The surgery is over. I’m home recuperating. I said goodbye to my breasts on Wednesday. That is something no woman should ever have to do.
When I was a little girl, I didn’t give them a thought. From the waist up I looked just like my brothers. Things began to change for most girls, and I remember one day, while changing for athletics, a girl who was in need of a bra already proudly announcing next year we will all have to wear bras. I didn’t exactly need a bra, but I began wearing one in fifth grade anyway. I had no breasts. At least the bra was slightly padded. I suppose that could have been considered my first push up.
By the time high school rolled around I still was flat chested. This was a source of frustration for me. I joked that my people came from the high plains. I consoled by self with the thought, at least I have a bootie and long legs. Trust when I say I didn’t dwell on flat-chestedness much. I wore my A cups proudly. In college, I fell in love with my kids Dad and I remember feeling so beautiful on our wedding day. Boobs or no boobs.
You know the purpose of our breast is to feed our young. Every other person has a set and honestly, there are men with breast as well. The frustration I once felt over being small chested dissipated when I gave birth to my first child. Overnight it seemed I went from the high plains to a D cup. One of the best experiences of my life was being able to breast feed my children. It was the one thing I could do for them that no one else could. I cherish the memories of cradling my babes close to me while they nursed. I made it fourteen months breastfeeding with each of my kids. My breast had served a much greater purpose than filling out a bikini top.
I held on to some of the baby weight after my second child and as a result, I kept some breast tissue too. At my heaviest weight, I wore a D cup. Finally… I had cleavage. I had a big butt and belly too. I suppose you could say I was proportionate. Butt, boobs, and belly. In 2014 I had gastric sleeve surgery to better my health. Of course, I lost a lot of weight, 90 pounds. I feel great. I went from a D to a C cup. No biggie, I finally liked my breast. We I thought had finally made peace with each other. Not too big, not to small and still kinda perky even after children. Well done ladies.Then came the mammograms, biopsy, and diagnosis. My girls had betrayed me. Damn it. Not cool trying to kill me, I mean come on. So now after several years of an up and down relationship had to part ways. Breasts, I had a party in your honor with some of my girlfriends there to wish you goodbye. It was a good send off.
I took the bandages away yesterday and saw my chest for the first time last night as I emptied the drains coming out from under my arms. I cried. It looks like someone else’s body, not mine. Don’t get me, wrong dear friends, I know how lucky I am. I thank God for an excellent pathology report. My surgeon got it all. I don’t have to do chemo or radiation. A true blessing. I’m alive. Another blessing. I’ll get fake boobs (foobs). The thing is I’ll never be the same. The scars will always be there. What can I do but go on? It’s not a matter of being strong. Sometimes we just aren’t given a choice. I have things to do. Breast cancer isn’t on my list. Well, after Wednesday, it really isn’t on my list.
Time to recover.
Daisies, Coffee, and Chocolate,