How breast surgery hurts husbands, too
NEWSREADER Sian Williams (pictured) announced this week that she has had a double mastectomy, explaining how she found ‘all these emotions that I didn’t want to feel popping to the surface’.
She should be applauded for speaking out about this as the operation can have a lasting effect on people.
While a junior doctor, I worked in breast surgery and saw first-hand the psychological impact of mastectomies. Yes, they often saved someone’s life, but that person could feel a profound sense of loss.
Many patients told me how they felt ‘less of a woman’.
Well-trained breast-care nurses give the women great psychological support. What I did notice, though, is that there is one group of people who are not well looked after: the patients’ husbands or partners.
Of course, it’s only right that the lion’s share of care should be directed to the woman who has undergone such a life-changing procedure, but it’s important to remember that it’s not easy for men here, either.
A few months into the job, a nurse asked me to see one of the patients, who had come into hospital to have her left breast removed. Before going home, she had some questions.
‘The consultant seemed really pleased with the reconstruction. But …’ her voice trailed off. ‘It’s about my husband, doctor.
‘I’m sorry to take up your time with this, but, well, he can’t bear to look at it.
‘Would you talk to him please, doctor?’ I swallowed hard. At medical school we were taught all manner of things about cancer — but how illnesses affect not only the patient but also those around them was not on the syllabus.
I could certainly answer his medical questions, but I sensed that the request was partly because I was a man: perhaps he would feel able to open up to me. So when her husband arrived, I suggested we pop to the canteen. He was a little taken aback, but agreed. Sitting opposite him, there was nothing I could say to make things magically go back to how they were before — and he knew this. All he really wanted was someone to give him their time. While the operation may have been a success, for him the scars were a constant reminder that his wife had nearly died and that he’d been powerless to help her. As a junior doctor, I had a mounting list of jobs to do but talking to him was far more important than filling out forms. As he collected his wife’s painkillers from the nurses, I stopped off to say goodbye to her. ‘He’ll be fine,’ I reassured her. ‘It just takes time.’