I want to tell you a story and I hope this helps you get your feet under you a bit better. Several years ago, back before I was a skeptic and before I had a decent sense of self worth, I had a boob job. I hated the way they looked after breastfeeding two kids and I thought that, as I approached the age of 40, it would make me feel better about myself.

I ended up developing necrosis due to unconfirmed surgical complications and I lost both of my nipples and areolae. I don’t know if there’s a worse experience than watching your own intimate body parts rot away but if there is, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

There’s much more to the story which you can read on http://boobcast.com if you are interested.

About a year after my chest healed, (I was severely deformed and required two reconstruction surgeries which i have long since had, to rousing success) I was finally in a mental state to start writing about what happened to me. I was bound and determined to write about it because if I DIDN’T write about it publicly, then, in my mind, the hack that did this to me would win.

That wouldn’t do.

There were SO many times when I had to stop in the middle of writing a post and go have a good, long cry. But I did it. I did it because I REFUSED to let my situation dictate my life. I refused to let what others told me change what I truly thought was the right thing to do.

Boobcast has made a real difference in women’s lives. I get regular emails telling me as much. I talk to women regularly who are scared and in need of reassurance and advice. I’m so very grateful I can do that.

When I was a little girl my father told me to “Stand and fight if you believe you’re right”. I learned determination from my mother who, after a motorcycle accident that left her in ICU for six months, taught herself to walk again when doctors said she never would.

Believe me when I tell you that I know it’s hard. I know it’s disheartening and some days you just want to give up and let the world go to Hell in its own little monogrammed handbasket. And some day you may decide you’ve had enough and that’s okay.

But please don’t let THEM make that decision for you.

I really hope that helps her. She’s doing good work in the skeptical and critical-thinking community and I would hate to see her give up because of all the hate mail and awful things people say about her in the blogosphere.

Unfortunately, this good deed of mine seems to have had some emotional backlash. I realized that even though Boobcast is doing good work, I am still in mourning for my loss. It has been four years as of yesterday since that first surgery and it still hurts emotionally. Not to the degree it used to, but it’s still a visceral pain. I feel nauseous remembering what I went through. I have tears in my eyes remembering what it was like and I wonder if I will ever completely heal emotionally from this.

I have had people suggest that I just walk away from Boobcast for a while. I can’t do that. Women email me regularly asking questions and seeking advice. I know what it’s like to be that terrified so abandoning the thing I have created here is not an option.

The upside is that where there were once great, wracking sobs, there are now just tears and a dull ache. Four years seems like forever and a single heartbeat at the same time. I guess I’m healing. They keep telling me that healing takes time. It’s just taking so long. I know that it will never be truly over because I will always bear the scars of reconstruction as a reminder. I will also always be here for others going through this nightmare.

I can’t abandon my post as long as I’m needed.

It has also been suggested that I start talking to women’s groups about what I have experienced. With the settlement I have, I’m not sure I can do that, but I’m looking in to it. The recent cease and desist letter I got about my comments on the Complaints Board scares the Hell out of me. We’re having a lawyer look at that to make sure that it only pertains to the settlement and not the case itself. If that is the case and it only pertains to the settlement, I will probably start doing that.

In the mean time, life continues on. I still need to have one last round of tattooing done and hopefully that will be it for the medical stuff. I’m thinking that perhaps I’ll do it in November or December, depending on the tattooists schedule. I’ll post when I have something concrete.

Since finding the response from someone on the Complaints Board, I have been dealing with a great deal of rage and grief. I haven’t consulted a lawyer about this yet because right now I am emotionally incapable of having a discussion about this without breaking down into a sobbing mess.

My husband has contacted the doctor’s office and requested that their lawyer send us a copy of the agreement that we both signed. Since our original copy disappeared, we need to know for certain what we are dealing with. However, when Ken spoke to our trust lawyer, she said that just because someone on their side violated the agreement, that doesn’t mean that I was permitted to do the same.

I’m really not sure how that works. If someone breaches the terms of a contract, then that contract becomes null and void, doesn’t it? I really feel like I’m back at square one with this whole situation. It’s as if the surgeon and his people can do whatever they want, but I have no recourse. If I DO publish the name publicly, then I could potentially open myself up to a lawsuit.

If any of you have any ideas, I’d appreciate the input.

