In 2009, I had breast cancer. I did everything the system asked: surgery, chemo, reconstruction. I survived. I looked “normal.”

But something was missing. Not just comfort. Connection. The implants felt foreign, like strangers beneath my skin. I stopped looking in mirrors. I stopped feeling. What lived inside me wasn’t just discomfort. It was disconnection.

One week after DIEP surgery. Returning home to my body.

Fifteen years later, I made a decision. I chose a DIEP reconstruction - a surgery using my own body to rebuild my breast. A way of becoming whole with what is mine. I didn’t know how big a decision it was. How long the recovery would be. How deeply it would stir everything I had quietly packed away.

But I said yes. Because this time, it wasn’t just about surviving. It was about returning to myself.

I was anxious. I read every post in DIEP support groups, searching for comfort. I trained my body to be strong. I prepared my supplements. I packed arnica. I tried to stay calm. But the truth? I was scared. I often caught myself holding my breath.

The day of DIEP surgery

I arrived at the hospital at 7 in the morning. Four surgeons. Six hours of surgery. I don’t remember going under. I remember waking up, dry-mouthed, being handed ice cream. Then another. I remember the nurses saying my lung wasn’t working properly. The mobile X-ray unit. The kind doctor reassuring me it was precautionary. The way they lifted my swollen body to slide a plate beneath me.

That night, they woke me every hour to check circulation, temperature, and healing. I was too drowsy to ask questions. Too grateful to complain. On the third day, they removed the drains. I went home. Bruised. Bandaged. Tender. Brave.

Coming home after DIEP to a new body

This week has been about meeting myself again. I’ve been swollen, sore, tired, and restless. I’ve also felt proud, vulnerable, and deeply human.

I walk slowly, bent over a little - my skin pulled tight between the scars. I look like someone older. But I walk. Every day. A little further. I reduce painkillers when I can. I try to understand what my body is telling me.

What I didn’t see coming. One week after DIEP.

I didn’t expect the fluid to collect in hard lumps.
I didn’t expect the nightly restlessness.
Or the headaches.
Or how hard it would be to wear the compression gear 24/7.
I didn’t expect to cry - not from pain, but from the intensity of it all.

But I also didn’t expect how quickly I would start to feel stronger. How my body, even with its bruises and scars, would feel more like mine.

Healing isn’t linear

Sleep: Fragmented. Supported by a giant pregnancy pillow. I wake stiff and dizzy.

• Digestion: A rollercoaster. First constipation. Then diarrhea. I learned to adjust. Potatoes. Bananas. Water. Patience.

• Food: I test one thing at a time. Rye bread with sardines and eggs? Fine. Goat cheese and cherries? Not yet. Cake with cream? Today, yes. I needed the comfort.

• Wound care: Saltwater. Gauze. Breath. Sometimes I nearly faint while cleaning the wounds. Not from fear. Because of how raw it still feels.

What’s been the hardest?

• Losing control

• Not knowing what’s normal

• The weight of nighttime

• Not being able to sleep when I’m exhausted

• Feeling like a guest in my own body

What’s been the best?

The pride of doing something hard.
The kindness I feel toward my own body.
The tiny victories: walking a little further, needing fewer pills, feeling less afraid.

The tears that feel clean, not broken.

If you’re considering DIEP

This surgery isn’t just medical. It’s emotional architecture. One that touches more than your skin. It reshapes the body, yes - but also memory, identity, and grief. But if your body is asking for something more natural, something real, something truly yours… then maybe this is the right path.

And if you’re in your first week after surgery, in the fog and the fatigue- I see you. I am you. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to be proud, too.

If you’re walking this path too, know that you’re not alone.
I wrote this for me. And maybe for you, too.

Fifteen years ago, I said yes to survival.
This time, I said yes to coming home to myself.

If it helps, I’d love to hear your story.

A gentle note on practical things

(What helped me recover, beyond the words)

After writing this, I realized there are a few practical companions I haven’t mentioned. Small things that have made a big difference:

• Supplements I took post-op:

  • Zinc and collagen to support skin and scar healing.

  • Magnesium in the evening for muscle relaxation and calmer sleep.

  • Triphala to gently support digestion and body detox (especially helpful after anesthesia and painkillers).

• Movement:
  Even when bent and tired, I walk. Every day. Several times. Not to prove anything, but to befriend this new version of myself. Each walk is a quiet act of connection.

• My new body:
  I listen to it. It’s slower, tender, surprising and I love it more with every passing hour. Not because it’s “better.” Because it’s mine.

• My most-loved recovery object:
  A pregnancy pillow. Yes, really. I’m in love. I carry it from bed to sofa and can’t believe I lived all these years without it. It cradles, supports, softens, holds.

Read also: Healing. One imperfect day at a time.