[2023-08-04] Tears, detours and gifts

Today has come with a few tears, though—thankfully—no extended periods of sobbing. Let's call it a one-tissue cry.

The tear-inducing message that really got to me was from a friend who wrote:

I do not know how to make graphics as well as you do, but would like to gift you the Women's Health Award for your exceptional dedication to improving women's health, both for yourself and for others, by sharing your stories. I hope you will take pride in this award. May it bring a smile to your face and a ray of sunshine to this moment.

Her email included a visual with a gold trophy, superimposed with the words Women's Health Award. I don't know what it was about her message that made me break down. Perhaps it was her reference to the hardships so many of us women go through. I had so wanted this last leg of my cancer journey (or at least what I hope is the last leg of my cancer journey) to have been a good news story. A story of taking my health into my own hands, having surgery before getting cancer and coming out with two symmetrical implants that would make me look and feel normal and natural. Unfortunately, I didn't have the fairy tale ending that I had hoped for. In fact, many of the women I have spoken to have faced hardships following breast surgery.

I feel like Eeyore

Today, as I was walking into the CBI Health clinic to have a nurse inspect my dressings and drain, I thought of an exchange between Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore.
— "Why, what's happened to your tail?" he said in surprise.
— "What has happened to it?" said Eeyore.
— "It isn't there!"
— "Are you sure?"
— "Well, either a tail is there or it isn't there. You can't make a mistake about it. And yours isn't there!"
— "Then what is?"
— "Nothing."
— "Let's have a look," said Eeyore, and he turned slowly round to the place where his tail had been a little while ago, and then, finding that he couldn't catch it up, he turned round the other way, until he came back to where he was at first, and then he put his head down and looked between his front legs, and at last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I believe you're right."
— "Of course I'm right," said Pooh.
— "That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains Everything. No Wonder."
— "You must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh.
— "Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore. "How Like Them," he added, after a long silence.

I feel like Eeyore. Someone took my right implant.

Pooh finds Eeyore's tail and when Christopher Robin nails it back on the donkey, Eeyore frisks about the forest, waving his tail happily.

I will get there too. It may be in a year from now, after several surgeries, but I will get there. And I won't be grumpy in the interim. There's always something I can do.

Indeed, today, I called Look Beyond Mastectomy Boutique in Bells Corner to inquire about the process for obtaining a prosthetic breast. I was told that, with a doctor's note, private insurance covers one prosthetic breast and two bras per year. What surprised me a little is that they do not do fittings for a prosthetic until 4-6 weeks after surgery. I understand that the skin and tissue need to heal, but what's a girl to do in the meantime? I might have been distraught by this reality except that I had already fashioned a homemade prosthetic in the meantime. I was uncomfortable not wearing a bra to support my left breast so I put my sports bra back on this morning. And then I took four of the foam inserts from older sports bras, wrapped them in a silk scarf and stuffed the right side of my bra. Now I look balanced and no one would know the difference. This will have to do for the next 4-6 weeks.

Ruth Handler created more than Barbie

A friend sent me a fascinating article from just two days ago about the creator of Barbie and her connection to breast cancer and prostheses—a story I hadn't heard before. In I owe Barbie so much credit for my breast cancer healing, and I had no idea, Global News reporter Michelle Butterfield shares the story of her diagnosis with breast cancer at 36, her subsequent single mastectomy and her fitting for a prosthesis that was influenced by designs created by Barbie inventor Ruth Handler.

As Butterfield explains, in 1970, while CEO of Mattel, Handler was diagnosed with and treated for breast cancer. She had a single mastectomy. At that time, the options for prostheses were limited. When she left Mattel in 1975 ("pushed out" according to Butterfield), Handler applied her talents to a new challenge: providing realistic looking and feeling prostheses for women. Butterfield quotes Handler:

"I had been fighting to be a respected female executive all my life, and when I lost my breast it was as if I had lost my femininity," she told CBS News in 1994.

At the time, however, there were very few options for non-surgical alternatives to breast reconstruction. Women who opted for either a single or double mastectomy were resigned to stuffing their bras with socks, tissue or fabric breast prosthetics in a feeble attempt to recreate the look of breasts or balance out their remaining breast.

These artificial breasts, too, were used interchangeably for the right or left side, making it pretty much impossible to achieve a natural looking chest.

"They were designed by men who obviously didn’t have to wear the damn thing. And, besides that, they didn’t match the other side. The two sides just didn’t match," she explained.

With a newfound determination to empower women, once again, Handler set out to create what would eventually grow [to] become another multi-million dollar business—a realistic looking and feeling breast prosthesis.

While women before her had attempted to create a breast form that had a more natural aesthetic, many forms had design drawbacks. Some required special belts or bands to keep them in place. Others didn’t hold up in water, making them inadequate for activities like swimming. Depending on the materials used, some lacked proper ventilation, making them a nightmare on the skin, while others could become dented or were difficult to clean.