[Editor's Note: This post has been edited to remove a link and name under advice of my lawyer. Visit here for details]

If you can comment without naming the doctor, much appreciated.

I have written before about how I tried to deal with the legal ramifications of what happened to me. I also wrote about the settlement that currently binds me from mentioning the name of the surgeon. HOWEVER, before I agreed to the settlement that prohibits me and my “agents” from mentioning the surgeon’s name, I wrote a few posts. Those are listed below in my response to the reader’s questions.

Dear Reader;

I am, unfortunately, also bound from talking about the terms of the settlement as well. I DID have the option not to settle. At that point I was deeply clinically depressed and traumatized. I didn’t want that person to have anything to do with my medical care any more. I would start shaking every time I had an appointment. I just wanted it to be over with so I went with the first available way out.

People keep telling me that I’m brave. This is one of those instances where I was not. I DID put up a synopsis of what happened on the Complaints Board [Editor's Note: This post has been edited on advice from my lawyer.Please visit the link for details]

I never spoke to a lawyer about defamation, but I was a journalist so I know that once I signed those papers, I am legally bound, along with my “agents”, not to reveal his name. HOWEVER, those two links were written up before the contract went into effect.

Here is where things get interesting. I just happened to notice that a person I am presuming is the doctor in question or one of the 2-3 staff members familiar with the case (aka one of his “agents”), made a brief response to my initial post on the Complaints Board. I am presuming this because of the use of the phrase “ridiculous herbal remedy’ in the response. That is FAR too personal to have been written by someone just reading entries on the complaints board.

And so, dear reader, I am going to war. For some reason I am having technical difficulties logging on and making a response to that accusation. Once I do, you all may want to stop by for a look because I can guarantee that things are going to get very, VERY interesting.

This surgeon does not know with whom he is messing. He’s about to find out.

Originally written on Oct. 26, 2009

This is another one of those issues that comes with being mostly boob-less.  Clothes shopping is frustrating.  I feel more comfortable in the Men’s section than the Women’s. The women’s section, even if there is no one else there, is a constant reminder of what I don’t have.

It’s also more difficult to find clothes that fit. Anything that fits tightly across the chest shows the outline of my deformity. And lets face it, most women’s clothing is geared to fit close to the body and accentuate our breasts. Even the camisoles with foam cups give a minor indication that something isn’t quite right because  of how the cups move since they’re not filled with breast tissue.

The men’s section offers a better selection of loose-fitting clothes. So I shop at Goodwill because I know that when this is over I can take the clothes back and donate them again. Someone else will be able to get use out of them when it’s all done.

Aside from this mangled thing that once was my chest, I think that shopping in the men’s section is one more reason I just don’t feel feminine. (see other Girly Girl posts).

Now in the movie “Dogma” the character called the Muse talked about how what defines a woman falls between two things…her legs. From a biological standpoint that IS true. Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina, after all. From a societal standpoint, however, women are judged by their breasts. If I don’t have breasts, am I still really a woman?

Breast cancer patients go through the same thing WHILE fighting a disease that could kill them. That’s why I can’t begin to compare myself to a breast cancer survivor. Not in the physical sense anyway. Mentally we go through much of the same thing. We question if we’re still actually women. We feel diminished; as though we’re somehow not fully human and wonder how our partners will EVER find us attractive again.

Yes, that complicated ball of emotions comes with clothes shopping. In the men’s section.

As the title says, this is the 200th installment of BoobCast. Today I am writing about you, dear reader. Today’s installment is all about the support and the stories that people have shared with me since I first started this blog on Oct. 11, 2008.

When I first started writing this, I was also fairly active on a website called All About Plastic Surgery (http://www.allaboutplasticsurgery.com). When I posted what had happened to me it didn’t take long before I was inundated by questions about various aspects of the surgery. You can find that entry here: http://boobcast.net/2008/10/14/questions/ People expressed a great deal of concern about how well I had checked out the surgeon, what indications I might have had and what legal recourse I might have taken. During that period so many people gave their support and I am grateful for it. So my thanks goes out to the women of the All About Plastic Surgery forum. They were the ones who inspired the idea for BoobCast.

Now you’re probably asking yourself, “Gee Maria, why do you call it BoobCast? Were they wrapped in plaster or something at one point?”

