About two years ago, I wrote an obituary .It read as follows:
Lt. Colonel Mammary G(land).
The Twin of the Lt. (only surviving family) would like to report the unfortunate demise of Lt. Col. Mammary G(land). on August 8th, 2013 at the University Hospital. The services of the Lt. are acknowledged and regarded by those who knew her well. Besides performing aesthetic duties for a number of years, the Lt. served two tours of lactational duties from 2007-2008 and then again from 2011-2012 with honorable discharge both times. Lt will be recognized by the highest honor and a silicone trophy will be erected at the grave site.
In lieu of flowers, please send donations to Dr. Plastic’s office.
A soldier had fallen ! The war against breast cancer had claimed another comrade.
I became a “monoboob”.
Monoboob, odd and awkward. Mutilated and Broken. Lopsided and out of balance. My womanhood and body image was under attack.
My life stood still as I coped and recovered from losing a piece of my femininity as well as faith in my own body. Cancer happened to me. Complex information came at me with words like chemotherapy, hair loss, tiredness , radiation and reconstruction. I desperately tried to keep my head above water.
The day before, I was trying to emotionally prepare for a” mastectomy”, the fancy medical name for getting your breast lopped off, I stood in front of the mirror hiding one breast to assess what I would be sans my left breast. I was trying to process my grief. The morning of surgery, I had pictures taken, thinking one last time, I would look whole for the pictures.
It needed to happen. I had cancer in it. I had no choice. I was one in the eight women in the country that get afflicted by breast cancer. Play time was over, life got serious. Very serious.
But did I need to be serious? The answer gradually unfolded.
Shortly after leaving the oncologists office after receiving my verdict of 16 chemotherapy cycles and 30 plus radiations I made a lame joke to my husband. I said, I will no longer be stereo.( one breast being “mono”)
He laughed and looked relieved. I laughed too and before we could let all the impending trauma sink in, I was chattering nonstop, making quips about the doctor, cancer and breasts. Sometimes laughter comes easier than tears.
I needed to find things to laugh about and smile. If I didn’t I would have drowned.
Humor is a powerful defense mechanism and it works great. Ask my friends, I have always been the funny one.
My left breast had gone rogue, filled with rogue cells. What is a woman to do? I decided to laugh all the way to hell and back. I named by blog “Left Boob Gone Rogue”.
After the surgery, recovery was slow and painful. 2 years later I still have pain in my arm off and on.
Initially, the biggest accomplishment of the day for me was flip through a Victoria’s Secret Catalog and not drop a tear.
Losing a breast isn’t easy, I constantly feel like taking a right turn (don’t have the left boob) because I feel that I swayed to the right, like the right turn signal is on!
My run doesn’t have the same rhythm, the plop-plop plop-plop is just plop…plop. every time I look in the mirror, my chest winks at me.
I do thank the surgeon for leaving a small part in the middle intact so could pull together a deceiving cleavage , if I dare to bare it.
Another advantage of having both breasts is, it hides the little protuberant belly. Now with the breast gone, I get a better view of the steroid-enhanced roundness, and believe me, I don’t want to see that. Steroids stimulate appetite and after chemo there is only so much salad and cucumber a gal can eat before she opens the cookie box. It’s not me, it’s the steroids!
I remember the night before the surgery. I had showered so I would sleep better. My two and half year old daughter was laying in my lap, and then she fell asleep, cozily nuzzled between the two soft and friendly entities. And there she was breathing softly with her face burrowed in my chest and I knew that this was the last time she had this comfort. But I knew that I needed to do the surgery so she still has a mom to hug and cuddle with.
I remember when my son was born. I wanted to breast feed him right away. What I didn’t know was how newborns root for the nipple. I panicked, thought my baby was blind and couldn’t really see where to latch on. Thank God it was just a fear. I breast-fed both my children for at least one year. Those are some of the wonderful memories of the “mammaries” and the love and bond they created between me and my children. I feel the loss and I think they do too, in their way as if one of their favorite childhood comfort toy got broken.
The great thing about children is their resilience. They don’t obsess over stuff for too long. Not like adults. Something we can all learn from the little ones in our homes.
For over a year I tolerated grueling treatments and side effects but I loved myself and my life more. The scar on my chest healed with patience and openly sharing my struggles.
At the end of the day, it is just a body part. It doesn’t define me or my femininity. I am still loved by those that matter. That message was loud and clear through an entire year of treatment.
Its two years later, I have made it through and much more comfortable with my body. Cancer has pushed me to be more accepting of the here in now and the blessings of every day .
I think I have moved forward with my body image, with sass and attitude. I have my groove back , cleavage of course is a whole different story.
I am” Uni-Titty”, whole and complete with a full appreciation of life and that is infinitely sexy.