Handler, however, had a solution. Looking at the popularity of silicone breast implants, she set out to create the world’s first liquid silicone breast form that was meant to fit into a bra, rather than under the skin. While she was at it, she gave women the ability to choose from a customized right or left breast.

Butterfield goes on to say that she also developed a new appreciation of Barbie when she acquired a Brave Barbie for her two-year-old daughter. She writes:

Gifting my daughter a cancer-afflicted Barbie was tremendous. We would play with that Barbie together and I’d heartbreakingly watch her pretend to take the doll to the hospital for chemo, or place its long wig on top of its head and tell the doll "it’s time to be beautiful again."

But that Barbie also allowed me to project through play other takeaways to my daughter—and in many ways to myself—that were otherwise difficult to talk about or explain.

Bald Barbie was super brave and went on awesome adventures after chemo. Sometimes she felt sick and needed to sleep, but would feel much better after a rest. Bald Barbie always beat the cancer and went on to live a long and happy life with her family.

This story made me feel less alone.

Today's gifts

I received so many beautiful gifts today—both tangible and intangible.

A friend dropped off two large bags of food—one from herself and one from a friend who follows my story through Jenesis. Most of it could be popped in the freezer, to be enjoyed over the coming days and weeks. I got a little weepy with my friend, a woman who exudes positivity and kindness. I appreciated the opportunity to see her, to hug her and to commiserate with her. And to share about how unfortunate this situation is.

Later, I read the card from her friend, which included a beautiful thought. She provided a definition of the word detour: "a long or roundabout route that is taken to avoid something or to visit somewhere along the way." In my thank-you email to her, I acknowledged: "You're right. The path I'm on is really a detour. And I may find some amazing adventures, people and experiences while on this detour. And the key feature of detours is that they get us to our desired destination, eventually."

Last night and today, people sent me:
  • stories about women who had lost a breast to cancer and yet found a way to laugh or who had faced cancer and complications multiple times and yet persevered;
  • reminders that "sometimes things just don't go well and there's nothing we or anyone else could have done";
  • messages of admiration full of adjectives like brave, courageous, remarkable, positive, amazing, strong, inspirational, open, vulnerable, honest, gracious, generous, kind and caring (and an acknowledgement that I shouldn't have to pay such a high price for being such a kind and caring person);
  • funny statements such as "If I was watching a movie with this story line I would have thrown my popcorn at the tv" or a photo of a bird with an appropriate name and the caption: "I see your one booby and match you with another!";
  • many assurances that people are on Team Jen or my cheering team and that they are proud of me ("Just when I thought I could not be more proud to know you. You do inspire, lady"); and
  • wishes for a smooth and speedy recovery.
Many people thanked me for sharing my story and perspective and encouraged me to keep shining my light ("You are still posting and we are still reading!").

I was touched by this message from a man (I often wonder whether my male readers are put off by all my talk of breasts, mastectomies and prostheses):

What a sublime reflection you shared with everyone. It was deeply moving and I am amazed by your strength and your unrelenting ability to stay centered in present, and see the beauty around you, especially in the interactions among those with whom you come into contact.

A woman wrote a similarly heartwarming message:

I moved through every emotion with you. From the chills of the shock to the warmth of the care your lovely nurses provided. Thank you for sharing such an honest account of your experience. ❤️ I’ve bookmarked your blog for inspiration for the day that I will inevitably receive some sort of challenging health news. I hope I will muster the grace, gratitude and optimism you carry within you.

As a storyteller, it makes me happy to know that readers can feel the emotions that come through in my words. Another woman, who stumbled across my blog via a comment from a mutual connection, had read only last night's post and remarked:

You are a shining example of humility and humanness. In the stark light of some very serious medical issues you are able to keep your perspective and focus on what is most important, the small kindnesses and beauty around you. You are definitely a light in the darkness for all who read your blog.

A third woman wrote:

Thank you for sharing this latest part of your journey - your ability to find the learning moments, kindness and compassion at difficult times and even offer to help an up and coming communicator (even potentially helping with public service renewal) is awe-inspiring and so refreshing. Your posts bring such important perspective. Thank you for taking the time to share. Sending you healing vibes and hoping that a small fraction of the generosity you give to the universe can make its way back to you.

I feel like a net taker in this exchange we have going on here. Yes, I give through my posts, but I also take—through the opportunity to process sometimes heavy emotions, to reframe my thinking, and to connect with people who publicly or privately give me advice on how to get through challenging moments.

Third anniversary

Today is my third wedding anniversary to my husband. Chris has been incredible through this latest detour. When I called him Wednesday from the hospital, after he had already been waiting for me for two hours, I gave him the bad news that I was being admitted for emergency surgery to have my right breast implant removed. He immediately swung into action, asking what I needed and heading home, only to come back a short time later with everything I had asked for to make it through a night or two in the hospital. He's been so accepting of me and whatever shape my body is in. I feel so cared for by him and our two children.

I may have started the day with a few tears, but I end it with optimism. This is just a detour.