I hate my new boobs

OK, I’ll say it. I kept saying that I didn’t care about my new boobs, after losing my old ones from breast cancer. I kept saying that I didn’t want them to be as big (aka extreme) as my old ones. That they are “just boobs.” That I have good reminders of my old ones because my stepdad Bill painted them and I have a pastel hanging in my bathroom.

Pastel by William Doyle when I was 20 years old.

But, now I can say it: I hate my new boobs. Lessons learned. I didn’t ask the right questions from Day 1. I said I didn’t care, when after the fact, I do care. That size doesn’t matter, but it does.

I HATE MY NEW BOOBS because:

·         I didn’t ask the right questions from the day they told me I had breast cancer and I told them we’d lop them both off and get some new ones that would help my golf swing.

·         I guess I didn’t think about my choices:

o   No new boobs: go flat (kinda – I’ve seen pictures and they look hollow-ish)

o   Fake boobs: saline, gummies, etc. (I was told that if I went this route that I’d have to have them replaced in 10 years since I am “of that age.”)

o   Boobs with my belly fat (I was told that this would be a “one and done” and no replacements.

·         I didn’t realize that I really don’t understand boob size terminology: I was a 32DD. We talked about me getting to a C size with surgery. I still don’t understand, but I guess I should have asked more questions about size, about shape, about what they would look like (and what they may look like nipple-less).

·         I never asked to see pictures of what they might look like (and I never asked to see my before mastectomy pics, pre-reconstruction pics – they haven’t taken any post-reconstruction pics yet).

·         When my doctor said he was worried that I didn’t have enough stomach fat to get them to the size we were going after, I didn’t ask more questions, like: what size will they really be?

·         When my doctor said that he could go back and “do more later” I didn’t ask more questions, like: what is “do more later”?

·         They are small, misshaped pencil stubs – or jelly rolls. They aren’t boobs. I don’t think adding nipples will change things even if they are prosthetics, temporary tattoos or real tattoos. I guess on a positive note: I pass the pencil test now! The pencil test, you ask? Well, grab a pencil (or a chopstick). Put it under your boob. If the pencil falls, you passed the pencil test and can go braless. If the pencil sticks under your boob, you should never go braless. My old boobs “sucked up the pencil and hid it.” Now it just drops to the floor.

·         I had to undergo 8 hours of surgery for these, plus three AWFUL nights in the hospital, getting monitored hourly, yes hourly – to check my flaps (those are what they call my belly-made boobs)

·         This girdle/compression garment sucks. It’s itchy. It’s bulky. It’s just. In a couple of weeks, after the oozing stops (I have a scar from side to side – and don’t seem to have a belly button yet), I’ll graduate to Spanx (not cheap at $70+), but at least hopefully easier.

I am sad about my new boobs. Yes, sad. But probably won’t do anything about them because I don’t want to go back under the knife to make them better. Four days/three nights in a hospital just isn’t worth the vanity or my sadness. But I can be sad. And regret not knowing the right questions to ask. But not being too mad at myself (I am mad at myself) for not asking those questions when you’re going through breast cancer, double mastectomy, chemo, hair loss, skin issues, other treatments, gazillions of appointments that interfere with work and just dealing in general. So, I may be sad now, but I’ll get over it. But wish I knew to ask more.

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