The "Other" Side Effects of Breast Cancer. A blog for ALL women!

Breast Cancer is a true gift. It gives us many things:

Baldness

Bloatedness

Booblessness

Just to name a few. And if ever there was a time when a woman needed her self-esteem to help her through this B-Busting time, it would be now. However, many of us are already "in the hole" with our low self-esteem, so once we get a disease that robs us of our feminine qualities, we're in trouble. We put ourselves down even more. We feel ugly, weird, different. We are afraid to go out in public. We hate being stared at and we dread others' harsh or stupid commentary on our looks. It doesn't happen often, but enough to make us fidgety and on alert.

So, after dealing with all of the harsh side effects of treatment, one would hope a woman would say to herself,  "I've been through so much. This really isn't the time to dwell on my appearance and feel bad about myself." One would hope that this woman is being gentle and kind to herself. However, quite the opposite happens. 

Instead of Self-Loving, she turns to Self-Loathing. 

"I'm so fat"

"I hate the way I look bald, or the way I look in a wig"

"I hate my man chest"

"My boobs are lopsided"

"I'm too skinny!"

The list of flaws is endless. She will even invent some that don't exist. And it slowly erodes at her soul as she continues sending her subconscious these horribly negative messages. 

And if someone were to compliment her, she would just scoff at it and act like a defense attorney. "No, I do not have pretty eyes and teeth. See, look at that space right there." She will try her best to prove you all wrong, even though she has the face of a super model. She just doesn't see her beauty. 

So ladies. I'm here to try to stop the madness. Even if you do not have breast cancer, chances are good you are unhappy with at least one thing about yourself. When did our self-worth become so dependent on our looks?  Men do not waste this kind of time and energy looking in the mirror, frowning, crying, fixing, straightening, tweeking, and twitching about it all. 

But we do! And it spirals out of control. We are just never satisfied. And I have to say, it makes me sad. And it makes me mad. 

I am admittedly a vain person. I guess everyone has some vanity, to a degree. After going through this last year and so many physical reinventions; long hair, pixie hair, bald head, mastectomy, Puff Mommy body, I have always tried to look nice through it all because, well, I'm vain. My hair is growing back  like a Chia Pet in progress. There's no easy way to grow out a bald head so you just have to let it do its thing, and put on some big ass earrings to detract from the hair!  Normally, if I am seeing someone for the first time in a while, I would make comments about my hair, like "Oh, it's growing and I can't do much with it", almost in an apologetic way. WTF!? Why do I have to apologize or feel shame about the way I look? What if I did chose this gruesome hairdo? Who gives a good shit, as my mother would say. Sporting a Chia head certainly gives you a thicker skin, or it can break you. I chose to be tough.

I reached an impass last week.  The day after Christmas I did something VERY brave. I stepped on the scale. I knew it wasn't going to be pretty but I did anyway. As soon as I stepped on, these words rolled off my tongue like I had been possessed by the ghost of Stuart Smalley:

"I love you no matter what"

And the number on the scale was quite frightening and an all time high for me. I should have been crying but instead, I just shrugged my shoulders, silently told myself, "It's ok",  and stepped off. And I moved on. I then undressed to take a shower, also another adventure in sight seeing. Again, I would usually glance quickly then look away. But that day I said:

"I love you no matter what"

And you know, I think I have found my mantra, my self-affirmation, or whatever it is I need to get me through my middle age and beyond. As much as I will try to take care of my body, there will be jiggling, there will be rolls, there will be wrinkles on my face. I will never be an airbrushed version of myself, nor do I want to be.  However, I can tell you that I will have the perkiest boobs in the nursing home when this is all said and done. 

To all my sisters, both near and far, with or without breast cancer:  I pray that you all accept yourselves "As Is", no matter what your imagined flaws are.  In the end, looks and beauty mean absolutely nothing. I can also say that I have never been happier. I am more at ease with myself and I'm not "wasting time" dwelling on what I should or could look like. Again, it is what it is. It doesn't mean I am surrendering to a lifetime of obesity. It just means that in this moment, I am accepting myself, no matter what. 

