Guest Blog by Meghan Reddick
Ellyn’s YouTube intro here
Yesterday I had surgery for breast cancer: a lumpectomy and sentinel lymph node biopsy. I wanted to share my experience for anyone about to go through the same. I found real comfort in reading other people’s honest accounts.
To start, I’m ER/PR positive and HER2 negative, with invasive ductal carcinoma. My original biopsy showed at least a 2 cm tumour in the upper left quadrant of my left breast. I found this out looking at My Chart Online, on May 23, 2025. On June 25, I had my lumpectomy surgery at St. Michael’s Hospital CIBC Breast Centre in Toronto.
Morning of Surgery
The day of my lumpectomy surgery started early. I arrived at 7:30 a.m., having followed all the prep instructions like a star patient: no food after midnight, showered with special antibacterial soap, and drank just under 400 mL of clear juice (they suggested apple or cranberry, no pulp), no lotions, no makeup, no nailpolish. I felt so bare! I was also allowed to take an Ativan, which was very kind of them, and very kind of Ativan. I was also allowed to take a Tylenol, which I decided to skip.
The first procedure was at 8 am for a wire insertion. I was supposed to get a seed, which is what my surgeon ordered, but apparently, seeds are $500 more expensive, so the technician/doctor decided to use a wire instead. So in a way, I feel like I made a small contribution to St. Mike’s! The technician/doctor froze me, then inserted the wire while I lay on my side for about 20 minutes, stuck in the mammogram machine. But thanks to Ativan, I floated through it like a woman in a spa commercial.
Then they took me to the nuclear wing. The name alone made me brace for people in hazmat suits. But the staff reassured me: “Don’t worry, your husband can come in — it’s not dangerous here!” This is where they injected the radioactive dye tracer into my breast to find the sentinel lymph nodes. They warned me it might hurt, and it did sting for about ten seconds, sharp like a bee sting, but then it was over fast. My husband held my hand, and I breathed through it, regretting not having popped a Tylenol beforehand. Next time (wait, no next time, please and thank you).
Next came imaging to ensure the dye would light me up. The tracer imaging machine did look a bit like an MRI machine, which set off my claustrophobia alarm bells. But it turned out to be surprisingly open. I could see out the sides, my husband was there again, and they told me I could be pulled out at any time. They took a few images from the top, then the sides. The imaging showed where the dye had travelled, lighting up the sentinel lymph nodes that would be removed. Very cool technology they have now!
Then I was taken to another room, waiting for the OR, and again my husband was allowed in with me. They gave me a cocktail of Tylenol, Advil, and Pregabalin (a.k.a. Lyrica). I found out Pregabalin also reduces anxiety, so I spent the next hour feeling like I was wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Highly recommend it!
A Surprise Lift
Then my surgeon, who also happens to be an oncoplastic surgeon, came by to see me. I asked her about breast symmetry, since I was only having a lumpectomy on one side. Feeling good from the drugs, I casually floated the idea of maybe a little lift on the other, for balance.
She looked me over (I was standing topless while she stared at my breasts, modesty long gone at this point), and immediately took out a black marker and measuring tape, and said, “Let’s do a lift on both sides!” I loved her instantly.
She measured me like she was tailoring couture. “In LA, they go with 15; in New York, 16. But for you, we’ll go with something more natural.” I forget the exact number we landed on, but she made it clear I wasn’t leaving with Hollywood boobies, and that was perfectly fine with me. I nursed two amazing boys, so a little natural droop is part of my story. I wasn’t aiming for LA perky, just Canadian reasonable. So yes, I ended up having not only a lumpectomy but a bilateral mastopexy, which is a breast lift on both sides. Unexpected? Yes. Welcome? Also yes.
Lumpectomy Surgery and Recovery
I was on the surgery table for my lumpectomy, and started shivering, due to nerves, and it was cold in there! They put an oxygen mask on my face to breathe in the sleeping gas and told me to go to my happy place. I think surgery started around 1 p.m., and I was done by about 230/3. I spent roughly 3 hours in recovery, mostly because I was in that cozy, groggy state where everything feels like a dream you can’t quite remember. I’d warned the team that I tend to throw up from anesthesia, so they gave me extra anti-nausea meds. That likely explains why I was so sleepy, but also why I didn’t vomit — so, win.
I did have low oxygen levels. Apparently, I was breathing like someone halfway through a nap in a hammock after margaritas. They kept waking me up as the machine was beeping away, and made me take deep breaths using a little device with a bobble to practice with. Eventually, I woke up and they cleared me to discharge.
What to bring
As for my personal belongings? I packed a ton of just-in-case items, and the hospital staff kindly moved them from room to room for me. In recovery, I thought I’d want my phone, but I was way too out of it to care. By the time I was alert again, I was being wheeled into the discharge room where my husband was waiting. What I found most useful was the little travel neck pillow! Also helpful: warm socks and a zip-up hoodie. Hospitals are chilly, and this was on that 40-degree Toronto heat day!
I slept well that night, mostly because I was exhausted. I propped myself up with pillows and used the neck pillow.
The Next Day
They had used a breathing tube down my throat while I was under, which left me with an irritated throat. Salt water gargles and honey tea helps a lot, though I still sounded like I’d spent the night yelling over loud music at a 90s club. That should go away soon!
Shockingly, post lumpectomy, I have great range of motion in both arms! I can lift them overhead and out to the sides without much discomfort. I know things can tighten up as healing kicks in, but on Day 1, I can dress myself, raise my arms, and even reach for the pain meds. Very promising. I’m doing my exercises from the yellow Canadian Cancer Society booklet they give you, three times a day.
For pain, I only needed two Tylenols after surgery and two Advils at bedtime. That Pregabalin was likely still doing some of the heavy lifting from yesterday, so I skipped taking more even though I have a prescription. I might take it later, we will see.
Final Thoughts
If you’re preparing for this surgery, I hope this gives you a sense of what it can really be like. Every hospital and every patient is different, but one thing is true: you will be okay. Ask for help. Take the Ativan. Pack the neck pillow. Advocate for yourself. And if your surgeon offers a bonus breast lift — hey, maybe say yes.
I’m so grateful for the incredible care I received, and for the amazing healthcare professionals we have in Canada.
Sending so much love and strength to my fellow Breast Cancer warriors. You are not alone, and you are stronger than you think.
About the Author
Meghan Reddick is a communications and marketing leader who has helped transform some of Canada’s most recognized national charities into purpose-driven brands with powerful public voices.
She was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and is sharing her experience — including the physical, emotional and very real details — with honesty, curiosity and a healthy dose of humour.
Meghan is also a committed volunteer in the health space, currently serving on the marketing committee of the Michael Garron Hospital Foundation and the Advisory Board of the Canadian Health and Fitness Institute.
She finds calm in nature and joy in movement, often walking the Trans Canada Trail in Toronto, with her family and her golden retriever, Louie.
