Monday was here again, but this Monday was unlike others. It was a sunny November day, and I was driving into work wearing a power outfit. I was having a great hair day, and put on my new sweater with puffy sleeves, paired with high-wasted pants, high heels and hot pink lipstick. I felt great. I was coming off a weekend I would never forget. My boyfriend and I designed our wedding rings. We had been talking about getting engaged, and when he asked if I’d want to use my grandmother’s ring “if I ever got engaged” I smiled, we hugged and said yes. Though it wasn’t a proposal, it was the first step. The next chapter of my life was beginning. I was in love, feeling on top of the world and so incredibly lucky.
As I pulled in to a parking spot at my office, I received a phone call from my plastic surgeon. The week prior, I went in for my regular chest scan of my 10-year old tear drop textured silicone implants I had put from breast cancer reconstruction.
“Kara, we have good news. Everything looks great. However, has anyone talked to you about the recall?” I was confused. I said, “Recall? On what?!”
“The Allergan tear-drop textured implants that you have in your body have been recalled. They are causing a rare form of lymphoma that only shows up after about 10-13 years of having the implants. You don’t have to worry yet.” Said the provider.
I felt like I was sucker punched. I was 10-years post Stage 3 breast cancer diagnosis, and the very thing I have in my body because of the cancer I had, could now cause cancer in my body. WHAT-THE-ACTUAL F*&#!!! I immediately asked how quickly I could make an appointment to get the implants removed, and she indicated there was at least a 6-month waiting list due to the amount of women wanting “explant” surgery to have their implants removed.
Everything went into slow motion. I sat in my car, looked at myself in the mirror and started making plans. What if I had lymphoma? What if I had 6 months to live? I will speed up the wedding to Ben. I will use all my life savings and take my entire family on an amazing vacation to Greece. I will leave my car to my mom, and my Loubitons to my niece. Who will take over Fighting Pretty? How will that continue to run? I literally saw my life flash before my eyes.
Then I put my shoulders back, took a deep breath, reapplied my lipstick and walked into my office. I could handle this. I thought: I can fight through this. I am strong enough to handle this. I am Fighting Pretty damnit!
I sat down at my desk, and my BFF Ashley came by the office. I wasn’t planning on telling her, and then she said “Hey, how was RINNNNNNG designing!?” in her happy-go-lucky-loveable way. I immediately burst into tears and said, “I’m dying!”
She listened, she got scared and then she got real. She looked at me, held my shoulders and in a very stern and supportive way said: “Kara, you are NOT dying and you do NOT have cancer! You are going to get those F*$%ers out of your body and you are going to marry Ben and live happily ever after and that’s just how it’s going to be.”
I burst out laughing, and she was right.
Shortly thereafter, my explant surgery was scheduled and my implants were removed. It all happened so fast I didn’t have time to process how my body was changing, but felt relieved to remove these foreign objects in my body that could cause cancer.
Looking at myself in the shower after surgery was horrifying. I looked like a cancer patient again. I looked deformed, mutilated and raw. My incisions were still healing and the area where my implants had been were now concave. The bones of my ribs were protruding and I could physically see my heart beating through the very thin layers of skin where my implants used to be. The speckles of pink and red from my radiation were more prominent than ever, and I couldn’t help but cry every time I looked down. My mom came to take care of me, and she too would cry when looking at my frail and bony chest bones.
The healing process took its course and I would purposefully stand in front of the mirror topless while I was alone to try and get used to my new body. I would blow dry my hair and stare at my concave chest and beating heart and think about how much this little body has been through. How amazing our bodies are, that like a car, we can have parts removed and get dinged up, but all we need are our insides to keep us running.
There were days I forgot I was flat. Big sweaters and flowy shirts helped, and then summer came. None of my clothes fit. Strapless tops and dresses rolled down my chest, and tight bathing suits made me feel exposed. After trying prosthetics, I felt so uncomfortable. The skin on my chest was so thin, anything but a tank top felt itchy and uncomfortable. Wearing a bra with fake boobs made me feel silly. I put them on, I felt like I was in costume, dressed as Pamela Anderson or Kim Kardashian. I thought, who was wearing these “foobs” for anyway? Was I trying to feel comfortable? Or was I afraid other people would feel uncomfortable seeing a woman without breasts?
As soon as I was engaged to marry my husband, Ben, I thought about what kind of wedding gown I would wear. I knew our wedding would be surrounded by the people who loved me most. How could I put fake boobs into a wedding gown and not feel silly? They all knew about my surgery. So who was I wearing boobs for? I found a dress that was perfect. It was long, beaded and full of sparkle. The deep V in my dress not only made me feel sexy and sophisticated, it was honoring my new body. I felt beautiful.
Time passed and I started to become confident with my flat chest. But it wasn’t until I celebrated my 40th birthday in Las Vegas with my now husband, Ben, that it all became crystal clear.
After my hour long hot stone massage at the Paris Casino Spa, I slipped into my robe and slippers and headed over to the sauna. To my left was a bubble jacuzzi in the middle of the ladies dressing room. I was never one to get naked in front of other women, but I was 40, and it was my birthday. Why not get in my birthday suit and get into the jacuzzi? I laughed to myself. Then I froze. What if someone saw my bare chest? The scars? The deep pockets and rib bones protruding out of my skin? Would they get grossed out? It was one thing to wear beautiful clothes that showed I was flat, but another to bare it all.
Then it came to me. I put my shoulders back, slipped off my robe and walked into that hot tub thinking how strong I was for removing my breasts, how brave I was for making a decision to put my health first, and how beautiful I am for loving myself despite of all of it.
What you do with your body is your choice. You need to love it. No one else. And as soon as you do, everything changes.
This story was published alongside several other inspirational stories in the Body Issue of Wildfire Magazine and Igniting the Fire Within: Stories of Healing, Hope & Humor, Inside Today’s Young Breast Cancer Community now available on Amazon. To purchase, click here.