So, the B-Busting gifts that cancer brings? I'd say that is one of them. Learning to love myself, no matter what. If you dare, hang this sign up on your bathroom mirror. Say it out loud every time those negative thoughts start creeping in. It can set the entire tone for the day. And just before bed, make sure you say it again a few times as you drift off. It will bring much needed peace to your sleep. You might actually start believing it and then you can spend your precious time on this earth on the things that truly matter. 

 

The New Normal

Recently I wrote about the "Now What?" after treatment and surgeries are over. I expected myself to be back to normal. What was I thinking? And what is normal anyway? I haven't written in over a month because I have really not been myself. Adjusting to Tamoxifen, instant menopause, lack of sleep, Christmas, and not being able to form sentences out loud or on computer have impaired my blogging abilities!

If the new normal means wearing granny panties, sporting a Max Headroom haircut, farting and snoring more than Frank Barone, weighing more than my husband (almost), acting like a morose teenager, and grunting every time I arise from a seated position, then yes, I am completely normal. 

Many of us go back to our routines, at least to some degree. We are at the grocery store, the gym (if we are lucky), our kids' activities, in many cases our jobs, family gatherings, housework, etc.  We look ok, for the most part. We put our makeup on every day so that we don't look sick or tired and we tend to make an extra effort than before to look presentable. The world sees us as highly or moderately functioning beings of society. We appear, on most accounts, OK. 

I'll give you a little hint though. We're not all OK.

We are bordering on wanting people to ask us how we are to getting aggravated if they do ask us how we are, because we just don't know how to answer honestly. It's a slippery slope and we are a moody bunch, sometimes. I personally try to be honest and tell the truth, without TMI and drama spilling out. We may feel awkward in social settings and making small talk can be very daunting.

I realized the New Normal is anything but and most of us hate the expression. It's kind of a slap in the face to some and they don't want to accept that things are never going to be the same. They don't want a New Normal. They want their Old Normal. It's not easy to deal with but as one wise sister always points out, "It is what it is". (It's funny how I've always hated that expression but it has never been more relevant to my life than it is now and I use it more and more!) So coming to accept the baggage that comes with breast cancer, even long after treatment is over is a process. I've come to accept many things "as is" and try not to put so much pressure on myself to be "back to normal". This only makes things harder, trust me.

I try to mindread those who have not travelled this road. I wonder if some look at cancer as a single event that simply occurred and now it's over. It's like when you have a party in your house. People come over, make a mess, and then leave. It's your job to get out the dust pan and toss all the crumbs into the trash. Then you carry on with daily life.

Well, cancer is certainly no party and the crumbs that are left behind keep showing up in places you didn't expect them to. As hard as you try to scoop them up, they keep sticking to the floor, or in the corners of your mind, haunting you when you least expect it. 

I've tried telling myself, "You need to put this entire experience behind you. You need to move forward". My mantra since my diagnosis was "Keep moving forward, don't look back." But this is not easy, especially since it's constantly in front of me.  If I had ass cancer, sure, it'd be easy to put it behind me! At times, I have completely avoided the bathroom mirror or I let it fog up so much that I couldn't see myself. And that was fine with me!

But now, things are changing and I no longer hide from myself. One of my fellow pink sisters named Natalie really expresses it best here and I'd like to credit her with helping me be able to look at myself with pride every day:

"When I look at my scars and my changed chest, now I feel pride and happiness. I am proud of all that I endured and I'm happy to be alive. Scars don't form on the dead....only the living. So now I've learned to look at them in a completely different way."

Well said, Natalie! You are helping me and so many other women by sharing this perspective. My hope is that all women who have been scarred by breast cancer will be able to see themselves as beautiful and strong survivors who have overcome and prevailed. You are all warriors and you are stronger than you think!

My Meltdown

I'm home today. I was going to meet my chemo pal, Elayna today but I had a lousy night's sleep and my expanders are holding me down. Just feeling heavy and sore today.  And everything is making me cry.

I seemed to get through so much stuff over the last months without breaking down. I don't know if I was just in the fast forward mode of "getting it all done", the chemo, the surgery, and now the recovery. This is the time now to think. I have not been thrust back into working (yet) and I have down time to recoup.  

