They're Mine

In honor of breast cancer awareness month, I wanted to share a bit about…

Boobs. My boobs. It’s been a while since I’ve written about them.

I don’t know if anyone else ever has ever thought, “Ya know, if I ever get breast cancer, at least I’d get a new set of boobs.”

I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but yep, long before my experience with breast cancer those exact words went through my mind. Stupid, right? Well, maybe it’s not stupid, but it was such simplistic thinking - stemming mostly from the fact that time and gravity were having quite an effect on my bc (before cancer) boobs. Breastfeeding both of our boys and weight gain and loss (and gain) had created some heavy drag. My once, perky, voluptuous breasts were now loose and saggy, like a pair of drooping balloons.

So when I learned that I would have to remove my breasts to rid my body of cancer, I was hopeful that the boobs sculpted by the plastic surgeon would match the idealistic vision I was holding of beautifully perky breasts.

It actually played out a little differently. Looking back, I see things more clearly. I have to remember that back then I was in “let’s get it done” survival mode. I had one objective- to stay alive. Pretty straightforward. How the new boobs looked just wasn’t a priority.

So I ended up with breasts that look…well, they’re fine. I mean, they’re there. But they don’t look great. Certainly not the way I’d hoped when I naively thought that getting ‘new boobs’ as a result of a bilateral mastectomy was the same as getting breast implants for aesthetic reasons.

So here’s the lowdown on the current state of my breasts: I’m still a C cup- that was my choice. In our pre-surgery conversation, the plastic surgeon explained that if I chose to go up a cup size (or two), it would help to fill out the amount of skin I had. But I was always happy with the size of my breasts and had no desire to change them. As a result, my breasts have ripples that look like little waves moving over their surface. And although the implants are round and squishy-firm, they still sit lower on my chest than fresh, perky boobs.

Honestly, I’m not sure why the plastic surgeon didn’t help lift the girls up and find ways to tighten the skin so I could avoid the ripples. It’s very possible we discussed it before surgery, but with so many doctor visits and conversations happening at the time, it may have slipped through the cracks.

Since my nipples were spared, my breasts really don’t look that different from bc- except that they’re permanently nippy, another surprise post-surgery. Oh yes, and there's also a big horizontal scar on both of my breasts. Dont' really notice them so much any more, but they're there.

And the most upsetting reminder is the loss of  any sensation in my breasts. I feel nothing. If my eyes were closed and my boobs got hit with a ping pong ball, I’d never know it.

Bottom line: my breasts are now saggy, scarred, rippled, numb and nippy- hardly the perky ladies I was hoping for.

In conversation, I often referred to my new breasts as “fake” or say things like, “these aren’t mine” if anyone asked- as if they were separate of myself. This wasn’t a conscious choice of words- they just felt like a natural expression of how I was experiencing my breasts.

So, on a recent morning walk, as I was moving through a gratitude meditation, I started thinking about the words I’d been using to describe my breasts. Hmmmm…Interesting.

I was also aware that in this gratitude meditation,  I’ve always included my breasts and my chest, picturing Spirit’s white, sparkly light moving through these areas of my body.

I’m not sure what was different about this particular day, but  suddenly it struck me: These ARE my breasts. They’ve been with me for almost eight years now. And although diseased tissue was removed, the essence of my breasts remain. And that’s definitely something to be grateful for and embrace.

Taking ownership of this, so many years later, feels like a win.

So my boobs may not look exactly the way I wish they did. There’s saline and silicone filling them out, and I still long to feel sensation again. But truthfully, if cancer hadn’t stepped in, the boobs I was born with would still be saggy and droopy, something I consider a badge of honor for nourishing our two boys as babies.

These post-cancer boobs represent something else: an accomplishment. I made it through a disease that didn’t take my life.

From now on I’m going to be mindful of how I refer to my breasts- making sure I don’t treat them as something separate from myself. Because no matter what they look like, they’re mine. They are part of my human experience. And that’s something to celebrate!

In loving,

Sarah

And Ladies- remember to do your breast checks. It saves lives. It saved mine!