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Category Archives: emotional scars

Four Years And Still In Mourning

Today I gave a pep talk to a woman I admire in hopes that some of my own life experience might help her. She is having problems with both men and women who feel that it is okay to say cruel and hateful things to her simply because they disagree with her. The tone of her initial post felt like she was about ready to throw in the towel on doing the work she enjoys because of these hateful people. So I posted the following to her:

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.

 

Feeling Helpless

Have I mentioned lately that I despise feeling helpless? I hate this feeling with a blazing passion.

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]

 

My Legal Settlement – An Update

I finally found a way to login on the complaints board (see the first part of this posting below) and post a response to the accusation that, it appears, was most likely made by him or a member of the surgeon’s staff. I also sent an email to his office through his website letting him know that I knew about that comment.

In addition, I let him know that, because that comment was so obviously written by someone in his office, I considered that a breach of contract. On the down side, our lawyer has said that just because someone on his side broke the contract, that doesn’t mean that *I* can. So I’m just going to keep linking back to that initial post I made before the contract was signed whenever I need to reference the surgeon.

[Editor's Note: This post has been edited and certain links removed on the advice of my lawyer. Please visit here for details]

 

My Legal Settlement

Earlier today I received the following email from a regular reader here at the blog. For personal reasons, the reader has asked that they be kept anonymous.

Maria,

In your blog, you said you signed papers with your doctor not to name them.  Did you have a settlement?  Did you have the option not to settle, instead spread their name all over? Or did an attorney advice you about libel or defamation?

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.

 

Fear of Losing My Breasts

I’ve talked about this subject before but now it’s becoming a more vivid fear. A couple months ago I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. My doctor put me on a 50 mcg dosage of Synthroid. Within days my body reacted to the new influx of hormones. The first thing that happened was my head felt like it was on fire. I spent days walking around the house with an ice pack on my head just to keep cool. I was also having vicious mood swings from Hell to the point that I was abusive to everyone or I was sobbing. Or I was deliriously happy. Kinda scary. Add to that, when I woke in the mornings my heart felt like it was POUNDING in my chest.

One trip to the clinic and a blood test later and the Doc dropped my dosage to 25 mcg. He’s going to ramp me up slowly to a standard dosage because while my blood test results showed improvement, it’s not *enough* of an improvement.

However, now that my metabolism is improving, I’ve started to lose a little weight. How do I know this? I was cleaning out my closet and found some old embroidered jeans that I love in a size smaller than the size I wear now. On a whim I tried them on and while they’re a little bit snug, they fit.

This is, of course, what triggered an adventure in fear. I have told my husband repeatedly that this is an unreasonable fear. I *know* it’s unreasonable. But my emotions and the past overrule reason every time. I am scared to death that if I lose a lot of weight the Twins will shrink away to nothing and I’ll be back to being the deformed, sub-human thing that I was before Dr. Elliott did the reconstruction.

Like I said…unreasonable fear.

Yes, the Twins will shrink as the rest of my body does. It’s just biology. But I’m still terrified.

I’m considering seeing a psychologist about this. I think it may be related to the post traumatic stress disorder flashbacks I had for a while. Those only occur once every few months now and only in the shower. It’s been going on long enough that I may need to see someone though.

And so the Boobcast saga continues.

 

The Great Nipple Debate Continues

As my regular readers know, I have been going back and forth about nipple reconstruction for this past year. Most of my worries have been based in fear. I realized a few days ago what another concern is.

I have these great breasts that are already a little droopy. I’m concerned that the nipple placement will make them look even droopier. If that happens, I’ll be back at square one with nipples that point at the ground.

Logic tells me that Dr. Elliott wouldn’t do that to me. He knows what I’ve been through. But because I want everyone going through this (or someone who might know someone going through this) to see that they are not alone in their feelings, whatever those may be, I’m writing it all down and sharing my fears and concerns with you.

I’ll know more when I see him for my one year-ish check up around the end of this month. That’s when I’ll talk to him more about what type of flap reconstruction he wants to do, what, if any revisions can be done to deal with the squarish shape of my breasts and placement of my new nipples.

As usual, I’ll report back when I learn more.

