If you’re navigating the wild in‑between space after a mastectomy — the appointments, the drains, the reconstruction decisions, the emotional whiplash — you already know this season is anything but linear.
One minute you’re scheduling your first chemotherapy infusion. The next, you’re picking up prescriptions, calling insurance, meeting with a nutritionist, and somehow still showing up for reconstructive appointments while your body is trying to heal from a unilateral mastectomy and axillary lymph node dissection.
It’s a lot.
And yet, in the middle of all this medical chaos, I’m noticing a deep, unexpected gratitude for the tiny things I used to rush past.
This post is about that in‑between space — the healing, the fills, the fear, the humor, the grief, and the strange tenderness of rebuilding a body and a life at the same time.
If you’re gathering strength for your own journey, the beginning might be exactly what you need.
👉 Start from the start:
THE NEW NORMAL AFTER MASTECTOMY
Slowing Down Whether I Wanted To or Not
Life looks different these days.
I used to wake up, drink coffee, rush to work, come home, eat dinner, and repeat — just like most of America.
Now?
There’s less rushing and more recovering. More appointments, more procedures, more phone calls, more researching treatment options. I spend a lot more time in sweatpants and far less time wearing makeup.
And in the middle of it all, I’m grateful for things I used to take for granted:
- A cat nap curled up with my old feline, Rascal
- A home‑cooked meal from my husband
- A puppy‑dog‑eyed cuddle from my pitbull
- Warm blankets and cozy socks
Healing has a way of stripping life down to what matters.
Resource on sentinel lymph node’s
What to expect during lymph node biopsy.
THE FIRST TISSUE EXPANDER FILL
A Strange, Surreal Milestone
Three weeks after surgery, I had my first breast fill appointment — 250cc of saline injected into the tissue expander that was placed during my mastectomy.
A tissue expander sits on the chest and gradually stretches the skin to prepare for future reconstruction. I’m planning for an implant on my right side, and after talking through all the options with my surgeon, this was the best choice for me.
Resource on tissue expanders
Here’s a great overview of how tissue expanders work.
Mixed Emotions and Tender Skin
Leading up to the appointment, I felt everything at once.
My skin was still tender. My incision was still healing. And now I was about to have this vulnerable part of my body poked and prodded again.
The nurse reassured me I’d feel pressure, not pain — but still, the anxiety was real.
At the same time, I was excited to have some shape again. To feel less lopsided. To go out in public without feeling like my chest was a flat pancake on one side.
To help during those awkward in‑between weeks, I used a post‑mastectomy bra insert. I had used the brand for years: Inserts in my swimsuits, sport bra’s, and unlined bra’s. Honey Cloudz was an obvious choice for my post mastectomy insert.
Honey Cloudz
This is the bra insert brand I used and loved for years. Then I bought their post-mastectomy insert.
The Magnet, the Valve, and the “Growing Up Skipper” Moment
The nurse used a magnet to locate the metal valve under my skin — honestly, it looked like she was searching for buried treasure in my chest.
Before the saline went in, she removed 200cc of air.
Then came the fill.
I felt like a flat tire being reinflated.
Or more accurately, like the 1970s “Growing Up Skipper” doll whose breasts inflated when you moved her arms.
The Emotional Weight of It All
As I lay on the table, I reached for my husband’s hand. Tears blurred my vision.
Another gown.
Another poke.
Another reminder of cancer.
I was so tired of being in pain.
The fill itself felt like extra weight on my muscle. A muscle relaxer a couple hours before my appointment always helped. The cold sensation of saline spreading through my chest was strange, and standing up afterward felt like adjusting to a new gravitational pull.
At one point, the nurse stepped out and covered my “not‑a‑boob” for modesty. I joked that it didn’t feel like a breast anymore — but hey, no need to traumatize any kids walking by.
REDEFINING STRENGTH AND SCARS
My Body, My Battle Wound
I love my strong body.
It carried me through surgery like a bad bitch.
My mastectomy incision?
I see it as a battle wound — proof that I went to war with cancer and won this round.
The war isn’t over, but I’m still here. Still fighting. Still healing
MOVING TOWARD CHEMOTHERAPY
Balancing Fills, Work, and What Comes Next
While I’m scheduling my first chemotherapy infusion, I’m still receiving weekly fills until we reach the size my surgeon recommends. I’m easing back into work, taking time off when needed, and preparing for four rounds of chemo.
It’s a lot to juggle, but I’m doing it.
The Power of “Me Too”
When I finally started sharing my diagnosis, I heard the same thing over and over:
“I know someone.”
Or even more powerful:
“Me too.”
Women offered support, cookbooks, MealTrain ideas, questions to ask my doctor, and reminders that I’m not alone.
Read more about my mastectomy recovery journey.
A DEDICATION TO RASCAL
My Old Boy
This post is dedicated to my companion of 13 years — my sweet Rascal.
I hoped he’d be here for my chemotherapy cycles, curled beside me during long naps and hard days. But he had been sick for a long time, and we had to say goodbye just days before I wrote this.
I still look for him on the sofa.
I still think I hear his paws in the hallway.
I can’t take a cat nap without missing him.
But I’m grateful he’s no longer in pain.
Rascal, you were the best emotional support animal a girl could ask for.
I love you, old boy.
I always will.
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