And think.

If you didn't know already, I am a thinker. My brain just doesn't ever not think. Sometimes, I'll ask my husband, "What are you thinking about?" and he replies, "Nothing". I'm like, "How can you be thinking of NOTHING? How is that possible. Even thinking about NOTHING is thinking about something. The fact that you are thinking period is thinking, right?"

See? It's torturous being inside this head. Sometimes I wish I could just turn a switch off and stop all of it. 

Anyway, having this down time to rest, stretch, take care of myself, etc. is odd but I know it's necessary.  The problem is, I start to really think about all that has happened over the last year and it's still hard for me to grasp. Before I was diagnosed, I was in Worrier mode and then quickly jumped to Warrior Mode. I had a job to complete and I'm almost done. I have my final "exchange" surgery in March when my tissue expanders will be removed and replaced by permanent implants. So, the worst of all of this is definitely (and hopefully) behind me. 

So, why do I feel so blue? Shouldn't I be happy? Well, for starters, I think my whole being has been messed with in more ways than one. About 2 weeks ago, I started the Tamoxifen and Effexor. The first is an Estrogen blocker (see prior blog), and causes menopausal symptoms. The Effexor is an anti-anxiety/anti-depressant and that is supposed to also help relieve hot flashes.  

I am not ashamed to say that I take stuff for depression. I think there is such a stigma in this culture about mental illness and if you need something to help you cope, you take it. Personally, I'd rather not have to take it and eventually my goal is to get off it. This period in my life has been wrought with many emotions and trying to "keep it together" for my kids, my family and myself is not easy. A little help is ok if you need it.  I've learned that many people take this stuff and don't have life threatening illnesses and just have trouble coping with every day life or have an imbalance. I get it.

It's important to mourn, cry, let it out. 

I had just written up to this point and took a break to read a message from a fellow Pink Sister who is a long time survivor. She knew about my teary week and said she was glad to hear I was "finally crying" because it really is necessary for the entire healing process.  I think she was starting to worry that I was handling this too well! No one gets out of this one without crying, no matter who you are.

After my tearfest today, I finally decided I needed to shower. It's amazing how the armpit smell evolves after weeks of not wearing deodorant.  I started to undress for my big event. I love the hot water, the stretching in the shower, the feel of the water on my scalp, and the freedom to cry where you can't see the tears.

First, I lifted up my cami, which has become a post mastectomy fashion staple. I was just looking for a Foob Update to see how they were doing today and this is what I found:

My first reaction was a gasp, thinking I somehow shit myself in an odd position.  And then I realized that my late morning "snack" must have ventured down my chest, but because most of it is numb, sort of like when you have novacaine, the chocolate just smooshed right into my brand new, $2.46 Old Navy camisole. And then my six year old caught on after hearing my hysteria.

Busted!

In times like these, it's handy to have one of these, but because I don't, I let the shower do the trick.

I had given up sweets recently and it didn't last long. I'm glad it didn't because this little wardrobe malfunction gave me just the belly laugh I needed today and my blues quickly turned into the browns.

The Browns helped to turn my frown, upside down. Just the therapy I needed today!

(Oh, and the culprit? Trader Joes new chocolate chunks! You must try them!)

Do These Foobs Make My Stomach Look Big?

If you are tired of my breast cancer posts, I'm not sorry. You don't have to read this blog, you know. But I promise to make it worth your time, even if breast cancer has absolutely no effect on your life. 

What the Fuck? It's all I can say this morning.  I went to bed around midnight and had constant chills. I left the bed so I wouldn't annoy my husband, and went downstairs to the couch.  I am now taking Tamoxifen (for the next 5 years) because my breast cancer happens to be "Estrogen receptor positive", which basically means that my cancer is/was(?) fueled by estrogen. Tamoxifen is an estrogen blocker and is supposed to do some magic in my body and somehow prevent future cancer. Ok, then. I'll take it if it's like a little insurance policy. 