 

My Emotional Healing – One Year Later

In just a few days I will celebrate my one year breast reconstruction anniversary. It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed already. Yet here I sit with the Twins neatly filling out my  New Orleans t-shirt.

My regular readers know that the time before my reconstruction was  really bad. I talked honestly about feeling like a deformed, sub-human thing. I considered myself to be mangled and a not human being.

I also talked about wanting to kill myself. More than that: I had a plan for killing myself. I suffered from severe suicidal depression because of the mangled remnants of my chest. Once during the period that I had been hooked up to the VAC machine I called suicide hotline. She saved my life and I am grateful. She’s one of the reasons that I write this blog.

Unfortunately, the time period before the surgery was MUCH worse. I knew I was much more serious about it than I had been previously because I wasn’t talking about it at all. My performance was SO convincing that no one in the family had the slightest idea that I had a plan in place to end my life if financing for the reconstruction had not come through.

I’ve come a LONG way since then. I’m much more content. I have real periods of happiness now. I understand that the severe depression was solely situational. In a case like that, no medication would have worked.

I LOVE the Twins. They have some minor flaws and quirks that I will talk about in another post. But I am SO grateful to have them that the flaws are a relatively minor issue and are, for all intents and purposes, inconsequential.

As happy as I am to have them, I still have some unresolved anger issues. I’m not normally a violent person. Nor do I generally wish for harm to come to people. There IS, however, one exception. The surgeon. I still feel he was negligent. I think that something happened during the initial augmentation and lift that led to the subsequent necrosis and I wish him to suffer just as much as I did.

I will not cause him harm. I’m not that kind of person. But I would definitely throw a party if someone were to pulverize and powder the bones of his hands with a sledgehammer. That’s all. I don’t want him dead. Death is too easy. I just don’t want him to do to someone else what he did to me.

So, yes, I’m angry. I feel cheated. But I was so emotionally fucked up that I settled just to get the hell away from him. How’s THIS for screwed up? In the state of Florida no other plastic surgeon will even SEE you while you’re under the care of another plastic surgeon.

I have more emotional healing to do even after a year. I have these moderate anger issues to deal with and I still have sorrow surrounding the loss of my original breasts. There are times when I write a particularly difficult article here and it leaves me in tears.

Please understand that I do not blame this blog for my tears. Boobcast has been a haven of sanity. Writing these articles, being this open and honest, has kept me sane. I still just have brief periods where I grieve the loss of my breasts. I grieve for what I put my husband and family through. I grieve for two years of my life lost.

Yeah. I still have some healing to do.

 

Why I Had A Boobjob

This is the week of my one year breast reconstruction anniversary. To celebrate, I’m telling it like it is. In today’s article I’m giving a no-holds-barred account of why I had the initial surgery that led to losing my breasts and the subsequent reconstruction.

This isn’t an easy article for me to write. I’m definitely not the same person I was then. Not by a long shot. Of course something like having my breasts basically rot off was going to have an impact. I would like to believe that it changed me for the better.

Now I’d like to take you on a trip in the Way Back Machine (My thanks to Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman) to 1981. I was either 13 or 14 and in Junior High. That is, of course, the time when little girls start developing breasts. I was no different.

I had no idea that I was developing. I just didn’t notice that anything was different. Neither did my parents. I had to be told by a friend of mine that I shouldn’t wear a sheer dress shirt because boys could see my boobies. So because I didn’t know what was going on and neither of my parents paid attention to my development, I went without training bras for much longer than I should have.

Fast forward to 1983. I was 16. We were at the only decent women’s clothing shop in Powell, Wy. My mother had dragged me there to go bra shopping. The woman doing the fitting said I had pendulous breasts. Of course I had no idea what that meant then and there was no real way to look it up. There was no internet and research materials were really limited in a town no bigger than a hiccup. But that stuck with me. Somehow I knew from the tone of her voice that there was something wrong with me.

Fast forward to 40 years old: Two children and two decades later my breasts looked like flat wedges of flaccid flesh and my nipples pointed at my toes. I HATED my breasts. So I started looking for a plastic surgeon to give me perky boobs. I had two consultations and both said the same thing. My breasts had degraded as far as they could go. They weren’t, at least, going to get any worse. Both gave me a presentation about the anchor lift type of mastopexy because of the degradation level of my nipples. After a few days to research and review the information, I showed it all to Ken. Along with the price.

