My Battle Against Cancer and the Journey to Self-Acceptance
My forties were shaping up to be an outstanding decade. We welcomed our first child, a charming little blonde angel, a few months after my significant birthday. I didn't encounter any postpartum depression and was back in my size two trousers within weeks. I was relishing life as a new mom, and aside from the constant fatigue and the daily vomit-stained clothes I wore, I felt motherhood was even better than I could have envisioned. Then one day, while getting dressed, I felt this strange lump at the top of my right breast. "It's likely just one of those blocked milk ducts," my closest friend assured me a few days later.
"You don't reckon it's breast cancer, do you?" I asked her as we sipped wine while watching The Golden Girls.
"Sarah, it isn't breast cancer."
Just to be on the safe side, I made a doctor's appointment – and well, surprise, it was indeed breast cancer. What followed was a chaotic whirl. Tests, waiting for results, more tests, more waiting, surgery, and yet more waiting. Eventually, I received some positive news. The cancer hadn't spread and the doctors were confident that the double mastectomy had eradicated it all. The type of breast cancer I had was highly estrogen receptor positive, so I would have to take a pill for 5 to 10 years to keep the estrogen in check. Alright, I could handle that.
"Also, we want to give you a monthly injection to induce menopause," my doctor said. What? I was 41. I was far too young for menopause. And what about the side effects?
"There will most likely be some side effects – hot flushes and bone pain being two of the most common," my oncologist elaborated. I guessed I could cope with those. It was somewhat overwhelming to be plunged into menopause immediately, but I had younger friends who were breast cancer survivors and had faced the same situation, and they had fared well. I was fortunate to be alive.
It was approximately a year into the treatment when I noticed my eyesight deteriorating. The medication was keeping the cancer at bay, but it came at a cost. I visited the eye doctor, who informed me that I had early indications of cataracts as well as some fluid behind my eyes that required monitoring. I obtained progressive lenses and dry-eye drops and made an appointment with a specialist. Not a major issue.
A few months later, I underwent a bone-density scan and the results weren't favorable. The deficiency of estrogen had started to take its toll on my bones, and I was pre-osteoporotic. I would need to ensure I was consuming plenty of vitamin D and calcium. Sure, no problem.
And then the final blow struck. One day, I caught my reflection in the car mirror and didn't recognize myself. My skin had begun to sag on my face. During the two years of treatment, my skin had lost a considerable amount of elasticity; I was even developing the dreaded turkey wattle.
I resolved that I wouldn't turn into my grandmother overnight. I indulged in facials, enhanced my skincare routine, and started experimenting with Botox and even a little filler. I underwent skin tightening treatments – the ones that were so painful that if you had secrets, you'd surely give them up. I even tried one that was so gimmicky and ineffective that the clinic I visited discontinued it a month later. Nothing was helping, and I was feeling increasingly disheartened about my appearance. I avoided mirrors because whenever I saw myself and my sagging skin, I felt truly defeated. I made an appointment to consult with a plastic surgeon. I never imagined I'd be contemplating plastic surgery at 46. But then again, I never thought I'd be in my 40s with the estrogen level of an 80-year-old.
The doctor I met, despite having numerous glowing reviews and a luxurious office, made me feel awful. "Did you lose a significant amount of weight recently? I've never seen someone your age with so much excess skin. This is a challenging case. I'll have to treat you like a weight-loss patient."
He also informed me that achieving the results I desired would be more complex than I had anticipated. I was hoping he could simply remove the neck skin and be done. But alas, it doesn't work that way. A facelift would also be necessary.
He proceeded to explain all the potential complications, including the possibility that the operation might not succeed, then handed me an elaborate envelope containing his estimate before leaving the room with a swift wave.
Yeah, this wasn't the doctor for me. I found several other doctors who specialized solely in facial surgery, and while I was impressed with them, something didn't feel quite right.
I ultimately found my doctor in Dr. Philip Solomon. He's a certified facial plastic surgeon with an office just a few miles from my home in Toronto. I shared with him what I hoped to achieve, and he carefully explained to me why a neck lift is often performed in conjunction with a facelift.
"Lifting only the neck would result in an unnatural appearance along your jawline where the skin hangs over the jaw. The neck would be tight, but the jawline and jowl area would be heavy. Lifting both the face and neck yields the most natural outcome," Dr. Solomon described.
He also assisted me in understanding the changes I was observing in my face and the role the sudden onset of menopause was playing. "As one approaches menopause, estrogen levels decline – and this leads to a significant alteration in skin collagen, which decreases with aging. Often, patients who have cancer or diseases that affect hormone levels may notice accelerated signs of aging," Dr. Solomon stated.
During the consultation, he laughed and conversed with me, answered all my inquiries, and reassured me that there is no specific right or wrong time to address these matters. "We no longer rely on age but rather assess the case and determine if surgery is appropriate at this point. Some of our most satisfied patients are in their 40s to early 50s," he said.
The day of my procedure (an extended deep plane facelift, which includes the neck), I was somewhat nervous but also very eager.
When I woke up from the three-and-a-half-hour procedure, I felt better than I had in ages. In fact, I even did a little jig on my way out of the clinic. I was swollen and had drains taped to me, but I was ecstatic.
The initial few days after the surgery, I stayed in a hotel; I didn't want my young children (ages 3 and 6) to see their mom with drains, wrapped in bandages, and unwashed. I experienced very little pain and managed with just regular Tylenol. For me, the most challenging aspect was that I'm a stomach sleeper and after a facelift, you need to sleep elevated and on your back. Needless to say, I slept perhaps an hour those first few days as I adjusted to this new sleeping arrangement. On the fourth day, the drains were removed and I could take a shower and was ready to reunite with my kids. I had some bruising and swelling, which worsened slightly on days five and six, but I kept my head wrapped in a compression garment, which my kids accepted as something Mama had to wear to aid her "face boo-boo." By the second week, I was back to picking up my kids from school and running errands, with the scars almost imperceptible. When I wore my hair down, I looked a little swollen but nothing that anyone would comment on.
My husband was truly wonderful throughout all of this. He didn't think I needed cosmetic surgery, something he would remind me of daily by telling me how beautiful I was. But he supported and respected my decision to go ahead with it, ensuring I had everything I needed to facilitate my recovery (especially my favorite seltzers, soups, and sweet treats). And when he saw me for the first time without the bandages, my face extremely puffy and yellow from bruising, he gave me a big hug, reassuring me that everything would work out. And he was right. Once the six-week mark arrived, I'd almost forgotten I'd undergone anything, as the majority of my swelling had vanished and a lot of the sensation in my face had returned.
Cancer took a lot from me, including my ability to have another baby, but I feel like through this process I regained a part of who I was. It's been nearly three months since my facelift and neck lift, and I don't think I've felt more like myself in a very long time. I don't look markedly different, and not a single person has noticed that I had anything done, but I feel more at ease with myself – and if undergoing plastic surgery helped me get to this point, then it was undoubtedly worth it.