However, there are side effects. One of which is hot flashes. I've had flashes before, however, I didn't know that with hot flashes comes major, major chills. Why do women only speak of the HOT part and not the cold part? Did I miss a memo or a meeting?  I spent the night covered under 5 blankets, 1 Thomas the Train, 1 Snowman, 1 with Trucks all over it, and 2 plush ones that make you want to float on a cloud, you know the kind I'm talking about? Ya, those. I also had a hat on my head (which by the way is sporting some pretty cool hair!) Even though I look like a female inmate now, it's fine.  Pink may just be the new Orange.

This is how I felt:

So, long story short, I was freezing my ass off for hours, chills chills chills and couldn't get warm to save my life. I was running out of infomercials and almost caved at some Home Shopping Network 2 piece polyblend outfits for the holidays. Then suddenly, the thermostat in my body skyrocketed and I needed to strip. I finally dozed off around 5 a.m. at which time I had crazy dreams about being in some parallel clown universe and one of the clowns was actually really cute and started shaving his head, just for me.  Gosh, I miss romance!  Just when things were getting juicy, the Mr. came down to make the morning coffee. Damn, no telling where that dream was going!

Since sleep was definitely not in the cards for me, I got my fanny up and got busy making lunches, breakfast and sucked down my coffee.  I'm usually pretty high functioning the day after a No Night Sleep but it will hit me around 3 p.m for sure and I'm going to be a vegetable. 

For those of you who really had no interest in reading this blog but did anyway, I thank you for your time. Here is your reward. This is what I look like in the morning, before walking the kids to the bus stop:

So, my million dollar question.  Do my Foobs make my stomach look big? 

I'm sure many of you are saying to yourselves, "How could she post such a dreadful picture of herself on the interweb for everyone to see?! Doesn't she know that picture can land just about anywhere?"

In the words of my mother, "Who gives a good shit".  (I love how she says it instead of asks it, so no question mark is needed).  I truly don't at this point. I'm too tired and unhinged to care. And I also figured that some poor soul is trying to give a good shit right now on the toilet and perhaps this blog was good reading material to facilitate that whole process.  

You're welcome. 

Now What...Tits and Champagne? Not so fast......

This is how I felt yesterday, 

Just like Julie Andrews in her potato sack clothes. I was on top of the world; joyful, posting on Facebook how happy I was, and I got almost as many likes as Sinead O'Connor's Open Letter to Miley Cyrus after her twerking episode. 

My Facebook friends were almost as happy as me, too. It was a great day! I also spoke with my uncle who was a bit out of the loop, and when he heard my voice he was just flabbergasted at how "good" I sounded. I think he was expecting me to sound like I was on my last breath. Not this girl. I really made his day. Funny how Cancer can somehow make you the most optimistic person in the room. 

This is the picture that made everyone "Like" me.  

Why was I happy? Because I had that moment that I think many women with Breast Cancer have had. The one after she is finally done with treatment and surgery and has the uplifting conversation with her doctor (hopefully!!!), that all of the cancer is GONE (or, mostly gone and now we cross our fingers) and are told to now go and " Live your life."  

I was that girl. Yesterday, I was so happy, I was obnoxious and I couldn't understand why my husband wouldn't play Ring Around the Rosey with me.

And then I woke up today and the whole picture had changed. I had learned late the night before that one of our Pink Sisters in our Facebook group had died. Or,  she "took wings" as my Stupid Dumb Breast Cancer friend, Ann Marie calls it. Anything,  but "She lost her battle." Somehow that "lost battle" insinuates she didn't try hard enough or she's a loser.  I won't have any of that talk. No. No.  We all fight and we fight as hard as we can.  Some of us start the battle a little too late when too much damage is done or there's just no way to fight certain beasts. But that doesn't mean we lost. Got it? I didn't personally know this sister, but her battle was mine too and I was sad. 

To add to this, I learned of Good Morning America's Amy Robach's recent breast cancer diagnosis and her upcoming bilateral mastectomy this week. I watched the video of her announcing how this all came down and immediately I was brought back to May 3, 2013, the day I learned of my diagnosis. It was like Julie Andrews had suddenly morphed into Eeyore. I just couldn't stop crying.  All of the emotion she was feeling was heartfelt and unscripted. All of the familiar words flowed: "Brave, anxious, shocked, fighter, this is the worst part.....the not knowing".  Yup. I remember those words well.

