Flat or Bust

Coming To Terms with New Me After Cancer

Like a typical ex, and after a ten-year separation, Doug returned in 2021. To get you up to speed, Doug is the name I gave to breast cancer in 2011 when I was first diagnosed. After uttering the phrase my cancer for the hundredth time in the first two weeks, it made sense to call him Doug instead. First, I realized cancer wasn’t mine. I did not own it nor did I want to. And second, it didn’t own me either. Over my dead body.

A lot of people ask how I settled on the name Doug. And if there are any Dougs reading on Substack, let me apologize now. Basically, I told a friend what I just told you, and before I could even finish, she yelled, Doug the douche bag! It stuck. I dropped the douche bag bit, and we’ve been calling him Doug ever since. I got through that first cancer experience in 2011 casting myself as Victorious Val, protagonist and hero, and the cancer as Doug, arch-nemesis and villain. I decided I’d be the one who controlled the narrative. I’m a writer after all. So that made sense.

Going Flat

When Doug returned, it was with a vengeance. More on that later. My surgical team removed him, and we did not rebuild. Instead, I opted for a procedure called aesthetic flat closure. One and done. So, quite simply, I don’t have breasts. In the breast cancer culture, I’m referred to as a flattie. As early as a decade ago, aesthetic flat closure was not even presented as an option. And sometimes when a patient requested no reconstruction, it was even met with resistance.

My first surgery back in 2011 removed the tumor but spared the breast. And here I was 10 years later doing it all over again. It felt like a slap in the face. It was hard to accept removal at first simply because my breasts had been with me for so long. I mean, think about it, it’s traumatic amputating a part of you that has occupied space for 49 years. I really struggled with that. I cried in the days leading up to surgery. I cried before being wheeled into the OR. And I cried afterwards during my first shower. It was shocking. I’ve come to realize later that it wasn’t just losing my breasts that triggered these reactions but cancer PTSD from the first traumatic experience. Fun fact: 1 in 3 people diagnosed with cancer develop PTSD.

Flattie Baddie?

I grieved - hard - and then I got on with it. At first, I thought I’d jump into the Flattie Baddie movement. I hashtagged it a few times, even recently, but today I realized it may not be my thing. This morning, a Facebook post appearing in my Memories from 2022 brought my experience into sharper focus. I modeled in a photoshoot depicting the realities of breast cancer, and of course, since I’m without breasts, most of my shots featured going flat. I remembered how difficult that shoot was, but it wasn’t for the reasons you might think.

Photoshoot with Doc List Photography and Moving Beyond Cancer Collaborative, 2022

Identity Struggle

The absent breasts didn’t make me unrecognizable or uncomfortable - I was out of shape. Before Doug showed up for round two, I was a bodybuilder, and I had achieved that level of fitness after my first diagnosis. I did this shoot to get comfortable with what I lost, but what I actually learned was that it was about getting comfortable with everything I’d gained - about 30 pounds from surgery, radiation, and the drugs. And that eventually escalated to 50. I’m rounder, softer, and I have back fat. And it’s been challenging to move past the wheezing, chronic coughing, joint pain, fried pectorals, unstable ribs, and limited shoulder mobility to get to the gym and put the work in.

I think it’s important to give yourself grace when you’re in the healing or rebuilding phase. And I actively practice this daily. Sometimes the win is simply showing up. I’m there five days a week doing what I physically can.

Photo by Richard G Martinez Photography | NFF Games Bodybuilding Competition | Austin, TX, 2018

Warrior

Interestingly enough, today, when I studied the digital image, my flatness didn’t impact me. And neither did my weight gain. What jumped off the screen at me was the depth of emotion in my eyes. I saw - really saw - my determination and resilience. I literally look like a warrior. And I’ve never liked that metaphor at all. But I feel my strength and I see more than missing breasts and a Pillsbury dough body. I recognize my vulnerability and honesty staring back at me. And that is a pivotal moment in the acceptance of my changed body.

I have a lot of friends who are bringing awareness to the flat community - beautiful flattie baddies. And I am proud of them for building that safe space. But I don’t think that’s my niche. Honestly, I don’t know what my purpose is in this cancer community right now. Maybe it’s to encourage. Maybe it’s to model transparency. Maybe it’s something else completely. But here I am, on Substack, Livin’ Out Loud. Thanks for giving me a space to be myself and figure it all out with you.

If you enjoyed sitting with me for a spell, please consider following, subscribing, or sending me a cup of coffee. I look forward to sitting down with you again. I have a lot on my mind.