Breast Reconstruction After Cancer: I Finally Made My Decision

I've been on the fence about it

For a long time, I’ve been on the fence about whether or not to get reconstruction after breast cancer. When I was diagnosed a little over two years ago, one of the things I joked with friends was, “At least I’ll get amazing new boobs out of this!” I wouldn’t consider surgery under normal circumstances, so this felt like a free pass to an upgraded me.

But breast reconstruction was way down on the priority list in those first few months. My focus was on getting through cancer treatment and staying alive. I had a single mastectomy, meaning I had my right breast fully removed (the one with the tumor) while the other one was left intact.

Some women have the option of having reconstruction done at the same time as their mastectomy, but that wasn’t offered to me. I would need radiation, which can damage reconstructed tissue and increase the risk of complications or repeat surgeries.

As the weeks ticked on, I was surprised by how little I missed my breast. I would shove one of those “chicken fillet” inserts in my bra and get on with my day. I was handed pamphlets at the doctor’s office about getting a prosthetic fitted, but I couldn’t be bothered. My life felt like an endless series of medical appointments, and I wasn’t about to add another one to the roster.

The only time I felt my scar constrained me was when I was in a changing room with other women, or changing out of my swimsuit on the beach after a cold swim with girlfriends. While I knew they wouldn’t judge, seeing a scar where a breast should be would be jarring for anyone. I was never self-conscious about nudity before, and I hated that I was now.

Once six months had passed following my final radiation treatment, I got the OK from my doctors to start the reconstruction process. It was January, and my oncologist framed it as a gift to myself after all I’d gone through.

“Just in time for summer!” she said.

I gave a smile, trying to appear excited. But inside, I felt tired at the thought of yet more doctor’s appointments, more people assessing my body, more needles, more days in bed. I was finally starting to feel a little like myself again—my hair was growing back, I had more energy—and I didn’t want to interrupt this seemingly upward trajectory.

Still, I met with a breast reconstruction surgeon. The appointment was in an old stone building in Marseille’s 8th arrondissement, not far from the sea. Inside, it felt more like a luxury cosmetic clinic than a medical office. It was a far cry from the drab hospital rooms I’d been inhabiting for months, and I felt out of place and vulnerable.

An assistant took photos of me topless before I met with the surgeon. He was polite as he outlined the plan: silicone implant, followed by a fat transfer to soften the contour, and later a third surgery to reconstruct a nipple.

I wanted to cry the entire time, and bit my inner lip to stop the tears.

As soon as I got in the car, I broke down. My husband squeezed my hand and listened.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” I said.

I realized I needed to have a long break from making any medical decisions. I was also wary of silicone implants. I had read accounts of women who later had them removed because of chronic fatigue and other unexplained symptoms.

So I waited.

Another summer came and went, and I did just fine minus a breast. Maybe I could live flat on one side forever?

Another summer passed

And then I had my ovaries removed. The process left me with more scars, more taken from me. So much of what made me feel like a woman was gone: My breast, my long hair, my fertility, my sex drive. My thinking around reconstruction started to change. Getting implants wouldn’t replace all that had been lost, but it felt like one small way I could reclaim something for myself.

Suddenly, I felt a sense of urgency. If I was going to do it, I needed to do it soon. What had initially felt empowering (I’d decide if and when I was ready), now was making me feel stuck.

There was another factor: I was also considering removing my left breast to lower my risk of developing another breast cancer. Doing so wasn’t obligatory, but my doctors supported me if it would give me peace of mind. And a bonus: it could be done at the same time as the reconstruction surgery.

So, I could reduce my risk of another cancer and resolve the reconstruction question in one go. I’m a sucker for efficiency.

I’ll have the surgery in the spring. The new breast will look perfectly round, and the fat to soften it and the nipple will come later. I know the surgery won’t give me back the body I had—that body is gone. What it will give me is agency. Cancer made so many decisions for me. This one is mine.