I’ve been demoted a bra size. My boobs have always been two different sizes, the left smaller and the right a bit larger, but the nipples were even, so who cared? Not me. I was a happy, healthy, proportionally kick-ass 34 B–ish. Ish.
Well, not anymore! Post mastectomy, little lefty is all that remains and she is a healthy size A.
Okay, okay. ‘Healthy’ should be the key word in that previous sentence, I know. But Frig. FRACK. BOOBS!
Today I wore my first ‘false’ breast, which is why I’m griping. I have this post-recovery camisole with pockets for a fake breast. My mom and I spent about ten minutes with the comfy – pulling out stuffing and trying to find it the right position in the shirt. Once we finally had it in place, I pulled my dress over and took a look in the mirror – hmm, even looking . . . but, smaller . . . Even Zsolt has noticed, though I suppose of all people he would be the one to notice.
This is not the end of my world. On the brighter side, my drain has been removed by two wonderful nurses who visited my home (I really mean it, they are great. Vicky in particular was so reassuring). And on the even brighter side, my mom is here and we spent an hour in a cafe today talking; getting out was difficult at first, I nearly fell asleep on the table from exhaustion, but after a cup of tea the world become far easier.
So yes, there are good things happening. But it’s a change – that’s all I’m saying, and a disappointment. Big reliefs and small disappointments. These feelings can be tough, but I know they won’t last.
Bumpyboobs gets a little bit smaller. Hey, they’re still cute , and lefty’s been good to me. She really has. Thank God she’s healthy. Now I’m praying and fighting so that she and the rest of me can stay that way.