When I think back to this part of the journey, the very first memory that pops into my head is a late-night visit to the out-of-hours GP.
The doctor asked me, “So… did everything go smoothly after the surgery?”
Without thinking, I replied, “Yes… apart from…”
What followed was such a ridiculously long list of events that the poor doctor just stared at me before finally saying, “So… basically everything that could happen, happened. I’m just impressed by how positive you are.”
At that point I felt a little embarrassed. Why had I started my answer with “yes”?
But the truth is, when cancer is the main character in the story, my perspective shifts. At least for me, if it isn’t life-threatening—if it isn’t sepsis, anaphylactic shock, cardiac arrest, or something equally dramatic—then it somehow gets filed under “nothing too serious.”
Just another Tuesday.
I think there’s also a little gratitude hidden in that mindset. I know so many people have had an even rougher road than mine, and while nobody’s journey is completely smooth, mine could certainly have been worse.

The Pain
Overall, I actually found the pain quite manageable.
The pain directly related to the surgical wounds was probably at its worst around day three. I suspect that’s because all the really good painkillers had finally worn off.
Surprisingly, my breasts themselves hardly hurt at all. I didn’t really experience the heavy, crushing sensation across my chest that so many people describe. Instead, I mostly had this overwhelming instinct to protect the area, almost as if my body was constantly whispering, “Careful…”
The real pain came from my armpit, where the lymph nodes had been removed.
The only way I can describe it is that it felt as though someone had skinned that part of me. Without my little heart-shaped cushions tucked under my arms, I barely wanted to move.
That lasted for about two weeks before gradually settling down.

Then came cording.
I’ve read countless explanations of why it happens, but for some reason my brain refuses to retain the information. (Chemo brain, perhaps?)
In simple terms, after surgery in the armpit, the tissues can become tight as they heal. If the area isn’t stretched and exercised regularly, tight bands can form beneath the skin.
I had them both in my armpit and underneath my breast.
They looked exactly like tight ropes running under the skin. I couldn’t properly lift my arm, and trying to do so hurt.
The ironic part is that I was doing my exercises. Apparently, just not enthusiastically enough.
Thankfully, physiotherapists are absolute magicians when it comes to this. They teach stretching exercises, massage the area, and gradually help restore movement.
One night, while stretching in bed, I suddenly felt one of the cords snap.
Thankfully, by then I already knew what had happened.
It’s a deeply shocking sensation—but not actually painful. It genuinely feels as though someone has snapped a guitar string inside your arm.
The reward is immediate.
Suddenly, your range of movement returns.
Getting to that point, however… involves quite a few stretches that are considerably less enjoyable.

The third source of pain was the drains.
Those two little bottles attached to tubes sticking out of my body were, without question, the most irritating part of the entire experience.
Apart from not being particularly glamorous, there’s something psychologically unsettling about knowing you’re still… well… open.
I also had a remarkable talent for forgetting to pick them up before standing.
So I’d get up.
They’d stay behind.
They’d yank.
I’d regret my life choices.
Eventually—thanks to a combination of my own forgetfulness and, perhaps, my apparently over-flexible body—one drain slipped out early.
Then the other one did exactly the same.
Naturally.
Because if something like that is going to happen, it’s obviously going to happen in the middle of the night on a weekend.
Which is how I ended up spending several delightful hours in A&E waiting for someone who knew what to do.

The Allergy
It also turned out that I’m allergic to surgical adhesive.
Unfortunately, after breast surgery the dressings need to stay firmly in place, and there isn’t really a perfect alternative.
The risk of infection is simply too high.
So despite the skin blistering, itching and becoming increasingly angry, I had to keep wearing the tape for several weeks.
And honestly?
There are times when itching is actually worse than pain.
At least pain usually lets you do something about it.
Relentless itching that you aren’t allowed to scratch is a special kind of torture.

The Great Mystery of the Red Breasts
Eventually the drains came out.
The tape finally came off.
I thought I was safely on the home straight.
Then one day…
Well, one night.
Obviously.
And naturally on a weekend.
A mysterious redness appeared across my reconstructed breasts.
Now, redness after breast surgery is one of those things nobody likes to see because it can be a sign of infection.
Which is how I found myself at that memorable out-of-hours GP appointment.
Over the following weeks I ended up taking four different antibiotics, experienced a lovely medication interaction that made me feel dreadful, and after all of that…
…we eventually concluded it probably wasn’t an infection after all.
Because absolutely nothing changed.
It didn’t hurt.
It didn’t itch.
It just… stayed red.
Personally, I think my new boobs simply caught sight of themselves in the mirror and blushed.
It would fit.
By then the swelling had gone down as well, so they’d become noticeably smaller.
Exactly what I do whenever I’m embarrassed.
In the end, my radiotherapy had to be delayed by a week while everyone tried to figure out what was going on.
And then, just as mysteriously as it had appeared…
…the redness quietly packed its bags and left.
Nature’s own blush.

Looking Back
So yes, there was a little bit of everything.
Pain.
Cording.
Drains.
Allergies.
Mystery redness.
A&E adventures.
But strangely, when I look back, I don’t remember it as a terrible time.
I remember it more as another hurdle that needed crossing.
I hopped over it.
Some people have a much harder experience than I did, and everyone’s story is different, but for me the ending doesn’t feel tragic at all.
People often say, “She had her breasts removed.”
I’ve never liked that phrase.
It sounds so harsh.
It isn’t how I think about what happened.
In my head, I simply had the contents replaced.
Goodbye, milk ducts.
Hello, silicone.
I’m perfectly okay with that.
And who knows… if gravity eventually decides to have another go at them, I might even qualify for a revision surgery.
Let’s call that the silver lining.
Although only in secret.
And only if the suggestion comes from someone who’s actually been through this particular adventure.
Otherwise, I reserve the right to protest dramatically.
Because after everything…
This is just fine.
💝