Living with repercussions of breast cancer treatment

A great deal of time has passed since my previous post, which truth be told, really aggravates me.  I quietly set a personal goal to use this blog as an outlet for myself, and hopefully serve as a place for others to relate.  It was an attempt to help heal and move forward.  But life found a way to keep going on, pulling me in all sorts of directions, and I allowed it to keep me away from what my heart was telling me to do.  And in my case, when the heart and the brain trigger all sorts of conflicting emotions, tears form, and then nothing gets done.  Let’s blame the hormone meds, they’re my favorite scapegoat right now.

So here I am, just shy of a year beyond completion of treatment, and desperately grasping for positive measures to “move on.”    When I was going through treatment, I naively thought, “I just can’t wait for it all to be over.”  Fast forward one year and the harsh reality has set in.  It’s not over.  I’m not sure that it will ever be over.  Cancer has left it’s mark, physically and emotionally, and it is a continuous daily challenge.  Every.  Single.  Day.

In an effort to recap the past few months, I reviewed my last post and couldn’t help but slightly chuckle at my naiveté even then.  My bra woes continue.  And I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that most breast cancer survivors experience a lot of bra difficulties following treatment, no matter what form of treatment they underwent.  The effects of breast cancer just keep rolling in.

After several post treatment follow ups with the doctors, the need arose for me to be referred to a lymphedema specialist.  My visit with the lymphedema specialist revealed that I now have lymphedema of the breast.  Yay, more complications.  It explained some of the pain I’d been experiencing, but somehow made me feel worse.  I wanted to have a little girl in pigtails moment, digging her heels into the ground with arms crossed over her chest and yell, “why can’t it just be over?”  Reality bites.

Lymphedema cannot be drained as it is fluid filled tissue that was described to me as being like a wet sponge.  Treatment for this (in my case) is prescribed in the form of compression garments.  Hmm, so now I must wear a compression bra.  I didn’t even know what this would look like or feel like, but it didn’t sound appealing.  And when I received it, I learned that I was right.  I developed a new found respect for women in the past who wore corsets as part of their daily attire.  It is highly binding and uncomfortable, difficult to hide under clothing, and completely unattractive.  There is nothing about this garment that feels good to me.  Women don’t desire to feel this way.  Even the model advertising the product can only muster a half forced smile while wearing it.

As if that weren’t enough, my specialist also informed me that since I had lymph nodes removed, I’m also at risk for lymphedema of the arm.  I’ve been fortunate to not experience this up to this point, but the risk remains for years to come.  I experience daily pain and numbness from that part of my surgery, so I believe it.  I was educated on certain tasks and activities that can aggravate this condition, so I must be cautious and take appropriate measures during them.  The prescribed treatment?  You got it, another compression garment.  This one is a compression sleeve and gauntlet.  The gauntlet is a separate piece that goes over the hand to prevent the fluid from pushing down into the hand while wearing the sleeve.  And thus I learned if I’m looking for a way to ease the discomfort provided by the compression bra, just throw on a compression sleeve and gauntlet and that discomfort will be suddenly redirected to the arm.  It’s not glamorous.

I did not have the most ideal insurance plan when these items were prescribed to me, so of course they were not covered.  Since I had to pay out of pocket, I did not want to be bound to another medical garment that made me feel old and homely.  I mean come on, so much of the past year has already done that to me.  Fortunately, there are companies who cater to women like me and make fun and colorful patterned sleeves.  I was surprised at the amazing variety available.  I settled on one that I found to be fun, yet calming to the eye.

I guess the sleeve wouldn’t feel so bad if I didn’t have joints or require movement of my arm.  But since I am blessed to have those things, I find myself constantly pulling and readjusting it.  It’s always bunching on me (as seen here in the wrist), which leaves deep red marks if I ignore it – a big no-no according to my therapist.  It’s a hassle.

So compression garments are now a part of my attire.  And honestly, wearing them makes me cranky.  It’s not normal to have constant pressure applied to these parts of your body.  The doctors have said to me, “learn your new normal.”  I know I have to adapt to this.  I don’t like it, but I’m going to keep trying.