Chemo #12 and Plastic Surgery Update

I'm back in the infusion room for round 8 of Taxol.  Only 4 more to go!

This week I had to decide on a plastic surgeon, since their surgery schedules fill up quickly.  My breast surgeon strongly recommended Dr. W, so it felt like an easy choice.  I went in for one last consultation to finalize the reconstruction plan.  First his assistants took some awesome topless photos of me in highly unflattering positions -- leaning forward with my arms outstretched like a naked superhero.  Then Dr. W performed a rigorous scientific assessment of my abdominal tissue.  In other words, he grabbed as much fat as he could with both hands.

Then he threw me a curveball and said I may not have enough abdominal tissue for a unilateral reconstruction after all.  It now seems like a PAP flap is my best option.  (PAP flap surgery involves taking tissue from the upper thighs and is less common than a DIEP flap.)  Unfortunately, Dr. W doesn't have enough experience to lead the surgery and wants to bring in some guy from Houston.  The two of them would perform the reconstruction surgery in tandem.  I know very little about this new plastic surgeon except that he likes to pray with his patients before surgery.  "Dear God, please help me to create a flawless left breast out of these flabby thighs."

I have almost a year to second-guess myself about this decision before it actually happens.  In the mean time, Dr. W will place my tissue expanders during my mastectomy in July.

After a quick CAT scan, I hopped a plane to New Orleans for a girls' weekend.  Woo-hoo!  We went to Jazz Fest and heard some amazing music.  I broke my health rules and went to Central Grocery for a muffuletta.  And Southern Candymakers for a praline.  And the famous Carousel Bar for a cocktail.  Okay, let's just say there was a lot of indulging.

Two days before my New Orleans trip, I saw a play about a thirty-something girls' weekend.  It was supposed to be a comedy and I thought it would get me pumped for my getaway, but at the end of the play, the fun-loving stay-at-home mom DIES as a direct result of the trip.  The last scene was her funeral.  WTF?!  I guess I can now revel in the fact that I went away for the weekend and managed to come back in one cancer-stricken piece. 


  1. Instead of a year to second guess, I say you have a year to grow more tummy tissue. I can help!


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