youngest daughter
was going through puberty, I was
going through liberty. I am sure I’m
saving a bundle on bras. Most woman
I know who have had reconstruction
surgery are married. I went through
my illness and operations as a single
parent with three daughters. Without
a spouse, I didn’t have to include
anyone else in the decision-making
process. You could probably flip a coin
as to which was easier. Fortunately, I
had very supportive family members
and friends. It was a blessing to have
my e-mailing buddies. Sort of like
journalling with
feedback.
This leads me
to where I am
today. I’m a
single 41-yearold
breastless
wonder. I have
never been
dainty and
feminine. I am
not comfortable
in dressy clothes.
I wear a tank
top and shorts at
work and I love
it! Most people
I encounter
at work are aware of my surgery.
Wearing prostheses seemed like a
“false front” since they would know
Lynda at Peter Hemingway Fitness
and Leisure Centre in Edmonton,
Alberta
“they” weren’t real.
It doesn’t bother
me to be flatchested
in public.
Occasionally
someone will
complain of their
“AA’s” and I say
“at least you have
nipples! Some of
them still think my
scar tissue gives
me more cleavage
than they have! Go
figure!
My friend, Sue,
who is also 40ish,
single and breastless said, “So what
do you say to someone who could
be potentially in a relationship with
you? ‘Hey, I’d like to be upfront
about something’ or ‘I’d like to get
something off my chest’ then pull out
the prostheses and slap them down on
the table.” We both know that half the
men out there will not be interested
once they find out we don’t have any.
It is a good thing that we both know
that they are not the ones we would
want to be with anyway. It does make
things a little more awkward, though.
Losing a physical part of my femininity
was strange. What else could make
me feel like a woman? Having my
ovaries removed and sending me
through surgical menopause? Hot
flashes. Yes, hot flashes make you
feel like a woman. You bond with
other women who know what those
little power surges feel like. How odd
that the absence of more womanly
components could create new, very
female experiences.
Yet, does it really matter? What is
more important is what makes me feel
like I’m alive. Quality of life counts.
My life expectancy may have been
only 47. My sister passed away last
year, a week before her 47 th birthday.
She missed her son’s graduation from
high school by a month. When I turn
48, it will be a very large milestone
and cause for celebration. I have done
everything I can possibly do to reduce
26 Network News Winter/Spring 2010