I now have the web link to my interview published in Health Monitor’s Thrive Magazine. They featured it in their ” True Insipration” section. Click here for the story : www.bit.ly/uzmamd1

 

   
   

I just read the dreadful news of Dr. Carolyn Kaelin passing away at 54 years of age. She was a breast surgeon who had breast cancer herself and subsequently wrote two books on the topic. “Living through Breast Cancer” was a wonderful read and so was the other exercise guide book ” The Breast Cancer Survivors Fitness Plan”. I read and re-read both.As a physician I identified with her dilemmas and struggles.

As I was going through my treatments, her words were inspiring and precise. I learned a great deal from them and I felt that she was my mentor through all of it.

Just as I was starting to wonder whether I needed to continue blogging and consider if I should or should not write a book, this event occurred. I realized with intensity that I was connected to Dr. Kaelin through her words and she will continue to heal others through her words and writing. I cried for her today.

Sharing one’s struggles openly is such an incredible gift to others. Today I experienced what some of you have told me, that my words inspired you and have helped you. I felt the strength of the connection of words tofay. I felt today like a friend died. Her untimely death  inspires me to continue sharing my journey with you all. RIP Dr. Kaelin, you live through your words.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2015/08/03/breast-cancer-surgeon-turned-patient-carolyn-kaelin-dies-at-54/

 My 20 year medical school reunion is coming up soon. I am sharing my thoughts and reflections on my training in this post–
I don’t know your name. But would it have mattered? I would have treated you exactly the same way as I did. It is possible though that knowing your name would have made you more human than I would care to accept. Not knowing your name made everything so much easier. It was the best way to maintain the distance I needed. But what about your wishes? your needs? I never considered them. I blocked them, never wanting to go down that road.
I was selfishly satisfied with your quiet consent. You had offered yourself as a noble sacrifice and then my curiosity trumped all emotions. I wish I had expressed my gratitude. I wish I had said a prayer for you. I wish I had acknowledged.
Now 25 years later, when I can still remember your face and the wiry silver beard, I realize fully how much you gave to me. Every week for a few hours , I was spending time with you, studying you closely, learning all about you. You gave the knowledge I so craved, you gave me the confidence I was so lacking.
I had often wondered what your story was. The beginning and the end. I feel guilty for having prolonged your end or at times triumphant at your immortality. Sorry I didn’t let you sign off right at the end and you were made to stay longer.
Your short cropped silver hair gave away what your age may have been. You lean body, told me that perhaps you had a hard life or a slow painful end. The lack of fat on you was the envy of the group next to me. You didn’t have any scars or missing body parts. You, Cadaver #9, and I , young medical student and the connection between , a shiny sharp scalpel.
You helped me start a journey that I am still on today. My eyes that used to burn with formalin vapors that preserved you are well trained to assess human suffering and pain. Although I never closely studied your expression, these eyes of mine have mastered that skill.
You were the very first among the countless others who helped a naive, neophyte medical student into a self assured physician.
My hands did shake the first time I put an incision in your leathery thick skin. You seemed like you were carved from wood, much like the Indian that is sometimes standing outside the cigar shops. The cut didn’t lead to any bright red blood, the hallmark of life. It was comforting to know I was not inflicting any physical pain on you. Because of your permission to cut you repeatedly, I was hold to hold a scalpel steady at my first surgical procedure and make a cut in a warm breathing human body.
It was awkward and distressing for the first few weeks. The smell of the anatomy lab was strong and lingering. It had permeated into my unconscious. I often had haunting dreams of you.
Given how unreal you looked, it was easy to arrive in the lab and focus on a certain “body part”. Bit by bit as me and my six other colleagues worked on you, you hardly had any skin left. We would be so enthralled by the details we would find inside you as we uncovered fascinating anatomical displays.
The blood vessels, the nerves and the organs. All were there just like the anatomy dissector text had said.
I clearly remember rejoicing as I had neatly dissected all five branches of the facial nerves after hours of meticulous cutting.