Why was I so upset over a total stranger's diagnosis? Well, for starters, I have watched Amy for years on TV and always enjoyed her down to earth, breezy and sweet personality. She seemed like a regular girl, someone you'd want to have coffee with. She's a wife, a mom, a step mom and have you seen this girl do a hand spring? Anyway, seeing someone who is so healthy, eats right and has so many years ahead of her (that's many of us in the B/C group!) just makes me sick, every time I hear it.  I felt complete devastation today for her. I suppose it's a Pink Sister thing. You know exactly how they are feeling. You wish you could call her, hug her, do something for her just to let her know she's not alone in this fight. Everything she is facing, you've already faced and you just want to make it better for her. And most of all, you are just plain ANGRY, that this is happening again, and again, and again.  And at the end of the day, she is not a celebrity. She is someone's wife, mother, sister, friend.  She is the center of someone's universe. 

All the Julie Andrews Joy I was feeling yesterday landed right in the crapper, just like that.  My scars are healing nicely after 3 weeks, but obviously the emotions are still raw. I got in my car (for the 1st time in over 3 weeks) to buy a few groceries at Trader Joes.  The song, "Brave" by Sara Bareilles was on. Ironically, that is the song that Amy Robach loves and her co-workers happened to mention it at the end of her announcement. I absolutely loved this song before, and now I love it even more. Amy, you will be brave and you will beat the BEAST, I am sure of it.

So, the moral of this story? The Breast Cancer Journey never ends. Many BC survivors say as time passes, they think less and less about it and it's not so much in the forefront of their brains. I hope this is true for me too.  I am forever changed by this journey and it has affected how I want to continue living my life from now on. For that, I am grateful.

I'll keep the scars. Thank you very much.

Anjelina Jolie didn't wake up with new boobies either! Becky's moving forward blog.

Yesterday marked 3 weeks since my bilateral mastectomy.  I try to remember certain things about that day and the days following and it's very hard to reclaim because of all of the medication. Before the surgery, I was in the usual holding area with my husband and best friend, Michelle. The I.V. had been inserted and it was then where my tears started flowing. I had to tell the poor nurse that I was not crying because of the needles (I was used to that), but because of what was going to happen next.  I couldn't stop crying. I just let the tears come out. After so many procedures, tests, surgeries, I have never cried. But on that day, there was nothing left to do. I just felt like there was no turning back. I knew I was making the right decision but that didn't mean I didn't have the right to mourn what was happening. I never once doubted my decision to have the double mastectomy, but now I felt like a scared little girl, helpless and sad.

I wasn't scared of dying on the table. I wasn't scared of the pain that would follow in the coming days. I wasn't scared that the doctors were going to mess up.  I guess my crying was a culmination of everything up to that point. The feeling like my body was to be forever altered. It would never be the same again. A big (actually quite small) part of me was going away forever.  I was also afraid of looking in the mirror for the first time after the surgery.  I had seen pictures before, thanks to Stupid Dumb Breast Cancer's blog. She too, had a double with reconstruction and was brave enough to photograph her post mastectomy pics and share them with the world. Viewing these pics before hand, really did help me with the unknown, but I have to say, I was still scared about the emotional impact of being boobless. Many people think when you undergo a double with reconstruction, you wake up with new boobs. Well, this is not always the case and Anjelina Jolie didn't wake up with new boobies either. One more thing we have in common. 

But I digress.

Michelle and my husband sat by my side and for once, neither one of them cracked jokes or tried to "cheer me up". They both knew this is what I needed and I'm sure they felt like crying too, the poor things. The last thing I remember was the crying and then I went into that wonderful La La land of anesthesia, or as I call it, "Mommy's Vacation".  Shamefully, I must admit, I was looking forward to a few days of room service and ordering everything off the menu, even if it meant body altering surgery, I'll take it!

