Breast cancer upends everything, sleeping included. I’m not talking about the terrifying death thoughts that keep you up all night. That’s a given. I’m talking about the actual sleeping position itself.

I am a stomach sleeper. Face mushed into the pillow, maybe some drool oozing out of my mouth. But, yeah, a stomach sleeper, nonetheless.

When I was diagnosed with Breast cancer, the biopsy was the first thing that disrupted that sleep position. Yep, drilling into my breast, extracting “suspicious mass” tissue to confirm, yay or nay, if there’s cancer going on- that would change some things. And I had not one, not two, but three of these biopsies when all was said and done.

With each biopsy incident, I recovered with ice packs to the affected areas, ever- aware I better not make a wrong move. There was risk of infection to each drilled spot. I was sore, feeling pulsating sensitivity in both breasts.

So, I became accustomed to sleeping like Dracula in a coffin. I camped out on the couch after each one of these procedures were done. I chose the couch to avoid flipping all over the place in my queen-size bed. I needed the “barrier” of the couch’s back to keep me immobilized enough, to prevent me from rolling over, unconsciously landing in the stomach sleep position.

Granted, I could have easily rolled over in the other direction, falling onto the floor. I didn’t have the full protective guard rails of an adult-size crib. But, thankfully, that didn’t happen. I was an uncomfortable, sore-chested Dracula lying on her couch-coffin.

A couple of months after my biopsies, I had my bilateral mastectomy. Now, there were no longer breasts, only bandages, stitches and grenade-looking drains plugged into me like some science fiction creature. Sleeping on my stomach, again, was not an option, especially with those pesky drains. Whenever I moved the wrong way, they pulled at me, stinging me.

Breast surgery recovery meant I had to convalesce for six weeks, with limited mobility. Sleeping, once again, was a factor. I did my best to remedy the situation.

To pillow or not to pillow- that is the question.

Initially, pillows seemed like a no-brainer. Suggestions for a slew of them were made by medical staff and Breast cancer survivors alike. Pillows, pillows and more pillows. Pillows to the rescue.

Easier said than done.

First, the body pillow solution. It was suggested that I sleep with one of the suckers; prop it up against my back, gently creating a, “S” curve to my spine, making me lean ever so slightly to the “unaffected” side. Nice theory. But I had no “unaffected” side concerning my chest. Bilateral mastectomy, everyone. Both sides.

I just couldn’t get the body pillow to work. It was too bulky, always falling off the edge of the couch.

And I tried regular pillows, propping my head and my legs. That just made my neck ache; I felt like I was a fold- up chair. Eventually, during a fitful night’s sleep, they’d land on the floor. I also tried accent pillows. The whole thing was just out of control. They, likewise, all made their way to the floor. At least the floor looked really comfortable. But, for me, discomfort was something I had to resign myself to, no way around it.

Still, tried and true: flat Dracula, on my back, no frills, no pillows, just sore.

Sleeping While Burned?

And then came radiation. Yep, you guessed it, more Dracula in the coffin.

As if biopsies, surgery, stitches, drains, pillow overkill and general discomfort weren’t fun enough, now, let’s burn the skin for extra giggles!

Radiation is self-explanatory. Yes, I voluntarily chose to burn my chest area, again, in the name of eradicating cancer. And I knew sleeping would be affected making this decision.

Burned skin, overly- tight skin, peeling skin- check, check, check. Everyone’s all here. And none of it was conducive to getting a restful night’s sleep, and certainly not on my stomach.

For the majority of my 30-day treatment, things were rather uneventful, just varying degrees of burning. Dracula sleeping, once again. But, oh, probably around day twenty, the tightening started making me feel like my skin was going to split apart. Not a reassuring feeling. Only by applying a wonderful radiation-specific cream to the area did I get relief.

By day twenty-seven, I then started the peeling process. Besides the overall discomfort, now I had another issue: not leaving my peeled skin all over the place.

I know, sexy.

But I was fidgety. So, on the couch, on the floor, on my blankets were pieces of my pretty peeled skin. It reminded me of when I had Chicken Pox at age sixteen for sheer shedding power.

And that complicated the next phase of my radiation adventures: itchiness.

No Scratching Zone!

Burned, tight and peeling skin were not fun enough for yours truly. Oh, no! Let’s have me be at my absolute itchiest at two o’clock in the morning, with a burned chest! Watch the fun!

This was probably the most discomfort I felt doing my Dracula sleeping/Breast cancer recovering. Pain and drains (rhyme much?) were one thing. Not being able to stomach sleep was no fun fest, either.

But itching, itching!

At precisely those burned, peeling spots, especially going into my right arm, there existed such an agony that, of course, in my healing state, I could not alleviate. I could not scratch. My chest was too vulnerable. I wasn’t out of the woods concerning infection and complications. Flashing my care team on a daily basis was evidence of that. The constant skin checking. Was everything Kosher? Or was it, danger, danger?

The radiation-specific cream helped somewhat. But itching is itching. And tentative attempts at rubbing instead of scratching the affected spots did not stop it.

So, there I was, two in the morning, in darkness, on my coffin-couch, feeling irritated, involuntarily nocturnal and tired. I was counting my radiation sessions instead of sheep, hoping there was light at the end of the sleep-deprived tunnel.

Eventually, my thirty days were up. Post-radiation meant its own recovery, just applying lotion to the area, doing skin checks. Gradual healing.

And Dracula sleeping in the coffin, for almost a year.

Now What?

Things are moving on now. Life is changing. Hopefully, I’m continuing to heal. I have finally reached a point where I am able to sleep on my stomach. (Does anyone hear an angel choir, or it that just me?) I was nervous about doing so for the longest time. I constantly worried, “Is it too soon?” “Will I wreck my chest?”

But no. I do now have to sleep with one of those accent pillows wedged just so. But, occasionally, I still sleep on my back. That initially surprised me. I suppose I learned- formed- a newer habit.

It’s been an unlikely head’s up, or rather, chest up.

Breast cancer has showed me that yes, indeed, I can do whatever I set my mind to. I just didn’t know that would include my sleeping Dracula impression.

But you do what you gotta do.

And, “I v-v-ant to get some sleep!”

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse