The diagnosis of breast cancer is one that no patient wants
to hear, especially women, who are the ones affected ninety nine percent of the
time.
The emotional trauma that a patient goes through on hearing
those four words, “You have breast cancer” cannot be sufficiently described.
The horror of staring death in the face will shake even the most stoic of
women. Some of these tough cancer victors I have met tell me the most amazing
things. They weep, not for themselves, but for their babies, even if these
babies are adults. They weep for their friends and family, wondering how they
will handle the news. They weep for themselves last. That’s a woman for you.
It is a harrowing experience going through tests to determine
the extent of the spread, and listen to the doctor outlining the course of
treatment. It’s normal for all human beings to be terrified of surgery. It is
ten times worse for the one waking up after surgery having lost a part of them
that defines their womanhood. All women who have undergone a mastectomy dread
the removal of the dressing. It is a brazen statement that reminds you that you
will never be whole again!
The post-operative recovery phase is one of deep emotional
pain amid the expected physical one. Everyone expects you to be grateful to be
alive and this creates a deep sense of guilt and self shaming, for wanting your
breast back. The poor patient cannot even find the courage to voice their
distress for fear of sounding vain. That right there is the reality.
As the patient worries about crazy hospital bills, the ever
present fear of wound infection, the recovery of the function of the arm
interfered with during surgery, and the pain of healing; the perceived vanity
is shoved into the subconscious and silenced.
Six weeks after surgery, the dreaded chemotherapy journey
commences. The hours spent lying prostrate, vomiting, having diarrhoea,
headaches, mouth sores and inability to feed for days on end become a familiar
companion. The poor woman is reduced to bedpans and bed baths, and ultimately
loses her crowning glory, the hair. Without an assured source of finances for
the extremely expensive treatments, the threat of dying becomes real all over
again.
By the time she starts radiotherapy, the spirit is broken,
the body is weak and the she’s teetering on the edge sanity. The daily trips to
the radiotherapy sessions are tiring. And just when she thinks she’s done, the
side effects rear their ugly head. From ulceration of the skin on the chest, to
diarrhoea, vomiting, weakness, skin pigmentation and a shiny bald head, they
keep on coming like the waves of an angry sea.
For those who finally see the finish line, this is when the
emotions begin to take their toll. She has survived the roller coaster. She has
been given a clean bill of health and is now on the five year road to recovery
with watchful vigil by her doctor. All those around can now heave a collective
sigh of relief. They slowly begin to let down their guard. The tongues loosen.
The husband can begin to state thinly veiled criticisms of her physical
appearance. The sisters and friends who have been her rock resume their lives
and are not around any more. The children are no longer silenced when they say
something hurtful in their innocence.
The real price of a mastectomy can now be felt. The thoughts
long buried in the subconscious viciously resurface. The long moments of
solitude in front of the mirror running her fingers along the scar; the
unheeded tears that will drop to the floor a thousand times in privacy; the
plastic smile, well practised till it is automatic, to show the world she is
well...
This price cannot be paid in monetary terms. This price has
never been invoiced by anyone. This price is never spoken about because life is
more important than cosmesis. She is alive but not living. Her battered body is
healing but her battered ego is in the doldrums. Insurance has refused to pay
for reconstructive surgery to restore a semblance of normalcy to her chest and
she is too embarrassed to request anyone to fundraise for it.
Today, as you wear that pink ribbon to support breast cancer
awareness, take a step back and think again. Look your mother or sister in the
eye and say to her,
“I know deep down you
have doubts about your womanhood, but I want you to know that you are the most
beautiful woman I know!” – and mean it!
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