What they don’t tell you after breast cancer

It's been 7 months since my last treatment.

A CARIS test to identify the best treatment approach. Chemo to shrink a tumor. Medicinal marijuana and vitamin infusions between treatment. Bilateral mastectomy 2017 without reconstruction. Fuck implants. Then an ooherectomy and surgical menopause in 2018. All in the last two years. No radiation I am in a study. I have a weird gene mutation only 100,000 people have. They don't know if it gives you cancer or helps you to heal from it faster. July 11, 2018 last immunotherapy treatment

I was so determined to move away from disease that I returned back to work pushing past chemo brain, fatigue and joint paint. A torn meniscus but my MsK NYC oncologist said I was ok & in remission. I am not on medication which she urges me to take ASAP. Another surgery to repair it and 6 months of recovery.

Yet the day to day wears on me differently. Feeling geriatric when I work out. Joint paint & stiffness in the morning; usually working out, stretching & a hot shower help. There are joys & challenges in menopause. No period. I can wear what I want. No cramps, bloating or stains to worry about. Yet being dry and no sex drive. I don't think about sex or relationships. No desire to fit anyone's need or desire of me which frees me up to explore what I want and need.

Yet Difficulty releasing weight. Joint pain and need to weight train so my bones don't become frail leading to injury. Still get some nothing hot flashes but they were worst during chemo. All manageable; my new norm.

Chemo brain & cognitive fogginess. Affects my ability to be efficient and self reliant at work. My life is made up of lists I check off.

My scars are minimal and working out has helped me see my gains & how strong my body is. Accept my resiliency. I opted for a FTM plastic surgeon. I told her no dog ears & don't do me any favors for later. I don't want implants. I want to be as flat as possible and rebuild my chest with exercise. The surgeon removing the tumor and the healthy breast left more tissue on my left side. I have a mini boob that bothers me but it's just fat that I know I can melt off. I saw the hack job other women had and in my research made sure to use language to indicate exactly what I wanted from my surgeons. All in all it could have been worst. I just look like a flat chested pear shaped woman. Androgynous femme. Being queer helped me to use transgendered language to communicate how I wanted to look. FTM top surgery to become a flattopper. Flat closure thank you for fighting for my rights before I even knew I needed you to.

Thoughts precede emotion so when I get teared up I know its a limiting belief I am allowing to surface so that I can heal it. I don't hold onto the thought or indulge in self pity. I don't seem to dwell in sadness for extended amounts of time. I always find a way to cheer myself up through laughter. At first seeing the scars was jarring. It changes your silhouette so all I saw was a scooped out chest and a pot belly, cellulite & a healing body which was resilient. I saw the negative. I wanted to feel sorry for myself despite the strange compliments, people that were drawn to me or the encounters I had. Who would want me now?

I started researching fetishes with scars and amputation. Freaks and who were drawn to them sexually. How there are norms and freaks; through this experience I had crossed over into a realm I occupied as an artist. I was always different. My perspectives and understanding were nonadjacent to those around me. Yet this was not a trip into the different but a residency. This was a life sentence.

A friend once asked over dinner. Why are you still single? You are attractive, resilient, funny AF, financially stable, a professional, etc. I don't have a sex drive & I would want the person to be monogamous. I think that would be selfish. I didn't think of myself. That I would need a partner who saw me & valued my experience. Was understanding as to my medical needs. Someone who would take their time enticing me into seduction. Would be mature enough to be empathetic. Maybe in the medical field. Maybe a survivor as well. Also I'm not looking to be anyone 's fucking nurse nor am I taking applications for one. I love my freedom and independence. That my value is not tied to the attention and focus of others . I exist for myself.

I started to notice I had no patience for whiners of the norm realm. I couldn't pretend to relate or care. I existed in a place of constantly engaging with my mortality & dancing with death. Aware of my limited time. Feeling I got dressed for this shit. My time is valuable now and obligations seem a joke; if I show up I value both you and myself so come correct. Which turns others off, yet I am not responsible for the feelings of others. Cancer forces you to be at an Oprah level of authenticity that others abhor.

Feeling feminine is subjective until I reclaimed it. I started to utilize props such as makeup, fashion and my body to test my sexual presence. I treated each hair length as an opportunity to experience and experiment with how to use my creativity to manipulate my flesh canvass. From painting on eyebrows with colorful waterproof eyeliner pencils; teal, silver & pink were my favorites. A bold lip and bald head; fuck the wig they were itchy. I wore sculptural hats. I dressed up for chemo. Reading an article about women who wear red lipstick after surgery and how they thrive better than women who don't. It's your canvass what are you painting on it. Fashion helped me to be distracted from pain, discomfort and self pity. I no longer seek to feel validated by the gaze of another. I dress this way for myself. My pleasure. My enjoyment.

I started to realise that I had based my self worth on being productive & enticing a sexual partner. I had to rework my self worth. Who I had to become to survive this experience is not who I was when I was diagnosed. At times I felt unmotivated to clean or work at the level that had given me that weird sense of pride. I now ask myself do I even like you? Are you worth the energy & effort? Because now I conserve my attention, focus & time. Peer pressure doesn't work on me.

My life goals changed.

My perspective changed.

My temperament even changed.

As The article One year as a survivor states:I pushed myself and tore my meniscus; I thought this is my new normal; pain. I made the injury worst by thinking fuck is it bone/knee cancer. Bone cancer; it spread anxiety. The x ray was clear. Having cancer is like robbing a bank and getting away but always looking over your shoulder waiting to get found out. That anxiety is crippling. I now face things head on. No matter what happens I will find a way to adapt & handle it.

It's also physiologically healing to see images of women like me who opted for no reconstruction. Each selfie is like hair length an opportunity to experiment and explore my beingness at this stage of my growth. I get to set an example and be a role model to myself. Show myself an alternative to success that doesn't exist for me yet.

Stage 3 breast cancer forced me to reassess and make changes. Implementation of a plan to curate who I will become next. Stay tuned.

Q