Tits Again!

Tits again!

Before you roll your eyes, let me offer a caveat.

As a somewhat normal human, I had somewhat normal breasts, maybe D cup. Not the kind of thing I spent much time thinking about.

In 2016 I got breast cancer—and a mastectomy, later followed by another mastectomy and then chemo. There’s more to this, but I’ll keep it local for now.

“I will not reconstruct” I told myself. “It will be fine to not have these, and I’ll be like an amazon archer”, legendary for cutting off their breasts to better control the bow and arrow. “It’s vanity”, I thought. “no need to go to all the trouble for these. It’ll be fine, better even without these things.” And so on.

So there I was, tits gone, flat chested, none of my clothes fit, and my body was misshapen. Where I once had an hourglass figure, now I had a pear, inflated further by the ACT chemo. Subtly, people were not as nice to me, either. I was astonished at just how many things changed. I know someone will argue that, but don’t. It’s an energy thing. I was shocked to find I did care, and quite a bit.

I felt as though I were drowning in weird horror, and the breast amputation was only part of it but it was a fixable part.

Due to a childhood cancer and chest radiation in the 1980s, I couldn’t accept any of the normal reconstructions, and yes, I tried. It was a mess. So I had the incredibly complicated and difficult latissimus dorsi flap—bilateral. A 13 hour surgery where they cut the lats in half, wrapped them around to the front and filled the space with fat. It’s insane, actually. The surgeon was very happy that he’d cut part of my tattoo and resewn it on the front, in what he considers a balanced way. Sure.

God bless medical school because someone like this needs an outlet for his cutting passions. So cancer reconstruction is a perfect choice.

This surgery was in 2018, and “cleaned up” in 2019. I had hellish things to deal with in Oman, and so my healing was slower than it would have been with support, and medical care. But I eventually healed in a way.

I’ve been to buy bras a few times, and it’s always stressful and depressing. My body shape, the “breasts,” all of it. A big yuck to the whole ritual, even though, admittedly, it got better over time.

But now, finally, in 2024, I’m in another place, and finally rehabbing properly, and pilates, etc, all of it.

I went yesterday, and got real bras, and pretty, and even with cleavage, and cleavage covers my heart surgery scar—another story for another time-and a little uplift means I now look normal. Hourglass. Finally. Lost a ton of weight and still in process. And now happy with my chest.

Lots of women (with intact bodies) tell me they wouldn’t choose reconstruction because of this or that. It’s a very easy thing to feel superior about. But let me tell you, it’s not helpful or kind to share that sort of thing with your friends who got their breasts lopped off.

You have no idea, believe me.

If you’re a woman who is anywhere along this shitty cancer journey, just remember that it too will pass, and even though the chemo and surgery and radiation might beat the living crap out of you, over and over, after it’s done, your body will come back. That includes all the other, usually littler, things I didn’t mention, too.

I’ll add to this, that I have a different cancer now, or had.

But I’m rocking it, and you will too.