I woke up in recovery to wonderful nurses who kept my pain to a minimum. I was finally wheeled to my room that evening, my husband still by my side. The bandages did not stay on for long so I looked down and thankfully, was not as traumatized as I thought I'd be. (Thank you morphine). First of all, when a mastectomy is done, all of the breast tissue is removed but the skin is still in tact. And because I opted for reconstruction, temporary tissue expanders were placed under my chest muscles and then the plastic surgeon injected some saline so that when I woke up, I had some pre-pubescent boobies. However, my nipples had been removed because my doctor does not believe in "nipple sparing" due to any cancer that may be in the nipples, kind of defeats the purpose of this whole procedure. Here is what they look like inside, picture on the left.

Eventually, the tissue expanders will be removed after having saline injected into them over a certain time span in order to stretch the skin. Once my Dolly Parton boobs are acheived, they operate again and swap out the expanders for permanent silicone implants, see picture on the right. And then I'm done! Amen!

So, getting back to the Foobs, as the Pink Sisters like to call them (Fake Boobs). There are incisions going straight across both breasts. It looks like 2 closed eyes so every time I look in the mirror, I want to say, "Wake up and open your damn eyes!" I would show you a picture of them here, however, my mom would be mortified if I publicized them so if you are really interested, just Google it or click here for Stupid Dumb Breast Cancer where this wonderful gal Ann Marie sends Bravery Bags all over to women with breast cancer. She is one of the wonderful gifts breast cancer has brought to me. A kindred spirit and a crazy Italian girl, just like me!

So, fast forward to today. It's been three weeks. I am still not driving and I cannot lift anything over 5 pounds. I'm not in pain, per se, however it feels like there is something heavy strapped to my chest at all times and at the end of the day, it is all so damn tight, I do need to take muscle relaxers. I finally got off the heavy pain killers and I just went to my plastic surgeon yesterday for my second fill up. I am currently up to 190 ccs of saline, or really what my previous size was.  I could stop now but you know, I'm not going through all this shit to have little boobs again.  I deserve a Boobie Prize after enduring biopsies, 2 surgeries, so much damn stress and anxiety, I think I have the right to "trade up" now to at least a B cup, don't you think? My plastic surgeon used the word "cleavage" yesterday and I had to look it up in the dictionary.  I have to say, I'm pretty excited about getting some!

Best of all, (and I had to save the best for last because the boob talk is really all the superficial stuff), remember the reason why we did all this? Breast Cancer! BINGO!  I met with my breast surgeon a week or so after the surgery and my pathology report shows no traces of cancer. YES, you read that right.  The boobies are clear! The right side was taken because I did not want to worry about it in the future and it was not going to match the unhealthy side after recon, so that's that.  Thank you, Thank you! The 4 rounds of chemo are behind me and that was performed because one out of 3 lymph nodes had tested positive. So, if any cancer was let loose into my system, hopefully, the chemo stopped it in its tracks. 

I am so overjoyed by this news but I don't know if it has really registered yet.  In the mean time, I'm doing my stretching exercises at home, trying to eat healthy, catching up on my blog and just being so damn thankful, to the wonderful doctors, nurses, my parents,  all of my family and friends, and to my husband who is always there by my side. I would not have made it this far without all of them.

And the emotional impact of all of this? I have to say, I haven't cried since that fateful day, 10/18 when my body was to be forever changed. Yes, it's changed, but for the better. Sure, my breasts look a little creepy and are a work in progress, but they served their purpose and saying goodbye to them in my previous blog really helped me tremendously.  If a Pink Sister is reading this right now and has to travel the same road as me, I highly recommend it! You can do this and you WILL survive it.

It's time to move forward. There is no point in living in the past because I'm not going there, ever again.

Bye Bye Boobies. Another Open Letter......

Lately there seems to be an overabundance of "Open Letters" to people.   Everyone has something on their chest and it appears they feel better by writing an Open Letter to help alleviate what's bothering them. I, too, am guilty of the Open Letter Syndrome (OLS). As you may recall, I wrote one to the CEO of Kelloggs to complain about the lack of chocolate in their chocolate Mini Wheats.  I can say from first hand experience, this letter got me absolutely no where. No one gave a shit about my diarrhea from eating too many mini wheats in the hopes I'd find more chocolate.  Really, these letters are just USELESS!  Is everyone but the intended target reading the letters and "sharing" them, just to feel good about spreading the "word".