No, dear reader. There are reasons this site is called BoobCast.  In 2007 the podcasting community lost a precious member by the name of Joe Murphy. He died of a vicious type of cancer that took him quickly. During his medical treatments he talked in vivid detail about what was going on, the testing and all of it. His strength inspired me. I wanted to be as strong and as brave as Joe Murphy. So I planned to podcast what was going on with my breast necrosis. The name of that podcast was going to be BoobCast.

I never met Joe but his life inspired me. It just turns out that I’m not that strong or that brave. To honor that bravery I have kept the name.

I also owe thanks to a very dear friend, Tee Morris. When I was trying to find the strength to create BoobCast, He was there for me. He gave me mental and emotional support by letting me know that I *could* do it. I’m sorry I disapointed you Tee but want to thank you for being a friend when I needed one.

In the time I’ve been writing BoobCast I have had people email me directly for advice. Of course, after reading the email, my advice was always “Contact your PS (plastic surgeon) and ask for [fill-in-the-blank]. Whether it was about bruising, skin texture or pain, I advised talking to their doctor. If they couldn’t get a decent answer from that doctor, talk to another one.

The one that really broke my heart was the husband of a woman who, a few days previous the email,  had the same procedure I had. According to her husband, the pain pills her PS had given her weren’t doing much and she was in constant pain. She couldn’t eat or sleep and she was suffering. I told her husband to call her PS immediately and insist on different pain meds and not take NO for an answer. i explained that, right now it was his job to advocate for his wife since she couldn’t do it herself.

A couple days later I got an email from him saying that her PS had changed her meds and she was doing MUCH better. It’s emails like those that made BoobCast well worth the emotional pain of writing those early posts.

I also want to thank everyone who talked to me about BoobCast at DragonCon last year. Being told in person that I’m making a difference means the world to me. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.

Finally, my thanks to Carol Montoya, Lolly Daskal and the Woman At Denny’s. I promise that once I’ve had nipple reconstruction and recuperate from that, I WILL write the book. The foundation is in the works already.

My thanks to you all for reading, commenting and talking to me. Here’s to another 200!

But first…a bit about nipples.

I know I’m not mentally ready for another surgery. I don’t even want to think about planning for it. Even after nipple reconstruction I’ll have to have them tattooed. After all nipples aren’t the color of Pale White Chick.

I also have to consider that if I DO have nipple reconstruction am I going to be looking at nipples that point at the ground again?? The Twins are big and they hang a bit. Dr. Elliott feels that a lift won’t do much of anything unless I lose at least 30 pounds. But then the Twins will shrink. That thought still freaks me right the fuck out because I still equate shrinking with losing them.

Yeah. I gots me some issues to work through still.

As it stands, I’m still debating the nipples vs no nipples debate. I may want the surgery eventually. I don’t know if I’m going to go back to looking at prosthetics for a temporary fix. I’m starting to feel like I’m sliding backwards.

Again.

It took us 5 years to decide that we’re moving to Orlando next year. I don’t make serious decisions easily. So I’m waiting again.

Maybe I’ll get the fake nips just to see. But then I’d know they’re fake and I feel like that would be lying and kind of demeaning to what I’ve survived and conquered thusfar with the plague-level botch job the HiQ did on me.

It’s times like this when I’m in free form blog mode that I wish I could reveal that quack’s name so that others don’t get hurt by him. Maybe if I just reveal the latitude and longitude of the practice?

I really need to find that agreement I signed and figure out a way around it.

My point in this rambling diatribe is that I will eventually figure out what to do. In the mean time I’m still wading through a bunch of mental crap. Wheee!!

By this point I was absolutely furious but I felt totally helpless to do anything. The news that I couldn’t be stitched back up was devastating. Couple that with the results of the culture and I was even more of a basket case than before. The culture discovered five different types of bacteria: three of which the tech never even heard of. So they put up a bag of the most badass antibiotics they had.

Unfortunately about 1/2 way through the bag I started getting EXTREMELY itchy. My throat started swelling a few minutes later and it became a bit difficult to breathe. Well Ken called the nurse and within a minute or so he had a syringe of something in the IV. He SLAMMED the plunger in and within moments I felt like I was going to pass out.

I got tunnel vision and then the tunnel started narrowing. My body felt very heavy and I felt like I was being pushed down. I told the nurse that I thought I was going to pass out. His reply was “Isn’t it a good thing you’re in the hospital then?”.

