Four Operations in Five Months: What Breast Cancer Surgery Taught Me About Control.
Four operations in five months changes you in ways you don’t expect.
Not just physically, although that part is obvious. It changes you mentally, emotionally. Quietly, in ways you only begin to understand when you finally have the space to look back.
When you’re first told you need surgery for breast cancer, you think about the operation itself. You don’t really think about what it’s like to do it again, and again, and again.
The build-up. The waiting. The phone calls. The appointments. The fear that creeps in at 2am. The early mornings, the fasting, the hospital gowns. The same corridors, the same smells. The same quiet moment when you realise ‘I’m here again’. Strangest of all, how quickly it becomes routine.
The Illusion of Control
Before all of this, I believed I had a reasonable level of control over my life. Not completely, of course, but enough to feel steady. Enough to feel like I was steering things in the right direction.
Surgery changes that.
Because suddenly, you’re placing your body, and your future into the hands of people you may have only just met. Highly skilled professionals, yes. Surgeons, anaesthetists, nurses who do this every day. But still, essentially strangers.
You have to trust them in a way that feels both necessary and deeply uncomfortable.
And at some point, whether you resist it or not, the realisation lands. You are not in control anymore. At least, not in the way you once were. Perhaps the only real control you have left at this stage is your mindset.
Redefining What Control Means
That realisation could easily spiral into fear. Some days, it nearly did. But over time, something shifted.
I began to understand that while I couldn’t control the diagnosis, the procedures, or the outcome, I could still control how I met each moment.
Each time I went in for surgery, I had a choice.
I could arrive overwhelmed, tearful, consumed by fear, adding another layer of stress to an already intense situation.
Or I could try, as best I could, to steady myself. To breathe. To approach it with a sense of calm, even if that calm felt fragile.
That calm became my anchor.
It didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid. I was, every single time. But I learned to manage that fear internally. To prepare myself mentally before each procedure. To talk myself through what was coming, rather than letting my thoughts run ahead of me.
And slowly, something unexpected happened. It got easier. Not because the situation became less serious, but because I became stronger within it.
The Quiet Lessons in Vulnerability
There’s a particular kind of vulnerability that comes with surgery, especially repeated surgery.
You rely on other people for everything. You’re guided, monitored, reassured, and at times, completely dependent. There’s very little privacy, very little dignity, and very little control over the situation.
That can feel unsettling. Even frightening. But there’s also something else in that experience, something quieter, but just as important.
You learn that trust is not weakness.
Trusting your medical team. Trusting the process. Trusting your own ability to get through something difficult. These aren’t passive acts, they’re active, necessary choices. And in many ways, they become a different kind of strength.
Looking back I can see that my attitude played a part. Not in the outcome itself, but in how I experienced it. Choosing calm where I could, preparing mentally and allowing myself to adapt, made the journey more manageable.
On the Other Side
Eventually, the cycle ends.
The appointments slow down. The routines stop. The hospital visits become less frequent. And then come the words you hope to hear, but hardly allow yourself to believe: The all clear.
Relief arrives first. A kind of lightness that’s hard to describe unless you’ve felt its absence. Alongside that relief comes something else, perspective.
A deeper sense of gratitude. A greater awareness of what really matters. And a quiet, steady pride in having made it through something that once felt completely overwhelming.
What Helped Me Through It
Looking back, there are a few things that genuinely helped me navigate those months, things I wish I’d known from the start.
1. Prepare mentally the day before, not on the day
The morning of surgery is a blur. You’re fasting, being checked, answering questions, things move quickly. The real mental preparation happens the day before. I’d take time to sit with my thoughts, acknowledge the fear, and gently walk myself through what was coming. It didn’t remove the fear, but it softened it.
2. Keep your world small
Thinking too far ahead became overwhelming very quickly. So I stopped. No ‘what ifs,’ no projecting outcomes. Just one step at a time. Get to the hospital. Check in. Walk to theatre. Breaking everything down made it manageable.
3. Choose calm where you can
This isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about not adding extra stress where it isn’t needed. Slowing your breathing, grounding yourself, sitting quietly, or even reading while you wait, these small things create space. Before each operation I found reading helpful. It gave my mind somewhere else to go.
4. Trust the professionals—even when it feels uncomfortable
Letting go of control is one of the hardest parts. But reminding myself that these teams do this every day helped me hand things over. And when I felt anxious, I said so. Every time, they met that honesty with reassurance.
5. Accept the vulnerability
There’s no real dignity in hospital gowns or being wheeled out of theatre. You feel exposed, dependent, and out of your comfort zone. Fighting that feeling only made it harder. Accepting it as part of the process made it easier.
6. Your mindset shapes your experience
This was one of the biggest lessons. My attitude didn’t change the diagnosis or the outcome, but it changed how I moved through it. Choosing calm where possible, preparing mentally, and allowing myself to adapt made the experience far more manageable.
A Final Thought
If you’re facing surgery, especially more than once, it’s okay to feel afraid. That fear is completely valid.
But you may also find strength in places you didn’t expect. In small moments. In quiet decisions. In simply getting through one step at a time.
Because sometimes, control isn’t about changing what’s happening.
It’s about how you choose to meet it.
Please share this with anyone you think it might be helpful to. Follow for more on @mushroomlondon.com
Finally if you would like to share your experience feel free to DM or email me - tina.foster@live.co.uk
Thank you for reading
Tina x