I think someone should write an open letter to people who write open letters.  Just a thought.

Since I am having my double mastectomy tomorrow, I decided I needed to write an open letter to my boobies.  I am never going to see them again. Like ever.  I'm sad, I'm anxious, I'm still in shock about the whole thing, even after all this cancer nonsense.  Yes, it's still shocking and I often feel like I'm talking about someone else when I talk about my cancer journey. Some fucking journey! 

Here goes nothing.....

Dear Boobies,

You and I have known each other for a LONG time.  It took a while for you to grow. In fact, I don't think you ever truly reached your full potential, but that's ok. When I was a little girl, I used to pretend I had boobs by putting these under my shirt, one on each side, perky as can be.

I would prance around the house with my L'eggs eggs, hands on hips, feeling really lady like. And one was always bigger than the other because that's how the L'eggs people made them; uneven, just like real life boobies.  

I finally started growing the real versions of you around 5th grade.  There were no "pre-teen" bras back then so I just went au naturale. This didn't really cause a problem until the city wide spelling bee when I was up on stage wearing a blue terry cloth shirt. The air conditioning was on full blast and you suddenly perked up and out, standing at attention. To this day, I blame you for my dashed dreams of winning the spelling bee crown. Well, screw you because now we have spell check.

Then there was the time during softball in the 6th grade when I was pitching and a line drive hit me square in the boobage. It knocked me right to the ground and my male coach did not know how to handle such an injury. Those painful moments on the mound were the first time you let me down and I realized you could actually bring me grief and so much pain.

My teenage years were sort of uneventful in the booby department.  You didn't grow very much AT ALL and bra shopping was depressing. You were like 2 outcasts, trying to fit in but never quite making it into the cool crowd.

And then came my junior prom night. I wore a dress that required a strapless bra but in true Becky form, I was either too cheap to buy one, or just didn't want you to be strapped in. I thought you should enjoy yourself that night so instead, I placed 2 of these over you and it worked beautifully. That is, until I had to tear them off at the end of the night.  

When I was engaged to be married at the age of 24, I found a lump on you. It scared the shit out of me. I had my first mammogram then. The technician squeezed you and your lump so hard, I fainted right there on the cold hard floor.  She redid the mammo 3 more times and you and I were both not very happy. It turned out to be nothing, but now I wonder if that was really true or was it just the beginning of this whole mess?

Moving right along. I had my first baby at the ripe old age of 35. I desperately wanted to breast feed and my mother would always mock you and ask, "Are you sure you can, you don't have much there. The baby might starve!"  

Then there were the hours I tortured you like a poor cow, hooked up to the breast pump. I can still hear that repetitive humming motor sound it made. And remember that one time it took me close to an hour to pump 2 measly ounces of milk and then, in my sleep deprived haze, dumped it down the drain? 

I sobbed like a baby.  Don't cry over spilled milk I thought. Sorry you went through all that work my little boobies!

For the most part, you had a good life. You were often the butt of many jokes but you were strong and confident and I'm so proud of you for staying true to yourself. You never asked for one of those crazy water bras from Victoria Secrets, or the Wonder Bra, or the Push Up bra. You  were content and so was I. We grew to like each other over the years and I'm grateful that you nourished 2 wonderful little boys who often clawed at you when they were hungry and one of them even bit you a few times.  You took a lot of abuse over the years, both physical and emotional. 

You did your best and that is all any girl could ask for.  I'd really like to thank you for your service and mostly, I'd like to thank you for telling me there was something wrong. When you started looking different with your little dimple, I knew something was up.  You saved my life!

Since then, you've endured a lot between mammos, biopsies, MRIs, surgery, and tomorrow you're going bye bye for good. After all you've been through, you look very different. One of you looks the other way now and is scarred, like it's giving the healthy one the cold shoulder. Well, listen Lefty, don't be mad at Righty because you are both traveling the same road tomorrow   It's ok though. Well, not really, but it has to be.  Making this decision was not easy, but I know you will understand.

And in a few more months, the final surgery will be completed and the New Boobs on the Block will start making their own mammaries with Becky.