Today is the 1 year anniversary of my boobs being cut off. (I wonder if I’ll be reflecting on it every year … jesus I hope not.) I’m not making a boobie cake or anything (although the thought did cross my mind, I’ll admit it). But I have been thinking about it a lot. Mainly because it’s not at all what I thought it would be like. 

How I felt THEN

Actually, I’m not sure that I even considered what I thought it would be like to be boobless. It all happened so fast – mammogram to surgery in 2 months. (I won’t go into the galloping again – you can read about it in an old blog post.)

I went in to the hospital on surgery day preoccupied with the hope that Dr. E would have the time to take off my second boobie, the cancer-free one. I was definitely in ‘get ‘er done’ mode. “I’ve got cancer in me? You’re not sure how far it’s gone? TAKE IT OFF. And, oh, … PLEEEEEASE take the other one off too.” I was so focused on him taking them both that I didn’t think too much about all of the other stuff. Like what it would be like to have no boobs. I didn’t actually care. I mean, I felt lucky that they caught the cancer and that it didn’t appear to have spread outside of the breast. It wasn’t like they were going to cut off my arm. It can always be worse!! 

I did, however, have the presence of mind to take one last photo of the cancer boob. Lou gave me this white cami for post surgery survival and I decided to snap a before photo. (I’m not even going to talk about my hair at this point. Oh yes I miss it, I miss it. But whatever. Wah wah… )

How I feel NOW

It’s complicated.

On one hand, I don’t miss my boobs at all. Not even a bit. I’m done with the boobies – they served me well and they were quite frankly awesome at nursing. But after that was all done, they were a bit more trouble than they were worth. For example: 

1. I had to endeavour to make them look perky… pushing ’em up. The bras, the bras. The straps! The underwires! Too tight, too loose. So glad to be done with those. Hallelujah! 
2. They were a hindrance to activity.
   • Diving into the lake – the bather flies up, boobies pop out / poke out. HA! Diving with no boobs is A DREAM!! No adjustments necessary! I’m basically Victor Davis reincarnated. (Loved that guy.)
   • Pose of the child is called that for a reason. It’s not called ‘pose of the middle aged woman’. No. Having no boobs makes pose of the child POSSIBLE. 
   • Sleeping on your stomach does not require major adjustment. I just sleep. MAGNIFICENT! 
   • Drinking out of the tap does not necessitate my laying my boobs on the edge of the sink. It’s so damned easy! 
3. They were sweaty!!! And now… no more boob sweat! No more drips between and under the boobs ladies! I can wear a tank top happily. Joyfully. Playfully. Watching me. (I’m always singing in my head. Can’t help it.)
4. Getting ready quickly was so tricky!! For example, in a woman’s world when someone suddenly comes to the door and the boobies are loose and low under a baggie sweatshirt, they are broadcasting to the unexpected at the door “ya I know it’s 2:30 pm and I was still in my jammies”. Now a T shirt is tossed on in 3 seconds. Dressing is so damned quick. 
5. Most of the good Halloween costumes were unattainable. Now I’m just so much more believable!! 

On the other hand, it’s strange having no boobs. I was just so used to them! I still do a double take when I walk by a mirror. I don’t care that I am flat chested. It’s just weird to see. Like when you get your hair chopped off and colour it. (Another blog post… honest to god it’s coming.)

I have no desire to have implants or wear prosthetics (again, the bras… why????), but there are two things that really do bug me:

My chest does FEEL FUNNY. 

You know the feeling when you have to get a bit of fluff out of your belly button and you dive in there to grab it with a Q-tip or your finger? It’s a weird inside-your-body feeling. That’s what the scars on my chest feel like. They always feel like something. Vaguely tight. Kind of numb-ish. They feel.  

My chest is not flat. 

In fact, it’s like sand dunes. The scars are deeper than my chest. (I know there’s a surgical explanation. I will ask Dr. E and get back to you.) At any rate, the scars basically run through the middle of two dunes / divots / valleys. And that’s visible when I wear certain clothing. 

Why do I care? Well… recognizing that this may sound totally lame to you, or quite vain, I’d like to have a nice smooth chest canvas for a couple of tatoos. So ya, I’ll see a plastic surgeon and find out what’s possible. 

Soon we’ll talk about the hair.