So…yeah. I was allergic to the first antibiotic. So they put up something else really badass and I was off again. This one made me a little itchy too so the nurse injected a little syringe of something else. This time much more slowly. In a matter of moments I was doing just fine and made it through the entire bag.

After a bag and a half of serious antibiotics, they also made an appointment for me with an infection specialist. Then one of the nurses packed my chest and they sent me home.

***WARNING! GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD***

No what I mean is that when I would peel off the wet to dry dressing and pull away bits of dead flesh, I couldn’t help but feel like I was, at least in part, an undead zombie. Here I was dropping bits of flesh. And that’s what zombies do…walk around, eat people and drop bits of their body.

Instead of eating people, I felt like this situation was eating me alive. And not just in the literal sense. I began losing myself to this situation. I WAS a bouncy, vibrant, spur-of-the-moment type of person before I became Zombie Maria.

It has only been in the last month or two that I’ve come back to myself. I’m not there yet. I still shamble a bit, though there are no brain cravings. And unfortunately I still haven’t gottten past the point of wishing the HiQ ill. I really couldn’t actually do anything myself. I’m not that kind of person. But you can damn betcha that I wouldn’t be feeling bad if he were to accidentally get his hands crushed.

I’m guessing this happens because I tried so hard to repress and not think about what was happening WHILE it was happening. I just dealt with one second at a time, did what I had to do and cried about it afterward.  I was on what amounts to auto pilot. Either that or I detached and focused on the anatomical details. Although that really started more after the second surgery.

I wonder how much of this is a coping mechanism. Avoidance used to be a major part of my modus operandi. From what I learned when I was (briefly) a psych major, avoidance isn’t considered a healthy way of coping. Though I’m not so sure I WAS avoiding. I was changing the wet to dry dressings twice daily and going to my regularly scheduled doctor appointments with the HiQ.

I have to wonder how clearly people remember incidents of severe trauma. Does our brain initiate a response that allows us to be protected from the harshness of those memories? Is it some sort of conscious mechanism in which we tell ourselves that “this gets filed back here and we’re not going to remember this any more”. Rather like sticking our fingers in our ears and yelling “LALALALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU LALALALALALA!!”

***WARNING – VIVID DESCRIPTION AHEAD***

And then…sometimes I get some vivid memories back. Like one of the times I was pulling off one of the wet to drys and a big chunk of flesh the size of a quarter came away with the necrotic tissue and I felt like Imhotep from “The Mummy”. Or a Zombie.

I actually spent a moment or two trying to put it back in the spot. You know…like when you’re a little kid and you break your favorite toy. You try to put it back together and it won’t go but you just can’t figure out why it won’t go back together.

Yeah, I think I was a little insane for a while.

By this time I was crying at least once a day. It had finally sunken in that things were really bad. I had lost both nipples and areolae. The tissue was completely dead. The tissue itself was blackened and rubbery. In some places it crackled when I pushed down on it. So it had to be removed.

Dead tissue is a breeding ground for infection and if it wasn’t removed, it would have caused infection that would have gone systemic and eventually killed me. So debriding, even though it sounds terrifying, is actually a good thing.

When we came back for the next appointment, the HiQ STILL didn’t explain exactly what would be going on. Thankfully his nurse did. She explained that this wouldn’t hurt because the tissue he would be removing was dead so the nerve endings were dead too. Because the nerves were dead, there wouldn’t be any sensation except for a pulling sensation.

I sat down and kept my eyes closed the entire time. I do know that he cut the tissue off with surgical scissors because I saw the instruments before the procedure.  All I felt was pressure and tugging. No pain aside from the emotional grieving of having lost an intimate part of myself. I grieved for the loss the same way an amputee or breast cancer survivor would.

It still freaks me out some that he was cutting tissue off my body. It sounds like something out of a horror movie, doesn’t it? Just the concept was enough to freak me out. Yet through all of this I explained calmly and in clinical terms to Hubby what was going to happen. He was, again, not allowed in. I refused to expose him to it and I was determined that I would do my best to maintain a facade of normalcy.

I failed about half the time by this point. But I tried, by damn. I tried.

The most important thing to take away from this post is that if you have to endure debridment, it is NOT painful. It sounds scary but what’s scarier is what will happen if you do NOT have it done. So have it done and do something really nice for yourself afterward.