Snowstorms, Surgeons, and Next Steps: My Journey Toward Breast Reconstruction After Mastectomy

A snowstorm, a surgeon, and some unexpected compliments—today’s appointment reminded me that breast reconstruction after mastectomy is about more than medicine. It’s about healing, identity, and finding hope in the middle of chaos.

Before I touch upon today’s doctor visit, I want to talk more about my emotions. I am all over the place. I am up, I am down. I am mad, and I am sad. I’m giving myself emotional whiplash from my mood swings. I can’t imagine how other people are coping with them. The truth is, cancer doesn’t just rattle your body—it shakes your sense of stability. One minute I feel powerful and ready to fight; the next I’m under a blanket wondering how to keep going.

My doctor did increase the strength of my antidepressant, and the good moods are starting to outweigh the bad—which is important. I need a good attitude and a positive outlook to crush this thing. If you’re walking this road too, please know that tending to mental health is part of treatment, not an afterthought.

Today’s Doctor Visit

Today was a crappy day weather-wise. We had a snowstorm and actually had no school, so I didn’t use a sick day—small teacher win. My appointment was in Peabody, MA at the Lahey Clinic. I was meeting with the plastic surgeon to see if I was a good candidate for the surgery I want—specifically, breast reconstruction after mastectomy.

When he first entered the exam room and looked at my paperwork he said, “You’re 56?” I said yes, because I am. He followed up with, “Wow, you don’t look 56.” Well that sure made me feel good! I tucked that compliment in my pocket to pull out later when I need it.

Yet Another Person Got to See My Boobs

Seriously, more and more people are seeing my boobs. I really should be charging admission. But this exam was not about checking for cancer—it was about planning how to build them back. Better than before. Better, stronger, faster… (Okay, that’s the Six Million Dollar Man. I’m really going for smaller and perkier.)

He did some measuring—embarrassing. Then he wanted to see my very tubby tummy—more embarrassing. Then I lay back on the table and raised my legs straight up so he could check for a hernia. No hernia, so yippee. Because I have some belly flab to spare and because I’m so “youthful” (the doctor’s word, not mine), I’m a good candidate for autologous breast reconstruction after mastectomy—using tissue from my abdomen to create new breasts. The idea of rebuilding with my own tissue feels natural and oddly empowering, like reclaiming what cancer tried to take.

What’s Going to Happen Next

On Monday, I reach out to the surgeon and schedule the bi-lateral mastectomy. At that time, the plastic surgeon will insert tissue expanders (my “skin stretcher thingies”) and some drains. The drains will be removed a couple of weeks after surgery. He mentioned not doing the full reconstruction until June—not my ideal timeframe, but it may fit my work schedule better. Sometimes the universe writes its own calendar.

• Surgery #1: Bilateral mastectomy + placement of tissue expanders + drains.
• Healing Window: A few weeks of recovery while expanders do their slow, steady work.
• Surgery #2 (targeting June): Autologous reconstruction using abdominal tissue (often called DIEP flap, if I remain a good candidate).

None of this is simple. There are appointments, logistics, sub plans (teacher life!), and the ever-present swirl of emotions. But writing it out helps me breathe through the chaos and remember that each step is carrying me forward.

The Emotional Math of Breast Reconstruction After Mastectomy

Choosing breast reconstruction after mastectomy isn’t only about medicine. It’s about identity and wholeness. It’s about how clothes fit, how mirrors feel, and how I show up in the world. For me, reconstruction isn’t vanity—it’s part of healing. It’s me saying, “I get a voice in what happens to my body.”

That doesn’t make the process easy. There’s vulnerability in the exams, fear about surgery, and frustration at the waiting. But there’s also hope. Sometimes hope sounds like a surgeon saying, “You’re a good candidate.” Sometimes it’s a snow day that keeps you from using a sick day. Sometimes it’s a compliment about your age that makes you grin all afternoon.

Learning, Researching, and Finding Support

If you’re navigating these choices too, good information helps. The American Cancer Society’s guide to reconstruction explains the different procedures and timelines clearly, and the Mayo Clinic overview of breast reconstruction covers what to expect before and after surgery. For the personal, unfiltered side of things, I’m sharing every win, wobble, and wisecrack in my Breast Cancer Diaries on my site.

Community matters. Whether it’s a partner sitting in the waiting room, a friend texting a meme on scan day, or strangers on the internet who just get it, support makes the heavy feel lighter.

Where I Am Right Now

So here’s the snapshot: I’m scheduling the bilateral mastectomy, I’m preparing for tissue expanders and drains, and I’m aiming for autologous breast reconstruction after mastectomy in June. I’m scared and hopeful, impatient and grateful—often all at once. I can feel my mindset shifting toward the long game: healing takes time, and that’s okay.

If you’re facing similar decisions, please hear this: you are not alone. Your story is your own, but the mix of fear, courage, and stubborn hope—we share that. We’ll keep moving forward together, one storm, one appointment, one step at a time.