MASTECTOMY was written to husbands, family members, friends, associates, and medical professionals who care deeply about women living through and after the devastation of mastectomy. Seven young mothers openly disclose personal information about their bodies, their sexual behaviors, and their innermost hopes and fears. You will be amazed at how these women struggled to regain a sense of autonomy after realizing that they were no longer in control of their own bodies.
A common thread weaves through all of the stories – these courageous women willed to live a full life despite their ordeals. By reading their stories about how they took charge of their lives and journeyed from devastation to resilience, I know you will be better prepared for the mastectomy experience as a patient, a doctor, a caregiver, a friend, or a family member.
As you read about life after breast cancer, you will realize the need to listen to their fears, concerns, and discussions of their options. Above all, they need to know that you are there with them. A line from an old movie goes something like this: “Do you know what was worse than going to the dark side of the moon? It was going there alone.” When confronted with the devastating discovery of breast cancer, every woman needs information about her options. But even more, she needs to hear: “You are no less a woman. You are not in this alone — I am here with you.”
The book illuminates the world of mastectomy patients through their innermost thoughts, allowing the reader to feel their devastation and marvel at the ways they created resilience.
Dr. Patricia K. Morgan is a licensed psychologist in private practice in Clarion Pennsylvania. Upon completing her Ph.D. in clinical psychology, Dr. Morgan taught psychology classes at Clarion University and then worked as lead therapist in the Family-based program at Northwest Human Development in Warren, Pennsylvania. She opened her practice in 2006.
Patricia started college part-time the same year that her son Jeff started first grade. After earning college degrees in business and psychology and a master’s degree in education, she worked as a trainer and consultant in areas related to communication skills, leadership training, and quality circles. Her contributions were recognized by being listed in Who’s Who of American Women – 1983-1984 and Who’s Who in the World – 1984-1985.
Dr. Morgan attended graduate school at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she was awarded her Ph.D. in clinical psychology. She is a member of the American Psychological Association, the Pennsylvania Psychological Association, and the International Positive Psychology Association. In addition to five college degrees, she is certified as a Parent Effectiveness Instructor, an Anger Management Facilitator, a Hypnotherapist, and an Executive Coach. You can visit her website at www.ClarionPsych.com. She can be contacted by email at DrMorgan@ClarionPsych.com.
Once he cut out the lump, he excused himself and said he’d see me in about 10 or 15 minutes. He was going to take it to the pathology lab. The other people in the room did what they had to do. They gave me a few stitches and put me in a wheel chair and started wheeling me into the room to meet my husband and the doctor to find out the results. A couple of nurses very cheerfully said, “Good luck Fran, I hope everything’s okay.” On the outside, I said, “Thank you very much.” But on the inside I’m thinking, “Good luck? I have 95 percent odds that this is not cancer; it’s just a cyst.”
I met my husband and I told him about all of the people in the room and the huge production; I couldn’t believe it. I was yapping on about that when the doctor came in. I could tell instantly by looking at his face what he was going to tell me. He was in shock. Thank goodness my husband was there. This was the same surgeon who had given me the 95 percent odds. I was in the chair that they brought me in. He sat down in the only remaining chair, and my husband was standing up leaning against the wall. Sitting across from me, the doctor said, “I’m sorry, but I have to inform you that you do have breast cancer.” That was really hard. Oh my gosh! It was devastating. I could not believe it. There was nothing to ever prepare me for a moment like that. If only the doctor had said, “It doesn’t feel like cancer, but it could be. I’ll give you 50-50 odds.” Or maybe not even giving odds at all, not knowing. He could have said, “I don’t know, let’s get it checked out, but try not to worry.” I latched onto the great odds, so I was completely unprepared. That was one of the reasons it was devastating. I wasn’t prepared mentally. But the most devastating thing was that my mom died of breast cancer less than a year earlier. Now I had it also. I was in shock.
As the doctor was giving me my options of this treatment or surgery or that surgery and all these different pieces of information, out of the corner of my eye I saw my husband starting to slide down the wall. I looked at him and he was about to faint. I said, “Fred, are you okay?” The doctor took one look and called out, “Nurse!