But when her plastic surgeon recommended a skin graft surgery to build up new nipples, she decided to incorporate art into her own personal healing process.

For Meg, that meant getting nipples tattooed onto her body instead of the graft surgery, and — after months of searching for an artist willing to take on her challenge — she’s about to get the work done!

Check this out out:

The website is featuring 8 parts of a documentary on Meg. I’ve been in touch with both Meg and the folks at growingbolder.com (for months now actually) and will be bringing you a Q&A later this week or next.

Before I prepare that Q&A, I thought I’d ask you all … any questions for Meg?

Post from: Blisstree

Reconstructed Nipples Vs. Tattoo Artistry

Did you see her on Good Morning America this morning? Robin Roberts interviewed her, which is poignant as well. But wow, Christina applegate. She’s amazingly strong, amazingly together (so unlike Kelly Bundy, the character she played that I’m most familiar with), amazingly inspirational. I love her.

If you missed my post on her diagnosis, here it is.

She made a seriously brave decision in my opinion, for a young celebrity. After her recent breast cancer diagnosis she learned she was BRCA1 positive; not a big surprise since her mother is a survivor as well. And though she had good margins after two lumpectomies she decided upon a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy; she wanted to be rid of her vulnerable breast tissue and increase her chances of staying cancer free. And she appeared on air to tell the world she chose a double mastectomy.

I’m just so amazed at her poise and candor. I’m wowed. Truly wowed.

If you missed the interview, here’s the link to the ABC site featuring the video feed — totally worth watching. I was mesmerized.

Not that we’re here to judge … but what do you think of her choice? Are you as surprised as me to learn that she put aside her vanity and made a smart, proactive choice? Do you think she went overboard for someone with an early diagnosis? Do you think she’ll be getting some serious implants in her reconstructive effort, soon to come? What do you think?

(Image: Newscom)

Post from: Blisstree

Christina Applegate is my new hero

I was never more dependent on others, since my childhood days, than I was after my TRAM flap reconstruction, immediately following my double mastectomy.

I mean seriously, I was cut hip-to-hip, hardly able to walk upright let alone lift anything for weeks, all the while nursing a seriously sore chest that had been to battle and back. Some of you know first hand what I mean, don’t you? That particular surgery defines debilitation — it’s unreal.

When I first returned from the hospital, I learned some serious lessons about humility. I was officially bedridden, with more drains coming out of my body than I could count on one hand, a catheter for my urine because my system went on hiatus during my time away, and a case of constipation that sent my best friend to CVS in the middle of the night to clear the rack of Fleet enemas. (God blessed her tenfold that night, I assure you.)

I was afraid to be left alone in the house with my three children — God forbid something went wrong with one of them, I couldn’t be responsive. The mere thought of being the only adult in the house would have brought me to my knees were I not already permanently horizontal.

Night after night I cried at my dependence on others. Not just because I was forced to be humble, but because I was a mother for God’s sake, a mother! I was supposed to be the one caring for others in that phase of my life. I was too young for it to be the other way around. I was a mother … and I couldn’t even care for myself.

I knew I was blessed to have people driving my children to and from school each day. Making their meals. Doing their laundry. I was blessed … but so, so saddened by my inability to be the capable mother I’d previously been, doing the things that I perceived capable mothers did.

It seemed so wrong that while I was working so hard to foster my children’s independence, I had lost mine.

The Royal Society for the Promotion of Health published a paper a while back explaining that the aim that the child should grow up to become confidently independent is synonymous with the aim that he should grow up mentally healthy.

Confidently independent and mental healthy. Synonymous. Exactly. Therein lied my quandary. I no longer felt mentally healthy to boot.

That’s why I started to feel that with a loss of independence, my psyche had been dealt a more damaging blow during my recovery than my body.

Not being one to roll over and succumb to my diminished health, I did everything I was supposed to do to recover. I gave in to the help others were generously providing. I took it one day at a time, quite literally when I started to walk around my house. And I set small goals for myself (get to the bathroom by myself was one of my first goals on my list, believe you me!). Slowly but surely I regained my physical ability … so slowly but surely I started doing more things for myself.

One day, one particularly sunny, summer day, a friend of mine swung by to get me before she picked up my oldest son from school. My daughter, my middle son and I climbed into her minivan and drove the mile drive to the elementary school. We stood outside the doors waiting for the bell to ring and I stood there with tears in my eyes waiting for the doors to open and I stood there … waiting for my child to come out to see his momma.

The moment my child ran into my arms outside his school that day was the moment I realized I was back. Maybe not completely back physically, but completely back mentally. The moment my child ran into my arms … that was the moment I realized a new holiday had surfaced in my life. That day was My Personal Independence Day.

(Image: Karen Lynch)

Post from: Blisstree

My Personal Independence Day