Getting dressed was virtually impossible. I’ve always been slender with a propensity for wearing slim, flattering clothes to make the best of the little I had. My wardrobe comprised tight t-shirts and tops, neat sweaters, skinny jeans, nothing I could slip into. Fortunately I also like to feel pampered and had cashmere joggers I could live in but where were the practical things I could slip my arms into and button over my drain and dressing? Den to the rescue, generously offering a new soft shirt I’d bought him that he disliked and never wore! That, plus another ancient relic I nicked, and one soft pj jacket saw me through, along with the loose cardigans I have aplenty. Awkward but comfy now.
With the drain removed (another trip out to the hospital as Mr B wrongly assumed what he called the District Nurses would do the job - they don’t, and they are Community Nurses now), I requested some waterproof dressing so I could shower. BIG MISTAKE. A week of showers was blissful, particularly as I’d invested in a shower seat to avoid slips (I tended to get a bit dizzy or weak out of the blue). Then back to the hospital to have the dressing removed and hear the results. I’ll by-pass the latter for now.
Within a day of having the dressings removed, the allergic reaction occurred again. Red weals that itched unbearably. But no one had prepared me for a fucked up lymph system. With no lymph nodes and severed nerves under my arm, my body had to learn to readjust slowly. I can only describe it by comparing the itching and pain to shingles: the kind of itch you can’t scratch because it goes down the nerve shaft and moves elsewhere. Within a week, I was a writhing mass of itch from my nape to my buttocks, covered in scratches and tiny scabs, new bumps erupting by the hour. A kind pharmacist attached to our GP practice prescribed a stronger antihistamine thank god but I stupidly had waited a full week so the rash was moving round my waist to my belly. More bumps and blisters, nowhere near the site of any plaster. That was pretty hard to take and I still have some scabs, two months later.
I didn’t miss my breast. If I’m honest, after the decades of discomfort and dislike, it made little difference. The scar was higher than I expected but neat across the breast, with a tiny bump of flesh cleavage-end (it looks a hell of a mess under my arm and feels worse). I don’t know if that was accidental or deliberate but it does mean I can wear v-necks without looking ridiculous. I did feel very vulnerable however. There was an emptiness and my clothes looked horrid. The hospital wasn’t fast in offering a temporary prosthesis (I had to ask, which I thought was a bit much, and then they only had a medium so suggested I unpack it and get it to size. At the time I was fine with that but the prosthesis didn’t lend itself to being reduced and, as my psychotherapist pointed out, it was somewhat insensitive to expect a woman who’d been maimed to deconstruct even a falsie! I rang and asked them to order me the right size).
But it was academic. The itching had left a vast discomfort and there was no way I could wear a bra. Equally there was no way I could go unprotected. I compromised with my sports bra but it was no solution. When I went out, I hunched over, always aware of discomfort and experiencing phantom nipple sensation with every movement - not the enjoyable experience one might hope for. I looked and felt a sorry sight. On top of all that, exercising was obligatory but well-nigh impossible with the itch, the discomfort and the self-pity. I persisted and, having achieved a good level of movement, I ceased doing them regularly. STUPID.
The bra problem was resolved by my goddaughter who recommended Under Armour - they made a seamfree sports bra with a long low band which has been a boon.
Unfortunately, they were end of line - cheaper but limited to XS and S. I bought one of each, could barely get into the S (and I was down to 7 stone 1 by now) but used my mum’s initiative and compromised. Out came the ‘quick unpicker’ and I made little strategic slashes in the deep band so I could breathe. Perfect. Then I found two mediums via Amazon and my bra solution is resolved for now. I’m comfortable, feel protected and supported, can keep my shoulders back and, as a plus, there’s a soft but firm support cup that provides some shape. I’ve never worn the prosthesis I got through the post. Not yet anyway.
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