Rica Mendes: One Year Later

Rica Mendes, who blogged about her breast cancer diagnosis and treatment here on this blog on LoHud.com last year, says she feels more like a “recoverer” than a “survivor.”


Tania Savayan / The Journal News

A quote from her Rica’s Livestrong Advetures  blog:

Once the scalpels invaded my skin, once parts of me were carved up and discarded, replaced by synthetic prosthesis, I became something… someone… else. I think the question still looms, who or what have I become?

We’ll chat Mendes, a Livestrong Leader, at noon Oct. 4 about the challenges of coping with cancer after the treatment is over. Join us by following @lohud and using the hashtag #lohudbc. Rica’s Twitter handle is @rica620.

Here’s the blog post in its entirety:

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

My, how time flies…

Sometimes, it’s weird how time flies.

Sunday, 1 year ago, I had my double mastectomy. 1 year and 2 days ago, I still had my breasts, nipples, normal sensation, etc. Now? I have foreign parts installed, tissue that’s technically my own flesh and blood, but feel nothing, let alone hardly feel a part of me, and a strange numbing feeling in my chest.

I think Sunday, far more than my cancerversary, signaled that it’s been a year since I felt “normal.” Even knowing I had cancer in my body, I still felt whole. I still felt like myself. Once the scalpels invaded my skin, once parts of me were carved up and discarded, replaced by synthetic prosthesis, I became something… someone… else. I think the question still looms, who or what have I become?

The obvious response, given the context of this blog is, “SURVIVOR.” But I’m not so sure about that. “Recoverer,” yes. I recovered from surgery. I recovered from the infections.

But I didn’t survive – at least, I’m not sure that I have. My breasts didn’t survive. My hair didn’t survive. My feelings and senses didn’t survive. Most of the skin in my chest area survived.

My strength didn’t survive. My cycling and athletics haven’t survived… not yet. My ability to find ways to bounce back better than before hasn’t surfaced, yet. I’m struggling to do it.

And I can’t find a way to embrace the new boobs, yet. Perhaps if my nerve endings were still functional, I could. Or if everytime I flex a muscle, they didn’t ripple and bounce around like a freakish body builder, I might be able to start. They still don’t look like breasts.  One is larger than the other, one is fuller than the other, the horizontal scars are still visible, and have left some strange sculpting. They nipples still look like Frankenboob. Forget the cancer: If I had breasts like this before, I’d be seeking reconstruction.

By no means am I saying that Dr. Nordberg did a bad job – not at all! He did a great job, given what the task at hand was. The left side that is fuller and bigger is that way because of the scar tissue, etc – it was problematic from the beginning. The right side just settled the way that it did. And he’s trying to fix things, but this is going to be a long time until it’s close to where I envision being able to begin to accept them as being a part of me.

And my hair, oh, my hair. Yes, I’m not bald. But bald was a “cooler” look than what I have going on now. I look like a retarded Little Orphan Annie. Yes, it’s great that I have the curls that I paid (well, my parents paid) for when I was in high school and didn’t quite get. But they don’t go anywhere. They curl in on themselves and don’t grow down. It’s like having a head of ingrown curly hairs. I touch my head and I feel a sheep, not my hair.

So, neither my breasts nor my hair feel like “me.”

I don’t know.

One year later, and I still feel so far away from really recovering, let alone surviving.

For my personal journey, the cancer was the easy part – it was caught before it caused any pain. Yes, I survived the cancer, I suppose. But what I’m really struggling to survive is the surgery, the treatment, the chemo, the after-effects, the recovery, the butchery.

Liz Johnson

Liz Johnson is the food editor of The Journal News and LoHud.com, for which she's won awards from the New York News Publishers Association, the Association of Food Journalists and the Associated Press. She lives in Nyack with her husband and daughter on a tiny suburban lot they call their farm — with fruit trees, an herb garden, and a yardful of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, shallots, cucumbers, zucchini, radishes, cabbage, peppers, Brussels sprouts and carrots and four big blueberry bushes.