Here’s where my judgement went south and obsession set in. Ken said he didn’t think we could afford it. I told him the stories that I have written down above. He told me if I could find a way to do it for less, than I could do it.

That’s when I found the guy who did the initial surgery. He was part of our barter network. He offered his surgical fees on barter. All we had to pay for was the implants and the clinic fees.

Yes, I was so desperate and so obsessed that I went against all advice and had the surgery done by a doctor on barter.

I DID have the forethought to investigate him and there was nothing negative in his record. There was no indication aside from his abrupt, borderline-rude bedside manner that he was inept.

I say this with tears in my eyes: I just wanted pretty boobies. Every woman I had seen in magazines and on TV had pretty breasts and I just wanted that to be me for once in my life.

So I did something insanely stupid and it cost me dearly.

 

Talking Is Harder Than Writing

I’ve been writing BoobCast for so long, one would think that losing my breasts to necrosis would have gotten somewhat easier to talk about. I would have liked to believe that writing about it makes it easier to deal with at all.

It hasn’t.

Yesterday I hung out with someone I haven’t seen in about a year and a half. After we talked about the initial reason she contacted me again, she asked me what had been going on with me since last we saw each other. So I told her. Not in vivid detail mind you but enough so that I was kind of choking up.

What surprised me even more is how much anger I still have towards the man I feel is responsible for all of this. I’m still legally constrained from mentioning his name or the name of his practice. That doesn’t keep me from hoping that some day someone will break his hands with a sledgehammer so he can’t put some other poor woman through this.

Almost 2 and a half years and I’m still angry beyond belief. I think what made me the most angry has always been his manner. There was The Valium Incident, generally replying “I don’t know” when asked what was going on and insulting my practice as an herbalist by calling it voodoo even though, as part of prep for the surgery I was given herbal supplements to take. Add to that, telling me to stop screaming as he sewed cadaver skin onto my rotting breasts to try to act as some kind of bandage. The screaming happened because he was sewing it on to a spot that hadn’t been numbed. Of course I left out those details. I can write about them but, as I type, I’m choking back tears.

When does this get easier??

It HAS to one of these days or I’m never going to be able to talk about this on stage. I still have hopes of turning BoobCast into a Vagina Monologues style stage show.

Do any of you know how to get speaking gigs?

For new readers, please read my earliest post in the Archives.

 

Going Mental

Recuperation really IS a long, drawn out process. It is SO much more than physical. I’ve talked about the mental and emotional aspects before as well. It’s a convoluted aspect of healing wherein each state ties in to each of the other. It’s the Gordian Knot of Recuperation.

Here’s an example. I know that I am temporarily satisfied with the Twins. I know that I eventually want nipples. Surgery is just a four letter word right now. The idea of more surgery stresses me out to the point that I almost start crying. On the opposite end of the spectrum, not EVER having the surgery makes me tear up.

The thought of more surgery makes me fearful. I’m terrified of something going wrong and developing necrosis again. I’m also not thrilled with the idea of being cut on again even if it IS only surface work and outpatient surgery. I’m angry that I have to make these decisions in the first place.

I also own that if I had not put myself in this position in the first place I wouldn’t have to be making these decisions. Nor would I be putting my family through everything we have been through since this whole ordeal began.

Regular readers know that I am indecisive. It takes me ages to to come to a final conclusion. Usually I am anxiety ridden about a thing for months, if not years. Making the nipple surgery decision falls into that category without a doubt.

It’s also a very individual decision. I have seen a woman who bought prosthetic nipples without having reconstructive surgery. She felt that even without the mounds, what she missed most was not having nipples. Other women I have spoken to are simply happy with just the mounds and nothing else. Others don’t want to take a chance on a second surgery, so they find prosthetics and still others are so afraid that they don’t do anything at all.

Trying to make the “right” decision is enough to drive you mental. Just make sure that whatever you decide, it’s what YOU want. YOU have to live in your body. No one else does.

 
 
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