Dealing with Insensitivity After Breast Cancer Surgery

Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. Catch up on all of Bonnie's blogs here!

It’s been almost 11 years since I had surgery to remove breast cancer. Some days feel like it was a lifetime ago, and others feel like it was just yesterday. It’s taken time to accept my body the way it is now. The scars are no longer fresh and raw. They’re still visible but have almost faded into the same shade as the skin on my chest wall. I’ve worked hard to look at them as evidence of survival, but sometimes they still cause me pain.

Recently, on a visit to the emergency room following unrelated cancer surgery, I had to remove my shirt so staff could perform an EKG. At that time, the nurse on call was a male. I felt awkward removing my shirt in front of him, even though my husband was with me and felt like I needed to give him a heads up as to what he’d see. In the past, nurses at other medical visits have expressed disgust, sadness, or shock when I’ve had to remove my shirt. After seeing their reactions, I decided it would always be best to warn someone before freaking them out with my breastlessness.

The guy did his best to be professional, but I watched his face. I could tell he hadn’t seen a breastless woman before, and it was making him uncomfortable. I gave him a nutshell version of my cancer story while he hooked the electrodes to my body, and he seemed to relax, but after leaving the room, I heard him talking with another staff member in the hall. He told that person he’d just witnessed something odd.

The other staff member asked what he was talking about, and he said, “A woman with no boobs.” Then they started laughing. Tears welled in my eyes, and my husband reached to hold my hand. When I returned home from that ER visit, I was sent a patient questionnaire by the hospital asking me to rate the visit. They had a place for comments after the survey questions were complete, and I gave them details about what had happened to me. I hope they reprimanded the staff member. I’d noticed his name on his hospital ID and had made sure to include it in my comments. That experience was extremely unprofessional and insensitive.

Then, on Mother’s Day, my son came to visit. He has an odd sense of humor and seems to find joy in shocking others with it. We were talking after lunch, and he said, “Hey, look at this TikTok video.” He held his phone out to me, and I saw a person filming a topless, breastless woman dancing. As the camera zoomed in on her, I could see familiar scars. She’d had a double mastectomy, like me. She was swaying to some soft jazz music. My son was laughing and said, “You could do that!” I was taken aback. I know he meant it to be funny and lighthearted, but I felt deeply wounded. I didn’t like feeling like I was a freak, something to be made fun of, and especially by one of my own children.

My oldest daughter sent me a GIF last night. It was a white bra filled with bright pink petunias. Someone had hung it on a garden wall. She texted, “Hey, Mom, you could do something like this with all of your old bras.” At first, I didn’t think anything about it. She knows I enjoy crafting and probably thought I’d find it funny, but I didn’t. Once again, my feelings were hurt, and I wondered how it was so easy for people to laugh and joke about a person losing part of their body.

Maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but I don’t think so. I’m not an overly sensitive person. I’ve done my best to roll with the punches through all facets of my cancer journey, but sometimes, it’s hard.

I’ve even thought perhaps something was seriously wrong with me. Maybe I need to see a therapist to discuss unresolved issues from having both breasts removed. Shouldn’t I be at peace with my decision now? How much longer will little things like this affect me?

As I try to self-analyze, I realize I miss my breasts. It sounds odd to say they were part of who I was, but it’s true. I felt whole with them. I don’t feel whole without them.

Summer is here, and it’s going to be very hot. We usually go to the beach and, while there, do some swimming. It’s gotten to the point where I hate summer. Not only because I’m flat-chested, but because swim prostheses never stay put in the special swimsuit I bought for women with mastectomies.

I do my best to camouflage my chest with pretty patterns or shirts with pockets, but still, I feel like people notice when I don’t wear prostheses. Wearing them in the summer is a challenge. The silicone ones are heavy and hot against my skin, and camisoles with built-in breast forms aren’t much better because it’s like wearing 2 shirts instead of one.

I’m not trying to complain, but it would be nice if people were more sensitive to those of us who’ve had to have our breasts removed. And yes, I could have chosen reconstruction and may not have dealt with any of these issues, but I didn’t want to go through another painful surgery.

When I was growing up, my mother used to tell me, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” That euphemism has stuck with me all these years. I’m sure some people don’t mean to be insensitive toward those who’ve experienced breast cancer; it would be nice if they’d be more understanding. Perhaps if they’d try to imagine how it would feel if the “shoe were on the other foot,” they’d listen more and speak less.

Mastectomies do more than disfigure the body; they wound the spirit, too. I wish doctors would prepare patients for that, but sadly, they don’t.

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