A Tattoo Tutorial

Because I’ve been so very forthcoming about my ongoing BRCA journey, I need to fill you in on today’s adventure—not only because it’s a milestone on the journey (the last official step in the reconstruction process that started 14 months ago), but also because it happened to coincide with the beginning of Hereditary Breast and Ovarian Cancer (HBOC) week.

So, here we go…

A few minutes before 10 a.m. this morning, I checked in on Foursquare at Memorial Sloan-Kettering's Rockefeller Outpatient Pavilion on 53rd Street.  Up on the 10th floor, I checked in again—this time with the receptionist in the Plastic Surgery suite.  About 10 minutes later, I was in one of the exam rooms (at this point, I think I’ve been in all of them), where I met Casey, Dr. Mehrara’s physician’s assistant (PA), who, if she was so inclined, could moonlight as a tattoo artist in the Village.

Initially, had the setting been a bit different, I might have mistakenly believed I was at the Clinique counter in Macy’s, trying to find just the right shade of lipstick.  As she applied each option to my skin, Casey would comment:  "This one is too orange…  I think this one’s too pink.  Let’s see what happens if we add a little brown to this pink one…"

Once she and I agreed on the color, we moved on to pick the size of the areola, using what looked like one of those kitchen gadgets that lets you measure how much spaghetti to cook based on the number of servings you need.  With the tentative measurements and pigments marked on my body, Casey called in “the boss” who OK’d our handiwork.

With that approval in place, she got down to work.  Because there are few if any nerve endings in the abdominal tissue that now masquerades (quite well, I think) as breasts, the actual tattooing didn’t hurt, although I could feel the pressure of the needle.  In one spot, there does appear to be some nerve regeneration going on (this is a good thing), so she applied some topical Lidocaine before taking up the needle again.  Once she was finished, I got a quick look at my newly tattooed (but also very red and bleeding) body parts before she applied antibiotic ointment and covered them with non-stick gauze anchored in place with medical adhesive tape. 

Armed with written instructions and all the supplies—non-stick gauze pads, antibiotic ointment, petroleum jelly, adhesive tape—I’ll need to care for my new tattoos for the next week, I was back in the waiting room by noon, ready to make my next appointment, which is now scheduled for January.  Thirteen blocks later, my new tattoos and I were at 633 and I was at my desk, catching up on emails from earlier in the day.

No, definitely not just another day in the office, but rather a personal milestone worth marking in some indelible way.

Why I Can't Go to Dunkin' Donuts

If Mark Leyner and Billy Goldberg can write this book, then surely I can explain to you why it is that I can’t walk to the Dunkin’ Donuts across the street from my apartment.

 

It’s really very simple, but not exactly “polite” conversation on a “family” blog.  At the risk of TMI, however, I’m going to give it a shot.

 

On Tuesday, I had the second (and what I hope will be the last) of the surgeries to reconstruct my breasts following a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy (PBM) last July to help ensure that I don’t get breast cancer as the result of a BRCA2 genetic mutation (which puts my lifetime risk at somewhere around 85%). 

 

The initial surgery last summer took12 hours and included both the mastectomy and immediate reconstruction of “breast mounds”—the technical term—using a microsurgical transplant of fat, tissue and blood supply (perforators) from my abdomen.  (You may be more familiar with tissue expanders and silicone or saline implants, which, for a variety of reasons weren’t for me.  I opted for this more complex surgery, the longer recovery, and earlier this week, “phase 2” of the process.)

 

Tuesday’s surgery involved cleaning up the initial incisions (including the “dog ears” on the 18-inch abdominal incision), using liposuction (resulting in terrific bruising) to make the left and right sides approximately the same size and shape, and creating nipples.  Following the surgery, I was wrapped in shoulder-to-groin compression garments, which had to stay in place for 48 hours.  Yesterday, I was able to shower (heaven…) and, per the post-op instructions, continue to use the abdominal binder, which is similar to the support band the FedEx guy wears around his waist and lower back to help him deliver all those Zappos boxes.     

 

The newest body parts, however, (created larger than “normal” because they will shrink, the docs say) are to spend the rest of the recovery period (not sure exactly how long that will be) without any compression or restrictive garments of any kind.  And so it is, that despite a desire for a bit of fresh air and a walk (I know, it’s 96 degrees and humid outside), I am not comfortable (even in a dark tee shirt) walking to the Dunkin’ Donuts across the street from my apartment.

 

A first-world problem, indeed…