I remember having a hard time eating after the first few times of dissection and then I got numb to the idea that I was in the presence of a dead human and would shortly after the class dig into meaty curry at the cafeteria. The gloves would often get greasy from the body fat and we would sometimes be sloppy with the white coats that got some grease on them. My mother however, always had them washed separately and treated them like the plague.
You must have had a story, that I was never privy to as I looked into your abdominal cavity carefully assessing each and every organ. I was always respectful and kept you at least partially covered as I worked on you.
The relationship of a medical student to their cadaver is perhaps a single odd and unique relationship that can be had in this world. Working with cadavers is a lesson, not just in anatomy but life and death. Death an essential part of medical training, a force that every physician fights against and humbled by.
We all work to sustain life but it does all start with a wooden silent dead body known as the cadaver, In my case, Mr. Body # 9. Thank you sir! I and my countless patients thank you for your sacrifice.

Today is a very significant day , no , not because it’s Amazon deal day. It’s a very important day for me.This day propelled me into action and a new course of life. This day I got , a not so gentle reminder that life is short and that I had needed that reminder. Today exactly two years ago, the breast surgeon said, ” I am so sorry!”

Now every time , I look in the mirror I realize that life is short but it’s richness is what I still have control over. My days are now measured in quality, smiles , gratitude, good deeds and experiences. The seconds, minutes and hours matter but I have no say in the total count. So rather than obsessing about it, I will continue to make the best of what I can change and rest I will accept with gratitude. Each waking moment without pain is a gift , every day without fear is a blessing.

Two years ago, I was unaware of what resided inside of me until I had to summon all that I had , to fight the illness called Cancer. My life since then has followed this post cancer trajectory with little victories along the way but what I value most is how it has changed me for the better.

When they said don’t sweat the small stuff, I never fully grasped it because I had the option of being stressed and neurotic. After cancer, however, I try and live it every day…if I do sweat the small stuff, the stress will kill me. I understand that. I value a good night’s sleep more than a late movie or web surfing. I take care of myself. I say ” no” more often and take my emotional energy where it’s valued. I sometimes deviate but I keep trying. Friends mean so much even the ones that I have never met. Friendships are truly the essence of life. I couldn’t have gone through the last two years without friends.

I want to thank everyone for being there for me. I think there is lots of goodness in the world and that above all lessons learnt in the last 2 years, most important one is that I am one very lucky person. Life is ever changing, it’s how you appraise the change and what you make of it. And if I could, I would now break into the “Let it go ” song and start running for maximum impact????????

Second cancer anniversary, reposting from last year

Responding to Nancy’s point ‘s blogging challenge:

1. I lived at home till about 25 and then picked up and moved alone half way across the globe.

2. I have circled around the earth once.

3. I can burp on request.

4. I can read four languages.

5. English is not my first language.

6. I hate mathematics

7. I draw and sketch.

8. I don’t know how to swim but recently started to learn.

9. I am allergic to Adriamycin

10. I hate peeling potatoes and cutting cantaloupes

11. I cannot stand the smell of a boiled egg.

12. I dont have my gall bladder.

13. I enjoy talking to strangers and make friends easily

14. I enjoy traditional Pakistani and indian food and cook it too

15. I dont have a  middle name