Anxiety Got Me Cutting Off an Extra Tit

A doctor told me to "not get surgery to cure anxiety." I wish surgery cured anxiety!

Don’t get surgery to cure anxiety.

That’s what my plastic surgeon told me during our first consultation. He was walking me through his part of what will be my mastectomy and first reconstructive surgery, during which he’ll be placing expanders in my chest that will slowly stretch the skin and muscle to prepare my body for bigger, 14-hour reconstructive surgery later.

I let him know I want a bilateral mastectomy (both breasts) as opposed to a unilateral mastectomy (one breast). I want to do anything possible to assure I never get cancer again. It’s never a certainty, of course, but the closer I can get to 0% chance of recurrence, the better. Removing both breasts gets me closer to that zero, even though I don’t carry a genetic disposition for it. My radiation oncologist said my cancer was just bad luck, which doesn’t make it any easier to accept; doesn’t help my anxiety.

So, I want a double masty. I want it now, or rather in July when my surgery is scheduled. Mast my tits up!

Both my plastic surgeon and surgical oncologist (who will perform the mastectomy part) gently suggested I stick to a unilateral mastectomy to lessen the chance of any possible infection. I could get the other mastectomy done later, either during my full reconstructive surgery or in a separate surgery. I’d either get an implant in the meantime or rock a cone tit for a year with an XXL rubber chicken cutlet in my bra to even it out. Neither sound appealing.

While both of my surgeons said they’re happy to perform a double mastectomy, and my plastic surgeon even walked me through what would happen should I actually get an infection, he still said those words that have stuck with me, I assume after catching the low-hum of unease I was radiating harder than the actual radiation oozing out of my pores.

“Don’t get surgery to cure anxiety.”

I know he meant it to assure me that I’ll be okay. That I don’t need to go nuclear on myself out of fear of the cancer hopping to the other side. But babe, you have no idea what anxiety does to me. How stress has wreaked havoc on my mind and body. No surgery in the world besides maybe a lobotomy would cure my anxiety. With cancer, there’s a lot to be anxious about, and it doesn’t make all the things I was anxious about pre-cancer go away. I’m dealing with a rat king of anxiety over here.