My Experience

I was diagnosed with a recurrence of breast cancer, specifically, ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). My doctor scheduled me for a bilateral mastectomy. A friend, knowing how upset I was, suggested trying some relaxation tools – a CD and book — part of a program on preparing for surgery.

You can use any tools you like, of course – meditation, yoga, prayer. But what worked for me is a program called “Prepare for Surgery, Heal Faster,” which includes a CD, a book and a workshop on how to, well, heal faster. This pre-surgical program combines relaxation techniques, guided imagery and meditation to help patients anticipate what they might encounter in the hospital, and how to deal with it.

So here goes nothing, I thought, and slipped the relaxation CD into my player. I would do anything not to miss my son’s “Kindergarten Follies”— the crowning achievement of his first year of school, just four short days after my surgery.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m one of those aging hippies who cradles crystals and chants, “Om.” But I’m a harder sell than that.

Meditate yourself to healing? Sure. When fat-free truly tastes like the original.

But I was willing to do anything for a shot at attending the Kindergarten Follies. The first morning, I lay down on the couch and turned on the CD. A soothing voice instructs you to turn off the phone, take a deep breath and while exhaling, feel a “deep letting go.” In the background, ba bum, ba bum, ba bum, heartbeats pounding.

After an exercise to relax every part of your body, you move through visualizing your ideal place of relaxation, the person you love most, and the three end results you want from surgery.

Feeling silly, I tried the CD for a couple of weeks. Then a funny thing happened. I began to look forward to it. I listened to it once upon waking, and then right before bed every night. Sometimes I didn’t even make it all the way through, falling asleep in the middle, I was so relaxed.

The morning of surgery…

We had to be at the hospital – 10 traffic-choked miles away — by 6:15 am. As we set out for the highway, my husband made a sharp turn.

“Where are we going?” I screeched.

“I need gas.”

I opened my mouth – “Don’t you realize how upset I am? You had to think of this now? What’s wrong with you?” – when, suddenly, I visualize crunching pine needles under my feet, inhaling their sharp, new-pencil smell. In my mind, sun kisses my head, a breeze gently lifts the hair at my neck. I was in my ideal place of relaxation. My husband finishes gassing up the car and slides back into the driver’s seat. I actually smile at him.

We get to the hospital. I’m feeling a little more anxious now. We’re in pre-surgery and the gown lies open on the bed. But how do you put it on? There are snaps everywhere. I pick it up and examine it. Oh. The sleeves snap over your arm. My heart settles back down.

IV needle in. Calm. Anesthesiologist, here to chat. Calm. Stretcher out and into the hall. Calm. I don’t even panic when, lying outside the operating room, my surgeon puts her hand on my arm and says, “Okay, now I can tell you.” (She was leaving town for the weekend.)

I used the meditation/healing program’s Healing Statements and was rolled into the operating room with them on my tummy. I asked my breast surgeon and anesthesiologist to say such things as, “You will be hungry for ______ (I supplied ‘chocolate ice cream’) when you wake up,” and “Following this operation, you will be comfortable and feeling well,” something meant to lessen some of the side effects of anesthesia and speed healing.

I don’t remember much about the surgery. But waking up was the first test of my “end result.” No nausea — something other survivors had told me I would have. The nurse kept handing me a basin. I pushed it away and gobbled up the best thing I’ve ever tasted, a hollowed-out lemon filled with fresh lemon ice.

For my second end result, I imagined walking around my hospital room the day after surgery. Instead, I went home.

And for my third result, I saw myself sitting in the auditorium of my son’s elementary school, smiling, greeting friends, and enjoying the shock on their faces. “Did she really have surgery?”

As I watched my only son – who, scant months before had cried and refused to enter his classroom on the first day of school, now laugh and joke with schoolmates up on stage — I knew that I, too, had graduated. We had both survived, and were on the other side. I yelled and clapped louder than anyone else. My son, of course, was totally embarrassed.

The program had worked.

It doesn’t matter how you do it – whether it’s a relaxation CD or meditation or yoga or even exercise. Surgery is full of unknowns – will I get an infection, need a transfusion, be in pain? But relaxing in any way that works for you before surgery can help you gain control of your anxiety. So why not try to control what you can? If I can do it, you can do it.

I even continued to use the CD after my surgery when I developed an infection that postponed reconstruction. I was terribly disappointed, but the relaxation CD kept me focused on my goal – looking better than ever before. I visualized the infection receding and over the next several weeks, the redness in my breast area gradually melted away.

Yes, I was sad to lose my breasts. They saw me through adolescence (sprouting early, I was overweight), pregnancy and motherhood. I wasn’t able to breast-feed for long, but my all-time favorite photo is of me sharing my huge, milk-filled breast with this tiny new person I barely knew and wasn’t even sure I loved yet.

And this new feeling of calm and peace? I’ve held onto it these weeks of recovery. I’m walking a mile a day, hoping to be jogging again soon. Shooting down slides with my son. Making dinner. Even back at my laptop writing again. What I’ve learned is that life is precious and to be lived in the moment, and that will keep me the rest – however
long – of my life.