The little skin graft that could.

Wow. It's been two whole months since I had my double mastectomy! Leading up to surgery, I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like being this far on the other side of it. For the record, it feels great. I am so confident in my decision. Cancer-free and absolutely no regrets. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted - and not just from my chest!

My recovery has been mostly great, but also just a little bit shitty.

I came out of surgery strong - really good mobility right away, a little sore and stiff but not a lot of pain, some tightening that ran down the length of my right arm from the lymph node dissection (called "cording"). I met with a physical therapist who gave me exercises to regain my range of motion, but other than that, I sat back and waited for my incisions to heal. I was on track to start radiation ahead of schedule and I was eager to get that next part of my journey behind me. My radiation oncologist gave me a start window of 8-12 weeks post-surgery, but she was open to starting even sooner if I was healed and ready to go. I was convinced I would start at 6 weeks post-surgery because of how well my recovery was going.

My left side healed up really nicely. It was always my favorite boob - well behaved. A real gem.

Of course it was the right side that wouldn't go down without a fight. The boob with the cancer. An all-around jerk.

One small part of my right side incision just never wanted to close up and heal. After surgery, I went in for my weekly "fills" so my expanders could stretch my skin and make room for implants; and for a few weeks we just monitored the spot. It wasn't too out of the ordinary to have a little hiccup with an incision, but after weeks with no change, my plastic surgeon gathered the little bit of skin around the area and stitched it closed in an effort to expedite the healing process. My anxiety slowly started to creep up as I kept an eye on the 6-week mark...

A week went by and the incision was still struggling, so my doctor tried again - removed the old stitches and sewed in new stitches. After finishing two weeks of antibiotics while I had my drains in post surgery, he ordered another antibiotic that would hopefully tackle any possible infection that was blocking the skin from healing, but also help ensure the area was clear of any bacteria after stitching it closed a second time.

Another week went by and still no change. The skin was still raw with no signs of closing or healing. That was the week my doctor requested that I push back my radiation start date to the furthest possible date - six weeks later than I had originally planned. My heart sank. Based on what little progress I was making, my skin needed as much time to heal as possible. Plus, my doctors wouldn't allow me anywhere near radiation treatment until my incision was fully closed and healed.

With a little more time to work with, my surgeon removed the stitches again, and instead of stitching a third time, he opted for a double dose of new antibiotics to try and hit the wound from both sides. That's what it was now - a full blown open wound on the underside of my right expander after being closed and opened twice (and I think a little infected at some point). So I changed up the pill I was taking and also added a thick antibiotic cream to apply twice a day. He removed 50ccs of fluid from my right expander to lessen the tension on that side, and I would be back in the office the following week for a progress check.

Every week was agonizing just trying to will this thing to heal, but it was that week that my mind started racing to all the places it shouldn't, and every emotion known to man started spewing out of me every time I turned around.

There I was with my radiation plan - my start date, my end date, coverage for Sadie - and also my estimated return to work date. A timeline that had basically gone to shit because of this one little part of my incision. With my recovery strong initially, I hadn't prepared myself for any setbacks and I was annoyed as hell that one setback led to another setback, which led to a roadblock, and all of it had such a significant impact on the timing of everything that followed. When I wasn't in a fit of rage, staring at my open wound and popping an antibiotic four times a day, all I could picture were cancer cells multiplying freely inside of my body with no radiation to zap them away. 10/10 do not recommend laying awake at night thinking about that. I could talk forever about all the feelings I have pertaining to what little control I've had over my own body for the last year and a half. How infuriating and disappointing it is to feel like my body betrays me again and again and laughs in my face when I try to make a plan. How the lack of control over the big things makes me want to control the little things even more, so when the little things go wrong I have a complete meltdown that makes me sound insane. I might be cured, but this annoying little thing reminded me that I'm still mentally broken.

By the time I came back to see my doctor the following week, I had fully submitted to whatever my body had in store. Which was a good thing because while the antibiotics cleaned out the area, making the wound a "healthier" wound - it was still open flesh with no progress toward healing itself.

So then my doctor says: "I'd like to propose something. I think we should do a skin graft to get this closed and healed up once and for all. Are you open to this and would tomorrow work?" This was on a Monday. Joe's parents were visiting and the next day was the last day of their trip before they flew back to New Jersey. Joe would be flying back with them to be in a wedding that coming weekend - the timing was not ideal, especially since I wouldn't be able to care for Sadie for about two weeks while the skin graft healed. Um, sure. Tomorrow's great. Let's do it. I honestly didn't even know what a skin graft was, but we were getting closer and closer to radiation crunch time. I had to get this thing healed. So like everything else, we went for it.

I checked into the hospital the next morning, Tuesday, August 3, at 6am - and it was off to the races. Covid test, pregnancy test, IV, anesthesia, skin graft. My doctor took a thin piece of skin from my upper thigh and sewed it over the wound. And then a bandage called a bolster was stitched over the top of the skin graft to hold it in place and prevent it from bubbling like a blister. Luckily, everything was running on time that day and I was discharged 5.5 hours later. The next day, Joe and his parents flew to New Jersey, and my mom came to save the day - skipping a weekend getaway she had been so excited for, in exchange for a weekend of changing dressings and changing diapers.

Today is two weeks since my skin graft and I think we are FINALLY on the up and up. Everything is looking good so far, but I'm not letting myself get excited until I'm on the table getting my first round of radiation in a few weeks.

I go back to see my plastic surgeon one more time before my radiation planning session. He and his nurse are so sweet and so great to work with, but WOOF - after 11 consecutive weeks of appointments, we are now basically family, but they've gotta be as sick of this little asshole of an incision as I am.

So come on, little skin graft!! You can do it. I am actually begging you to heal. I'm begging a piece of skin to let me get on with my life. 2021 is wild. Let's gooo!